Our Unconventional Journey: Living in the Garage

Faced with a major rent hike, my husband and I opted for an unconventional living arrangement. For nearly two years, we resided in his mother's garage, shelling out only $250 a month.

This garage bore no resemblance to the chic transformations one might find on social media. It featured bare concrete floors, cobwebs nestled in the rafters, visible insulation, and space heaters strategically placed to combat the frigid winters of Utah in 2022-2023, notorious for its record snowfall.

Choosing this path wasn't a romantic notion, nor was it a bold move; it felt like our sole opportunity to possibly own something of our own in the future.

Breaking the Rent Cycle

When our duplex rent threatened to leap by over 50% as our lease ended during the Memorial Day weekend of 2022, staying in the rental grind seemed fruitless. It was akin to endlessly spinning in circles, trying to save enough for a home payment.

Our solution was the garage— the only space on offer at my mother-in-law's home. Paying a small monthly fee allowed us to allocate an extra $1,500 towards tackling student loans and boosting our financial reserves.

Despite its barely livable state, we strove to make it more inviting. We began by pressure cleaning every nook, removing rodent remnants, and bleaching all the surfaces.

Adding touches of comfort, we laid down a donated large rug and positioned a few second-hand sofas. House plants found a home in every corner, while a makeshift closet was crafted from racks purchased online.

Holiday spirit brought a sprinkle of festivity. We decorated, and the television played faux fireplace scenes, adding a touch of warmth, if only in visuals.

Facing the Inevitable Housing Market

Our story isn't solitary; it's part of a larger, disheartening tapestry. In Summit County, the median house price soared to $1.7 million around January, topping the state's charts. Aiming for the $450,000 bracket still seemed ambitious.

Moving to a more affordable locale wasn't appealing—leaving behind tight community ties and family hopes wasn't a trade we were prepared for.

Growing up in a large Mormon family as the eldest of six provided abundant love and meals but little in substantial financial boosts for future home-buying.

Yet, my husband and I dreamed of nurturing roots in his childhood town—continuing a family farm legacy, raising children, and indulging in serene nights on a porch with views of the Uinta Mountains.

Our dream came at the price of cold morning starts and strict budgeting, abandoning minor indulgences like dining out or enjoying coffee on the go.

Garage Life: The Realities

Sharing a single large room with our possessions piled high felt suffocating at times.

There were nights when I'd gaze up at the overhead garage door tracks and question our sanity. Was our sacrifice meaningful? Quite often, the truthful response was a doubtful "I'm not sure."

Occasionally, I'd feel a sense of shame, dressing nicely for the office from second-hand shops while hiding what seemed like personal shortcomings. Outwardly, we appeared to have it together.

Unbeknownst to colleagues, we spent evenings cuddled with our Bernese mountain dog, not from habitual affection, but for warmth. Many tears were shed in that cozy yet cramped space pondering how we'd advance to more comfortable living. Despite adding countless plants, survival was the prevailing sentiment.

After a year and a half, a move to stay with another family member offered more comfort and room.

The Outcome and the Future

Enduring garage life resulted in slashing $15,000 from debts and saving sufficiently for a down payment on a modest plot. We're now setting our sights on constructing a humble abode—more feasible than springing for supposedly "affordable" homes in our vicinity.

Local residents are increasingly squeezed out by incoming retirees, second homeowners, and transient rentals, changing the town's landscape. It's a common plight in charming, small towns.

We're not alone—many make similar sacrifices, perhaps living in cellars, transforming sheds, or moving back with parents. Downsizing becomes the hope for a more secure and pleasant future.

Though it's both humbling and at times mortifying, it's also a sliver of optimism, a wager that maybe, just maybe, it will lead to a sanctuary that feels like home.