Why I Will Always Believe in a Tiny House on Wheels

It Takes Years to Become Free

For several years, I worked towards becoming debt-free. And it takes time. Most people cannot make a decision on Monday and become financially free by Friday. Debts, contracts, consumption habits and previous life choices remain with us longer than we think.

But every debt that disappears changes something. It changes not only the balance in a bank account, but also the feeling inside your body. You become a little less dependent on the next salary, the next project and the next person who gets to say yes or no.

For me, becoming debt-free was not simply a financial goal. It became a survival strategy.

I believed then, and I still believe, that keeping fixed costs low is one of the most important ways of preparing for the future. We do not know how the labour market will develop. We do not know how pensions, energy prices, housing markets or political decisions will affect us. Nor do we know when illness, unemployment or a personal crisis might suddenly change the rules of the game.

What we can influence is how much money we must bring in every month to keep our lives functioning.

That is where real freedom begins.

Remove Things Until You See What You Need

Many of us have never had the opportunity to discover how little we actually need. We move into larger homes and then fill them with possessions. When we run out of storage space, we buy more wardrobes. When those wardrobes are full, we rent storage units. We then work more to pay for the house, the possessions, the car, the insurance and the storage of everything we rarely use.

We call it security, but we have often built a system that makes us more vulnerable.

To me, minimalism is not about living in a white room with one chair, one cup and three identical shirts. It is about removing things until you begin to see what really matters.

What do I use every day?

What do I need in order to feel well?

What costs money without giving me anything meaningful in return?

What do I own because I genuinely need it—and what do I own because somebody else taught me that I should have it?

A tiny house forces us to answer these questions honestly. Every square metre must serve a purpose. A table can be a workspace during the day and a dining table in the evening. A sofa can contain storage. A staircase can also function as a bookshelf and cupboard. A greenhouse can become a growing space, an entrance and an additional room for much of the year.

A small house is not necessarily a limitation. It can be a highly intelligent solution for everyday life.

Imagine If One Ordinary Salary Were Enough

Imagine living alone or with a partner. You have built or bought a tiny house without taking on large, long-term debts. Perhaps you saved the money, sold a larger home or built the house gradually.

When you move in, you have no mortgage and very low fixed costs.

Now imagine that one of you earns an ordinary salary. Not an executive salary, not millions and not the profits from an international investment empire—just a normal income.

When a large part of that salary no longer disappears into interest payments, mortgage repayments, high energy bills and an oversized home, the money suddenly goes much further. The other person may be able to study, build a business, grow food, care for the family, work part-time or devote time to something meaningful without needing to maximise income immediately.

This does not mean that life becomes completely free of expenses. There will still be maintenance, insurance, internet, food, waste disposal, transport and possible taxes or fees. Solar panels eventually need replacing, and batteries do not last forever. Water must be handled hygienically, and wastewater solutions must comply with local regulations.

But there is an enormous difference between having a small number of controllable expenses and being forced to feed a large financial system every month.

Work No Longer Has to Decide Where We Live

The ability to work remotely is naturally preferable for this kind of life. It allows us to choose where we live according to quality of life rather than proximity to an office.

In our case, Boryana, who is a journalist, can write and work on her articles from home. Her most important working tools are her knowledge, contacts, computer, telephone and a stable internet connection. She does not need to sit in an expensive office in a large city every day to do her job.

In the same way, I can manage much of my project work remotely. Planning, communication, budgeting, research, coordination and problem-solving can all be handled from a desk in our small home. When my physical presence is required, I can travel to the project, do what needs to be done and then return to Bansko and the mountains.

This is not about giving up work. It is about changing the relationship between work and life.

Work no longer needs to be the fixed point around which everything else must be organised. Home, family and quality of life can become the starting point, while work is organised around them.

Perhaps you are a programmer, designer, consultant, writer, accountant, translator, teacher or content creator. Maybe you work in sales, administration or customer service. Many professions can now be practised entirely or partly remotely.

Or perhaps you do something completely different.

Maybe you run your own business in Bansko or in another nearby town or village. You could have a workshop, a shop, a restaurant, a construction company or another type of enterprise. Perhaps you grow produce, repair machinery or help people solve practical problems.

Who knows?

The point is that living in a tiny house does not require you to isolate yourself from society. On the contrary, you can be an active part of local life, work nearby and then return to the peace beside the river.

