I write this post from Porto, Portugal. After nearly two years of delay, we were finally able to take our trip abroad. So far it’s been fantastic. Portugal has exceeded any expectations I had of the country. My oldest daughter spent her 8th birthday wandering around castles and the narrow twisting cobbled streets of Lisbon. We haven’t been to Europe since 2012, the long delay in returning being a combination of waiting for our kids to get out of diapers and Latin America and Asia taking precedence for more recent vacations.

We’re all in backpacks too. Packing ultra light. Our second time doing so as a family of four and it’s been great being able to carry on our luggage rather than check in, especially for the sheer mobility it has allowed. Packing everything we’d need for two weeks into small backpacks has awakened a feeling that sometimes lingers within me, surfacing every few years like a forgotten memory adrift in my subconscious. It’s one of those feelings that’s hard to put a finger on or notice for fear it will slip away if I analyze it too much. Somehow travel taps in on it. I can still remember the day I first noticed this feeling in Madrid’s Atocha train station in 2010.

I was with my wife and newly wed, in fact we were on our honeymoon. We’d been on the road for just a few weeks and were waiting for the train that would take us to Malaga in the south. I couldn’t help but feel this deja vu sensation that kept tickling the back of my mind as we waited

I felt content. I had no idea where I would be in the next few hours and coming days, yet I felt extremely grateful for the uncertainty of it.

I was unknowingly holding onto a thread of my former military life. Pulling on it. Tugging at the strings of the past to find my way forward.

We didn’t have much. No house. No job. No kids, yet. Barely any money sat in our bank account, maybe ten thousand dollars. My only real asset was a depreciating one; a paid off small 2007 Nissan Frontier being stored at my parents house. It certainly wasn’t owning something that gave off this feeling of contented liberation. Nor a hefty amount of money in bank account.

Then I saw what was at our feet.

Two backpacks.

And for a moment I could put my finger on the source of my content before it whirred away into the intangible obscurity of my thoughts: simplicity.

It was that our entire lives were packed away into a 36 liter and 34 liter space, respectively. And I thought to myself, as I delicately held onto the moment with my finger tips; this is very similar to how things were for me in the Navy. The institution where you’re given a sea bag from the very start and told that everything you own must fit into a green canvas sack with your last name stenciled on the side. The sea bag is what you carry onboard a ship before it departs to destinations over the horizon, or when you check into new commands. Your life must fit in it.

It wasn’t like the Navy was a happy time for me. If anything, it was a time of stress and a feeling of having no control, little sleep, and working long, long hours into the night in steamy machinery rooms that heaved up and down with the sea. It’s really only later, like in the last couple years, that I’ve grown to appreciate my time in the Navy and look at the time with some nostalgia. I hated the Navy while I was in it, but I realize now it’s who I am.

As much as I hated my time in Navy, it did teach me about minimalism, without me knowing it. In boot camp when you arrive, they strip you down and you put all your civilian possessions into a bag to be mailed home. They even strip you of your hair. They strip you of any privacy you might have enjoyed, such as private showers or sleeping quarters and doors and partitions to the toilet. No material possessions really matter anymore in boot camp. You own nothing in boot camp. And when this inoculation is complete and I headed off to the fleet, the only personal items I could own and keep had to fit into the sea bag. There wasn’t much space for personal items when you considered all the uniforms a sailor must keep, there’s uniforms for summer and winter, dress and utility, coveralls and dungarees (the Navy has since luckily reduced the amount of uniforms these days).

I didn’t need much in the Navy. As the military will provide exactly what’s needed to survive, three square meals, a rack, and clothing; not to mention a meager paycheck. I was making about $400 a week back then. But more importantly, there’s no room even if I wanted to acquire more. The only space onboard a ship is a two foot tall locker for hanging some dress uniforms and a flat 4 inch tall space directly beneath my rack (bed).

When traveling became a part of my life soon after I was married, I was unknowingly emulating the minimalist lifestyle that life at sea can ingrain into an impressionable young man, such as my eighteen year old self. It might be one of the greatest feelings in the world to know that you can live a happy life with nothing more than a backpack filled with your things.

This knowledge that “things” don’t make me happy has done wonders for saving money over the years. Even before we went into the FIRE wormhole, we were naturally frugal when it came to purchasing objects. Living in an empty house, no rush to buy furniture to fill the hollow rooms that echoed when we spoke. Our process for buying furniture has been ultra slow. Yes, we have gently filled the spaces in our home as the needs have arisen, but it’s never been let’s buy it because we can afford it, or the room is empty let’s fill it, kind of thing.

