Want a real-life lesson in basic needs? Academics can point to Maslow’s Hierarchy Of Needs. My parents would have a more peer-reviewed, or really peer-pressured list. I’ve been moving from Whidbey Island to Port Townsend by taking lots of ferry rides. One particular trip took longer than usual and threw me right into an urgent assessment of basic needs. When I got home I really needed to… dispose of some bodily fluids. Forget academia and forget what everyone else cared about. What I needed was what I needed. No debate. And yet, an insight.

Why would a ferry ride make a difference? They have toilets and a trip that takes more than half an hour. They provided the right place and more than enough time. Deal with it, dude. Ah, but ferries can be late. Three-boat waits are common – but I don’t need to use the terminal’s facilities. I’m a big boy (#massiveunderstatement and a punchline, too). I can hold it. Well, yes, and there are limits. A bit of a missed timing, a bit of a wait, and finally onboard. Whew. But. The cars were parked, or more appropriately packed. Opening a door was possible, but not easy. And then the rolling happened. Winds, tides, currents, and wakes can make the ride bouncy enough that walking between the cars means navigating between thousands of pounds of metal rocking on their springs and tires. Squishing usually doesn’t happen. Usually. My arrival at home was a bit more urgent than normal.

Walk in the door. Be glad it wasn’t locked because – well, you know, at such a time, time is precious. Get inside and realize that things must happen first. I was safely indoors. Good. Now, empty pockets of things that might fall out at the wrong time in the wrong place. Shed a suddenly inconvenient layer or two. Debate whether to dump the rest on the floor or actually dump them onto a table. Then, quickly do what needs to be done.

Doing what needs to be done created that insight. I had one urgent need, but several other needs had to be dealt with first. Housing, already taken care of. Responsibly taking care of some, but not all, of my stuff came next. Then, basic biology got its due. Lights? Not yet. Music or television or the computer? Ha! No. Heat was automatic, otherwise it would’ve been higher on the list. Socializing, whether through email, messages, or whatever, could come later. Art, commerce, politics, community all were delegated to not yet, if at all. 

An alien watching our media may be excused for seeing it in the opposite order. Medicare ads, conspiracy theories, politics, luxuries, and celebrities dominate the stream. Maslow can be seen as: 
– physiological (bathroom),
– safety (got into the house),
– belonging and love (ah, not as much in today’s society),
– esteem (self-generated is the most available),
– cognitive (learning? Isn’t that happening when I’m awake?),
– aesthetic (art – yeah, got and make that),
– self-actualization (one of my counselors has commented on that),
– and transcendence (that’s a topic for an entire shelf of books to read and write, or to share over the proper beverages).

As many readers know, I’ve recently moved into a tiny house (MyTinyExperiment.net). Moving is an opportunity to visit everything you own, as long as you pack it. Moving into a tiny house magnifies that because every item gets scrutinized before it is granted the honor of becoming part of the household. Otherwise, it is off to the storage unit, or to the donation site, or to recycle, or to the dump.

The only books that are assured of being in my house are my books that I’ve produced. Boxes of the rest are in storage, including the rarer ones that are first-edition science fiction classics. Clothes get season allowances. While I’ve reduced most things to a much smaller inventory, I’ve made shelves and such for the kitchen, because I like to cook and eat, and the office, which is really my one main seat and the site for every meal and almost everything else. Art is sneaking back in, a piece at a time. Most tools and things that can live outside will wait until I get a shed built. 

Weirdly, there are great debates about whether people are being allowed to self-actualize, and active resistance to basic physiological needs. Housing, sanitation, food, health somehow have managed to gain powerful opponents. Drive into a big city and see how hard it can be to access those things – unless you are rich enough to rent a room, pay for a meal, and have access to a doctor. One of the ways owning a house is healthy is that many of the true basics are covered and provided, or at least enabled. 

As I mentioned over on my tiny house blog, I mentioned my gig, Island Roots Housing, and another non-profit in my new county, Jefferson’s Housing Solutions Network (I hope I got their name right.) Both are working at providing real solutions for real people, practicality and pragmatism over academic arguments. And yet, I’ve witnessed that the people with the need are too busy working to engage in the public debate while their opponents might have the time and resources to speak at meetings, in public, in the press, and in the courts. Finding housing for a dozen or so households can mean engaging in conversations amongst hundreds or thousands across the ideological spectrum. I’m much more impressed now with those who have more than enough who recognize the humanity of those with not enough.

I’m glad I have a house. I’m disappointed at how many don’t even have a place to rent, not even a room. And frequently, those are the people we applauded as essential workers. 

Hmm. Didn’t expect this blog post to take this turn, but as a friend and I said earlier today,

“If I Had More Time I Could Have Made It Shorter” – Mark Twain?
or
#IIHMTICHMIS – modern literary progress

Two weeks into this move, I’ve learned several things, but I won’t bore you with the list; but here are a few examples. I finally found the rest of the towels, but one set works well enough if washed enough. Knowing that all of my USB drive and SD cards are in this one particular box, but I can’t remember which box the box is in. (And I just found it, sitting within two feet of where I was when I realized I needed it – hours ago.) Nice soaps aren’t as important as hot water. An empty fridge is an opportunity to restock it. The same for the pantry. Curtains and blinds will be nice, but in the meantime, a few pieces of art hung in the window helps privacy both ways. (Fortunately, the art is purposely translucent, so it can be window art.) And I’ll just have to apologize to the car and the bicycle for having to sit in the rain – and I may have just found a way to get the bike into covered storage.

A tiny house is not the magic. Money changes things, but it doesn’t have to. Intentional living taken to the level of individual items makes it possible to see what really matters. Or, you can go on a long road (or ferry) trip without rest stops and experience what really matters to you.