I’m in Florida right now, and have been more relaxed than I've felt in months. But then, forgetting the entire point of a vacation, I made the mistake yesterday of checking if my textbooks had been assigned yet for the coming semester. Bad Idea. They were, so I decided to see how much they would cost from the University Bookstore. I picked the used option as often as it was available (it’s better for the environment and my wallet), but it still came out to a hefty sum. As soon as I laid my eyes on the total, I felt an enormous, slightly acidic weight cut right through the wonderful relaxed feeling that sitting under the palm trees had given me. After getting over that initial sticker shock, I realized that I had known that my books would cost this much and that it’s all part of being a student. That being said, I still don’t particularly like it. It left me with a sensation of tightness in my chest and a vague feeling of anxiety. I never want to be a slave to money, and my tiny house dream is a way of getting there. I have always been a saver, not a spender. I like the feeling of security and freedom that comes with having at least some money in the bank. A tiny house won’t weigh me down with a thirty year mortgage and massive utility bills. I’ll be able to save my money for the things that matter most to me. The financial benefits aren’t what originally brought me to the small house movement, but it’s one of the many reasons I found to stay.