So as the years have run on since our home purchase our house has filled up. Our garage in particular is almost to capacity. And it bothers me. We use our garage as the main point of entry into the house each day. And when I pass through the garage on the way out and in, I can’t help but feel a weight over me as I look at all the stuff that has found its way into my life now. My life, if measured by possessions, would take at least a 24’ moving truck to move it around. And what of these current possessions do I regularly use? Maybe 10% of it regularly. The rest just sits there taunting me.

It’s a far cry from when my life fit into a sea bag or 36 liter back pack.

That’s what happens in suburban America though, right? We buy things and we store these things. Even for a frugal guy like myself, I’ve been able to fill up my over sized 1,900 SF home because of time. Yes, I blame time. And there’s plenty of small ‘cheap’ things I purchased on a whim before I discovered FIRE. All of it adds up and I feel my possessions weighing me down like an anchor holding me in place.

I think of it as the Sea Bag Effect.

A blessing and a curse.

After having once lived life, for years, out of a bag, it’s hard to justify why having more things or having more space to store things makes life easier. I mean, yeah, when I want to go camping I have all my stuff sitting there yearning to be used on a mountain, or when something breaks I have tools ready and waiting. But I probably camp four times a year. I’ll just say 3 days average each trip. So that’s 12 days a year I use my camping gear. That’s 3% of a year I use camping goods that must be stored in my home untouched 97% of the time in a year.

That’s one example of the things in my garage. I have a 14’ canoe that takes up quite a bit of room, and maybe gets used a dozen times a year, but I love that canoe and I’m glad I have room to store it. My tools probably have a lower percentage use now that I’ve done a bit of fixing and good maintenance on the house.

Minimalism has a way of holding onto you once it’s been lived. I’m not saying its the right way to live, but having your life broken down to a few items, helps put things into focus and order. It’s like having a baseline in life in which to judge what will make you happy. It scars you in a good way. Now that I know I don’t need things to make me happy, things just tend to get in the way and make life more complex than it needs to be.

I know that most likely buying a new material item will not make me happier. Once and a while I buy something I use regularly and enjoy to the max for years, but I can admit to myself that it’s rare. And to be honest I’m coming up blank trying to think of something, maybe my PS4 which we use to watch tv and movies daily. A few pairs of comfortable clothes. That’s probably it. Everything else is a necessity purchase and doesn’t truly make me happier, such as my vehicle. Or something used sporadically, like my canoe and Weber grill and smoker.

This sort of thinking helps me spend less money. It’s probably how my wife and I slipped so easily into saving 50% of our after tax income.

Back to my recent travel with my family.

The funny thing is that I’ve spent more this month than I have in any other month this year. But surprisingly not much more. It just feels like way more because I’ve spent on things I normally don’t spend on back home. I’ll do a detailed write up later on the costs of the trip.

Frugality has taught me to spend on what I love. And so I have. No amount of saving aggressively will get me this experience that I’m enjoying right now. ‘Right now’, being time with my young kids learning about other cultures and food abroad (it’s been a surprisingly educational experience for my kids, learning about the Age of Discovery, wine making, and the world in general). Yes, I could have continued hunkering down and saving till my FI number is just right, but how old would my kids be then? The moment would be lost. For what? To hit a fluctuating number on a computer screen sooner?

No thanks. The experience of now is worth way more than saving hardcore with my eyes closed till my number is hit.

When I get back home I have ASA 101 sailing lessons booked for me and Mrs. Disengaged. Sailing? But that’s not frugal or living the FIRE life. I’d agree that it’s not cheap. My wife and I have talked for some time about one day taking lessons to see if we’d enjoy it. We aren’t spending on any material possession, but on an experience and learning a skill. My wife is prone to sea sickness, so sailing may be a short lived experiment, but it’s one I’m willing to pay for. Plus, living so close to San Francisco Bay, I think I’d like to know I’ve sailed that bay once in my life.

When I FIRE will we be able to take sailing lessons? Maybe, but our spending will be much tighter. I think I’d much rather have this experience now, in my home waters, while my income is “high” and we aren’t concerned with preserving a sum of money that will hopefully last me my entire life.

This trip to Europe has only reinforced my flame for saving hardcore and reaching our goal of financial independence. Ironic how it takes a bit of spending, doing the opposite action of reaching the goal, to reinvigorate the need and want for the goal.

What about you? Have you ever thought about the things that truly make you happy in life and how often you use them? Have you ever lived minimally or tried to?