One Year

It’s been one year since I moved back to the US. In the past year, I started a job, quit that job, started another job, quit that job, started a company, made a lot of mistakes, and learned more than I ever thought possible.

A year ago, I had little confidence in my ability to generate gainful income for myself. My meager net assets could vanish on a market whim. I would cry myself to sleep every night because I had no viable alternatives to the job that I hated. How will I be able to earn a living without the support of a soulless corporation? I wondered.

I was asking the wrong question.

I spent most of last year homeless –- living in a tent, or in my car, or on the office couch. I quite like homelessness because it limits the amount of crap I can accumulate in my life. Friends stop associating with me because I’m gross. Without relationships to people or stuff, I don’t really have much need for income.

The question I should have been asking all along: Do I need $000,000s to be happy?

Part of getting older is learning what’s actually worth worrying about. I still don’t know if I’ll ever be able to consistently generate my own income. Until “shiftless bum” becomes a marketable profession, probably not. But I do know that I will be just fine regardless.

Confidence comes when we know the answers to the right questions.

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