Wending our way home through the wilds of New York and Newark, I start to tear up.  Now what?  I'm thinking "can I live in that small space, day after day, having to pull my bed out at night and make it into living space every morning?  Waltzing around with my husband in the tight spots, having to plan in advance the best time to beat him to the head?   For how long, God?"

Second thoughts are probably not uncommon with such a radical lifestyle change, but now it was more than hypothetical - I knew the dimensions and limitations of my new home.  I'm not a claustrophobic, but the confinement is pretty up there.   Oh jeeze, am I going to be a crybaby?

Early the next morning, in the motel room, I woke from a not-so-much dream as a train of thought: space is relative.  Sign up for a few internet courses on yoga or stretching or Tai Chi.  Make a schedule for your activities, if onshore.  Be flexible - paint, play the keyboard, play with the dogs, say hi to your husband!  Get a grip.

Think of those who live in these dimensions all of their lives, without the freedom of movement.  Think of those who lived in far smaller, suffering horrible degradation - and yet flourished: Nelson Mandela,to mention one.

Good grief - talk about getting a grip!

Just so you know, I'm not all that brave or adventurous, but I do have the feeling that this is gonna be all right.  Now - you have my confession!

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