THE POSTSCRIPT, Carrie Classon

Last week, we thought we would leave our little place in Casa de los Soles.

If you’ve read my column, you know about this place my husband, Peter, and I stay in while in Mexico. The interior of our apartment will set you right back to the 1980s. The Formica countertop has seen better days. I write in a corner of the living room and have exactly 6 inches between the back of my office chair and the end of the couch. Peter measured our apartment, and it is 400 square feet—and that includes a rather large bedroom.

So, last week, we decided to look around for a place with a little more space. We told our landlord, Jorge, we were thinking about doing this, and he said he understood, and we went looking at apartments.

We did not make it easy on ourselves. In addition to loving this particular place, we love the neighborhood it is in, and the street it is on, so our circle of investigation was small. When we heard of an apartment for rent just a block away and on the same street, we were very excited.

The apartment was much bigger. It had a fireplace and a rooftop terrace. It had two bedrooms and a full dining room. It would need a little work, but we were very excited. We met with the landlord two days later.

But later that night, I started to think about what we would have to do to live in that apartment. There was nothing on the walls. There was not a lot of furniture. The couch looked a little worse for wear. The furniture on the roof needed replacement. None of it was big stuff, but it added up.

We’d have to pay an electric bill. If we wanted housekeeping, we’d have to figure that out and pay for it. We’d have to get our water and our gas delivered. We’d have to get the garbage out on the curb on the right days at the right time—which, in the center of an old town with cobblestone, one-way streets, is not as easy as it sounds.

I lay in bed that night and thought of all the things I don’t have to worry about now, like having regular internet and a front desk that will accept our deliveries and someone on staff if we ever have a medical emergency.

Then I thought about the things that give me such joy here: the lively restaurant below, which will deliver lunch right to our door. The staff that will store my computer monitor and my clothes and take them out again when we arrive. The bouquet of flowers that is always waiting for me when we check in. The going-away party that the entire staff throws for Peter and me when we leave at the end of the season. And the kindness of Jorge, our landlord who, whenever we have a request, no matter how unusual, will say, “Certainly!”

I thought of how very easy my life was in 400 square feet, how free of worries, and of how much writing I had accomplished sitting at my little green Formica desk with the fresh flowers in front of me.

I talked to Jorge the next day. “We love this place too much to leave!” I told him. And I felt tearful.

Then I looked with fresh eyes at my 400 square feet and realized there was a lot I could do in this space. Because right now, 400 square feet is more than enough.

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