While the 2022 bear market viciously mauls my portfolio, I’ve made a pretty conscious effort not to look at my net worth during the last few weeks. I handled the 2020 bear market pretty well, though back then FIRE seemed so far away and the Bear attack so fast—over before I knew it. And the other bear market, 2008, was brutal, but my net worth was the last thing on my 25 year old mind back then. Now that I’m under three years away from my planned escape date, this interruption to my nest egg feels a bit more dangerous. So I close my eyes and invest in equities, because that’s all I can do. And because there are no better options to put my money to work for my future self.

Yeah, I know. I’m getting a deal right now. Stocks are on sale. When the S&P returns to its January 2022 high, whenever that is, I’ll be pretty close to 75% to my FI range; all because of investing during the downturn. But this isn’t the reason why I decided to sit down and write a post.

Not looking at my net worth during this bear market has turned out be a good thing. Neglecting my blog–dare I say, happily disengaged from blog writing? Has had the same effect. Though with this post, its time to re-engage.

I’ve allowed my job to be my excuse for not bothering to check my net worth. I’ve allowed my job to fill my days and carry away my mind with it. In other words, I’m busy with work. And this ‘busy work’ is like a drug. I pop this busy pill every day and it eases the anxiety and want I have for other, grander and audacious things; like travel full time, or writing a book, or any of the other things I harbor deep inside and want to do before I die.

For now this is my life:

Awake at 4am. On the road by 5am. A busy construction site in a busy downtown with a busy tower crane swinging rebar around. Arguments. Problems. Solving said problems and before I know it I’m home and the sun is flirting with the western horizon. The rest is a blur: dinner making, homework checking the kids, zoning out on a show with my wife a few feet away on the couch. Till I find that luscious pillow of mine, lay my head down, and close my burning eyes. A blink is all I get and my alarm goes off.

Repeat till Saturday morning.

It’s not all bad, but like I said, this busy shit is truly like a drug. There’s a numbing haze that fills the edge of this working money making big decision world. The intoxication of it embraces my body in its gentle caring arms the way a joint of purple indica blunts the sharp edges of life.

I can easily get stuck and wake up thirty years from now if I want to. If I just let go and allow the current to take me. It would be so easy to forget FIRE now that my job has taken on a greater role. My first real job since the pandemic started.

The good thing is I know this busy intoxication I get from being a boss at work is a trap. I want more from life than what this made up hierarchy at work gives me. I want more than a status. More than a steady paycheck…actually, it’s not more I want out of life.

It’s less.

Much less.

For most of my life; from a young adult and up until quite recently I wanted more. More money. More responsibility. More possessions. More experiences. I can list a parade of things, but it’s summed up as More. If there was a way to get more, I wanted it. This equated to success to me, and so I pursued trying to get my hands on as much as possible. The more I took on the better I seemed to become. The more rounded out as an adult I felt. Taking on more also meant I was paid more.

This was the path. Do more get more.

But as I hit my 39th year, I’m beginning to question if this chasing for more is the answer.

I’ve landed in a place where my plate is pretty full. I used to think, back in my naive twenties, that I was busy. But I had no idea what that word meant till kids came into the picture. And even more so now that the kids are turning into full fledged humans with opinions and wants of their own. I can no longer just tote them around and make sure they aren’t crying while continuing on with my life. Both my daughters want things. My wife also wants things. And to top it off, I want things too. Somehow we mash these wants together and forge forward as one unit. It works, mostly. It can be challenging, as the father of this unit, to navigate the knife edge of happiness in a household full of females. But we make it work.

This full plate of mine is portioned off as one might separate foods on a dinner plate at a buffet line. A great analogy is to say that I’ve been at the buffet line for the last 39 years, diligently adding to my plate. I’ve perused the different foods available to me and picked what I’ve wanted…I still want more, yet I only have one plate to keep all my food on. So I go sit down and eat, all the while thinking about the sushi I passed up on because I had no room on my plate.

Every single day is stuffed with things that must be taken care of because they are my responsibility. Whether its work related, family related, or home maintenance related. All of it takes energy and focus. And when I’m working on one of the three, the others are bouncing around in my head causing havoc on my thoughts. As I type away at this piece, I have the nagging urge to put the computer away and go to Lowes to match paint for my walls before the place gets busy. I also know I have to get grocery shopping done this morning, so I can have food for lunch. This sort of thing never ends.

Looking forward towards the next decade of my life, I don’t think adding more to my life is sustainable or healthy. There comes a time when subtraction is the answer. I think I’ve hit this point in my life.

I can add more to my life, not by acquiring things, but by subtracting things. This bear market has strangely shown me that.

I’ve learned to let the lawn grow. If there’s some fun to be had with the family on a Saturday, I’m more inclined to neglect my lawn, rake the leaves, clean the house, organize the garage; or any number of ‘not important to my life’ type of chore that impedes on family time. After all, I only have nine more years with my oldest before she’s off to college…or whatever she decides to do once she’s eighteen. But my limited resource, time, is feeling much more limited these days and I can add to it only by doing less. By taking on less I gain more time.

It’s time for less.

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