An accidental version of the lifestyle the internet sells. Mostly because I had no choice.
I moved into a 600-square-foot studio in the city three years ago. It wasn't a lifestyle choice — it was what I could afford. But it turned out to teach me most of what people pay $300 for in retreats and "intentional living" courses.
You can't have too many things in a 600-square-foot apartment. Whatever you bring in has to fight for its place. This means every purchase is at least slightly considered. There is no junk drawer because there is no space for a junk drawer.
I have approximately one of everything: one set of dishes, one pan, one coffee mug I actually use. There's nowhere to stash duplicates.
The kitchen is the size of a closet. I have one burner that works reliably. This sounds limiting and it is, but it's also what forced me to actually learn to cook well from a few ingredients rather than relying on gadgets.
There's nowhere to escape to. No basement, no spare room, no garage. So mornings are quiet by necessity. I make coffee, sit by the one window, look at the building across the street. This is the slow living photo I never had to pose for.
I'm not romanticizing this. There are days when 600 square feet feels claustrophobic. When two people are home, the apartment is full. When it rains, you can't go outside, which means the apartment shrinks.
But — and this is the strange thing — when I think about moving to a bigger place, I always pause. The bigger life I'd build in a bigger apartment doesn't sound better. It just sounds more.