Anything becomes possible when housing costs no longer control every decision.

A Place Within Bansko Municipality

I no longer want the house to be somewhere—anywhere—in Europe. My vision has become more specific. I want this place to be within Bansko Municipality.

I want to wake up to the mountains every morning. I want to follow the way they change with the seasons: white in winter, green in spring, intense and vibrant in summer, and transformed by the colours of autumn.

I want to feel that we live in nature without being cut off from Bansko, its people, services, restaurants and the social life that already exists there.

A tiny house on wheels will stand on the land. Perhaps there will be two: one for our shared life and another serving as an office, guesthouse or home for a family member. Another possibility is a tiny house and a yurt connected by a large wooden deck.

The deck will become our shared space. It is where we will eat, work, talk and welcome friends. During summer, our lives will move outside. On colder days, the yurt will provide a warm and social room, while the well-insulated house will offer security, a kitchen, a bathroom and heating.

Nearby, there will be a greenhouse—not simply a symbolic greenhouse containing a few decorative plants, but a place where we grow tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, herbs and food we actually eat. Around it, there may be raised beds, fruit trees and perhaps a few chickens.

We will not become entirely self-sufficient from the first day. We may never become completely self-sufficient. The idea is often romanticised by people who have never tried to produce their own food throughout an entire year. It requires work, knowledge, planning and a continuous relationship with the weather, soil and seasons.

But every tomato we grow ourselves is a tomato whose origin we know. Every system we learn to understand makes us a little less dependent and a little more capable.

The Sun, the Water and Practical Life

There will be solar panels on the roof. The electricity will be stored in batteries and used thoughtfully. We may not need to run everything that people expect to run simultaneously in a conventional modern house. We will learn when the sun produces the most energy, how much electricity different appliances require and what is genuinely necessary.

Rainwater will be collected from the roofs and used where appropriate, for example in the garden and for other practical purposes. Drinking water could come from an approved well, a local connection or a tank that is filled when necessary. The final solution will depend on the location and the regulations that apply within the municipality.

The point is not to pretend that resources are free. The point is to understand them.

In an ordinary apartment, we press a button and the electricity comes on. We open a tap and water flows. We flush the toilet and the waste disappears. We rarely see the systems supporting our everyday lives.

In a small, more independent home, these connections become visible. How much water do we have? How much energy did the sun produce today? What can be reused? What needs repairing? What can we solve ourselves?

This does not only reduce costs. It also creates knowledge and respect.

A House on Wheels Is Also a Backup Plan

The wheels matter even if the house remains in the same place for many years. They represent the possibility of moving, changing and adapting.

This does not mean that a tiny house on wheels can be placed anywhere. Every country and municipality has its own rules concerning planning permission, permanent residence, wastewater, electricity, fire safety and vehicle dimensions. Anyone who wants to realise this idea must find out exactly what applies to that particular location.

But the principle is important: the home should serve the person. A person should not have to sacrifice an entire life in order to serve the home.

One Day I Will Live This Way

I do not know exactly when it will happen. The design may change several times. Perhaps there will be two tiny houses. Perhaps there will be a yurt and a small house with a large wooden deck between them. Maybe there will be a greenhouse like the ones in the images I save and return to.

But the location is becoming clear.

It will be within Bansko Municipality. There will be a small river or stream carrying water down from the mountains. I will be able to fish, lie in the hammock and wake up every morning with the mountains forming the backdrop outside our window.

I know that one day I will live this way with my Bulgarian family.

We will grow some of our own food. Boryana will be able to write her articles from home, and I will be able to manage much of my project work remotely. When we close our computers, the wooden deck, greenhouse, river and mountains will be waiting immediately outside our door.

We will understand our energy systems and know where our water comes from. We will repair what breaks and improve the place gradually. We will not have large mortgages or heavy monthly electricity and water bills. We will, however, have responsibilities, work and maintenance—the kind of work that builds something for ourselves.

For me, tiny-house living is not primarily about the number of square metres. It is about reducing the distance between the life you have and the life you genuinely want to live.

A smaller house can create a bigger life.

When debts disappear, fear begins to diminish. When costs fall, freedom of choice grows. When possessions become fewer, it becomes easier to see what really matters.

That is why I will always believe in tiny houses on wheels.

Not because I dream of living poorly, but because I want to live richly—with time, freedom of action, family, nature and the ability to decide how I live my own life.