I love that the FIRE blogging community makes our health a priority. It's clear that taking responsibility for your finances goes hand in hand with taking responsibility for your physical well being. I take voyeuristic pleasure in reading prominent bloggers' accounts of milestone physical achievements, and share their vulnerability when they confess their dietary indiscretions to a readership that identifies with those struggles.
Like many of us in the FI blogging space, Mr. Money Mustache is the reason my blog exists. I've never met Pete, but by all accounts he seems like a charismatic and responsible human being, and I have great affection for the cult he's created. Still, something on his blog has gnawed at me for years, and I'd like to air it out.
Second in a series of woulda shoulda couldas. Picks up where the last post left off.
Two Story vs. One Story
To get the large square footage we sought, he had to opt for a two story home. This is fine assuming youth and health. Stairs are problematic. They present a constant hazard to infants and toddlers early in parenthood (not to mention primary school kids who insist on wearing socks on hardwood as they race downstairs). Just when your kids are old enough to stop worrying you, aging parents visit with bum knees or on anticoagluants that make stairs hazardous all over again.
When I moved from Boston to LA in 2005, everything was coming up roses. I was dating a woman whose presence had suddenly transformed my life from black and white to color, and we were moving in together (spoiler alert: I married her). I’d found us an apartment that was a nine block walk to the beach. I’d landed a great job at a highly-regarded community hospital where several friends worked in the ED. My wife joined me at the beach apartment a couple of months later, and out of thin air drummed up five interviews and multiple job offers by the following month. We felt unstoppable.
The Happy Philosopher, a radiologist whose thoughts on life routinely serve as inspiration for his readers and fellow bloggers alike, began an interesting experiment at the start of this year. He initially made a public declaration that he’d buy no clothes for the year. Reconsidering it a few days later, he grew more ambitious and decided that (excluding a limited, prospectively determined list of items) he planned to buy nothing at all for one year.
When he posted his initial declaration not to buy clothes for a year, it got me thinking. I meandered over to our master walk-in closet, whose square footage exceeds the size of my senior single dorm room from college. I recalled exchanging awkward glances with my wife when we saw the closet on the day we moved in, both of us slightly embarrassed at all this space we were certain we’d never use. Eight years after moving in, the closet was full.
Financial Literacy for The Newly Minted Physician