One of the reasons I decided to write about finding joy by living in a “small space” is the stigma that I have felt here in New York about living in studio apartments. Since I left the house I grew up in (small by modern standards as well), I have always lived in a studio apartment, room, or even one-bedroom houses. I never felt any stigma until I moved here, where the level of one’s sense of self-worth is tied to one’s apartment. Size, location and price are used as a measure of social status, aside from occupation and salary. As a lifelong rebel, I suffered a while, then wondered why I was made to feel bad about my small space here in New York City, when everywhere else I lived, my small apartment or house was celebrated as “the cutest house ever!” or “what a charming apartment!”. Why is rhetorical. Of course, competitive culture leads those in the competition to, eventually, start eating each other. Here, it is very obvious. But, we are not all in the competition. I never was, and am stepping away from its messy ringside. I love a studio apartment. Anything that I can make more beautiful, have enough light and space for my stuff, not have to travel far for necessities, and afford—that is my goal. Of course, I am learning to improve my small space, constantly. With two of us, it is a dance around our stuff, at times. A studio apartment, in Manhattan, is a great accomplishment! I do not long for a two bedroom, doorman building–at an astronomical rent. I do not desire it. I am happy with our space, at an affordable rent, without a doorman. If I feel myself longing to see a doorman, I can look out the window and see one across the street, holding doors for people in the expensive, “luxury” building, and looking tired. I can also look out and see trees and flowers, a bird from time to time, and walk to Central Park. So, everything about my studio apartment is cozy, as I write this from my triangle-shaped red corner desk. Cramped or Cozy is only in the mind.