On the pleasures of wealth, the freedom to choose, and a rather unconventional retirement.
WEALTHSERPENT | FROM THE JOURNAL | REFLECTION
There are many excellent reasons to become wealthy. Comfort is one. Security is another. The ability to travel without consulting one's bank account, purchase something beautiful simply because it is beautiful, or enjoy an expensive dinner without a second thought all have their appeal. I have never understood the peculiar insistence that money cannot buy happiness. It can certainly purchase a great many things that make happiness easier to pursue. Among its more attractive offerings, however, is something considerably less glamorous: time.
Time to pursue an interest without wondering whether it might become profitable. Time to linger over breakfast, read a book, travel, or spend an afternoon doing absolutely nothing of consequence. Time to decide how a day will unfold, and the freedom to change one's mind halfway through it. It is a luxury that rarely receives the same attention as the things we can photograph, display, or park in the driveway.
Two years ago, my partner and I sold nearly everything we owned and began living on the road. We had reached a point where the conventional structure of our lives no longer suited us, and the prospect of doing something entirely different was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. There was no dramatic revelation behind the decision. We weren't fleeing careers in disgust or attempting to make some grand statement about consumerism. We simply wanted to travel, experience new places, and enjoy more of our lives together while we were young enough to do so with enthusiasm. The idea of waiting until our sixties held little appeal. I have nothing against retirement at sixty-five, provided one wishes to work until sixty-five. Plenty of people find enormous satisfaction in their careers, and some would be miserable without the structure and purpose their work provides. Others enjoy building businesses, accumulating investments, or pursuing professional ambitions that demand considerable time. There is something admirable about creating wealth through ingenuity, discipline, and persistence.
We happened to want something different.
Selling our belongings was an interesting exercise in determining what we actually valued. There were things we parted with easily, others that required some consideration, and a surprising number whose absence we scarcely noticed. Possessions are curious that way. They can become so familiar that we forget whether we still enjoy having them. Once we were on the road, life took on a different rhythm. We could stay somewhere because we liked it, leave because we were curious about the next place, or change our plans entirely. We had the opportunity to discover how we preferred to spend our days when those days weren't arranged around the usual obligations. Travel, of course, has a talent for making itself appear more romantic in retrospect. There are practical inconveniences, unexpected expenses, and moments when the novelty of constant movement becomes considerably less charming. Freedom doesn't eliminate responsibility. It merely gives you a greater say in which responsibilities you are willing to accept. Still, we loved it. For two years, the road was our home. Eventually, we began entertaining the idea of having somewhere to settle, a place of our own where we could enjoy a different kind of freedom.
Today, we live on a piece of land in a small A-frame. We work part-time jobs, enjoy our surroundings, and have built a life that suits us rather well. At thirty-five and forty, we consider ourselves semi-retired, although I suspect our arrangement would puzzle anyone who associates retirement exclusively with substantial portfolios and afternoons at the country club. I don't mind. There are worse things than being misunderstood while enjoying your Tuesday.
Our version of retirement still involves work. It involves planning, maintaining our home, considering expenses, and making sensible decisions about the future. We haven't discovered some extraordinary loophole in the economics of existence. We simply arranged our circumstances so that employment occupies a smaller portion of our lives. The result is a balance we find deeply satisfying. There is pleasure in working when work no longer consumes the greater part of your attention. There is pleasure in having a home that feels like yours without requiring an elaborate lifestyle to maintain it. And there is considerable pleasure in discovering that you can enjoy a very good life without organizing every decision around earning more.
That last observation requires some explanation, particularly from someone who spends a great deal of time thinking and writing about wealth.
I like wealth. I admire people who create it, enjoy learning how fortunes are built, and find the history of money, power, and ambition endlessly fascinating. The world would be considerably duller without the grand estates, extraordinary collections, ambitious enterprises, and occasional magnificent absurdities made possible by substantial fortunes. There would also be considerably less for WealthSerpent to write about. I have no interest in pretending that a small cabin is morally superior to a mansion. Given the right circumstances, I could probably enjoy both. What interests me is the freedom to choose. For some, wealth means a substantial investment portfolio and the satisfaction of watching it grow. For others, it means building an enterprise, supporting a family across generations, collecting art, traveling extensively, or enjoying the finest things life has to offer. For us, at this particular stage of our lives, it means having enough financial flexibility to work part-time, live somewhere we love, and spend the rest of our hours as we please.
I see no contradiction in admiring great wealth while being content with a relatively modest lifestyle. Wealth is valuable precisely because it expands the range of possibilities available to us. The difficulty arises when we become so accustomed to pursuing a particular version of success that we forget to consider whether it is the version we actually want. It is easy to inherit ambitions without examining them. We grow up surrounded by ideas about what a successful life should look like. A respectable career, a substantial income, a beautiful home, the appropriate possessions, and eventually a comfortable retirement. There is nothing objectionable about any of these things. They are perfectly reasonable aspirations, and for many people they produce genuine happiness. But there is a difference between wanting something and assuming one ought to want it. I have met people whose enthusiasm for their work is infectious, who would continue building businesses or practicing their professions even if they never needed another dollar. I understand them. There is a particular satisfaction in pursuing something that captures your imagination. I also understand the appeal of leisure, and I see no reason to apologize for it.
Somewhere along the way, we developed a strange tendency to treat being busy as evidence of importance. Full calendars and long working hours are often presented as signs of a meaningful existence. Leisure, meanwhile, must be justified through productivity, self-improvement, or the promise that it will somehow make us better workers. Even our hobbies are encouraged to become businesses. I find that rather exhausting. There is a wonderful freedom in doing something for no reason beyond enjoying it. Reading without taking notes. Traveling without creating an itinerary designed to maximize every waking hour. Learning something without considering its professional application. Spending time with the person you love without feeling that you ought to be accomplishing something else. A life can be full without being relentlessly occupied. Our little A-frame has given us the opportunity to appreciate this in a way that feels particularly tangible. We have land around us, a home that suits our needs, and enough room in our schedules to enjoy both. The ordinary details of daily life have become pleasures in themselves. I have developed a particular fondness for mornings that belong entirely to us. There is no great extravagance involved. We wake, attend to whatever needs doing, and allow the day to take shape. Sometimes we work. Sometimes we have plans. Sometimes there is very little that requires our attention, and we are perfectly content to leave it that way.
I suspect there are people with considerably greater financial resources who would find this arrangement unappealing. They might prefer a busy social calendar, the excitement of running a company, or the stimulation of a demanding career. Fair enough. I would hardly expect everyone to share our taste in homes, either. The point of having options is that we are free to exercise them differently. And that, I think, is one of the more interesting aspects of wealth. Its value is intensely personal. A million dollars means something very different to someone who dreams of founding a company than it does to someone who wants to travel indefinitely. A large estate might represent the culmination of one person's ambitions and an intolerable maintenance obligation to another. Even the meaning of retirement varies according to temperament, circumstance, and desire. Money can provide the means, but it cannot make these decisions for us. We still have to know ourselves well enough to choose.
Our own choices have come with trade-offs, as all worthwhile choices do. Working part-time means earning less than we might otherwise earn. Living in a small home means accepting its limitations. We remain responsible for our future financial security, and there may come a time when our circumstances or preferences change. I am comfortable with that uncertainty. At our age, we have no way of knowing precisely what the coming decades will bring. Perhaps we will eventually want a larger home, different work, more travel, or a new venture that demands more of our time. Perhaps our financial ambitions will grow alongside our interests. I hope we always retain the curiosity to change our minds. For now, however, I find myself unusually content with the arrangement. We have experienced the freedom of the open road and the pleasure of finding somewhere to settle. We have learned that we enjoy a life with fewer possessions, more flexibility, and work that leaves us ample time for other pursuits. We have also learned that contentment needn't extinguish ambition. There are still things we want to create, places we want to visit, and experiences we hope to have.
The difference is that we have become more deliberate about what deserves our time.
0 comments