Contentment – Living The FIgh Life

Cashing In On Memory Dividends

My wife and I are celebrating our 35th wedding anniversary this year (and 38 years of being a couple). While on a public ferry in Luxor, Egypt we quizzed each other on the many other ferry boats we had ridden together. We each remembered examples the other hadn’t. It was a fun walk down memory lane from the British Columbia ferry we rode on our honeymoon to a recent public row boat from the cities of Rabat to Salé across the Bou Regreg river in Morocco [see photo above].

In another example, my Uncle Dave (on my wife’s side) passed away recently. When reminiscing about what a great uncle he was with Aunt Bonnie (his wife), I pulled up my photos on my laptop of Uncle Dave using our photo software face recognition feature. Aunt Bonnie and I had a lovely moment together reminiscing and celebrating her husband’s life and how he had been a part of our lives.

In each of these examples we were cashing in on our memory dividends. And by doing it with someone close, we enjoyed it even more.

The power of compounding is an important part of a financial plan. Over many years (decades) interest and dividends earned from investments grows exponentially and can outgrow the original amount invested. Memory dividends work similarly and I would argue are more important investments than our financial ones. We have the opportunity to create lasting memories everyday with ourselves and with our friends and family. But often we could do better in taking the time to cement them in our memories so we don’t forgo opportunities to enjoy them later.

Here are a few ideas to help maximize our memory dividends—both for making them and for cashing them in.

Invest in Close Long-Term Relationships (and cash in on those investments regularly)

Having hundreds of “friends” on social media is not the same as having several close friends (and family) that you invest quality time with. While Facebook attempts to leverage the power of memory dividends by frequently reminding us of our old posts (which often make me smile), it misses the bigger point of building long-term, real human relationships.

I have known my oldest friend since the 5th grade. Other than a year as college roommates, we haven’t lived near each other for going on 40 years. But we have worked to stay connected through letters (yes, before email), phone calls, and hanging out when visiting back home. Looking to invest even more in our friendship, we created a new tradition in 2011. Each year since (COVID excepted) we have enjoyed a long weekend in a city somewhere around the country to see a football or baseball game together. The game is an excuse—we just hang out and catch up on the world and each other. We joke about our joint high school graduation speech that I screwed up, reminisce about our time in college, analyse our favorite sports teams, and share about our kids whom we both know so well. We invest in each other and we cash in on our memories together.

With my best friend at our first annual game weekend together (Lambeau Field) — with my inexpensive watch

I now similarly connect with my family and other close friends. As a full-time world traveler, I have numerous scheduled video calls each week with family and friends to help keep these connections strong when I am far away. When I am back in the US, I spend months visiting with family and friends—making new memories and cashing in on the dividends from these long-term relationships.

Investing the vast majority of our limited time into our closest relationships provides the highest return in memory dividends.

Divest of middling and casual relationships.

When I became a minimalist, I divested of the physical possessions and tasks that did not support my top values. This meant letting go of things I liked but were preventing me from achieving what I wanted to do the most. It changed who I was.

Likewise I divested of relationships that were preventing me from fully focusing on the close family and friends I wanted to invest more in. When I retired early, I discovered that most of my work friends were just that—friends at work. Once I stopped working, these friendships quickly dissipated as they were not built on a deep human connection, but one of a temporary nature to fulfill a professional need. To be clear, I am happy to answer a phone call, email, text message, or chat during a chance encounter, but I no longer proactively invest in peripheral relationships. Instead, I redirect my limited resources into more meaningful long-term relationships—with a focus on spending quality time in person.

We need to be careful not to spread ourselves too thin and inadvertently starve the relationships that mean the most to us.

Make The Day-To-Day A Little More Memorable

While it is easier to recount fabulous vacations to exotic places like Egypt, the Grand Canyon, or other exciting and photo-worthy destinations, don’t forget to make memories in your day-to-day life. Having a weekly family game night, pancakes on Sunday mornings, frequent local camping trips, and time reading books aloud together all helped mark our time spent together with family and friends. For example, to make our family staycations more fun and memorable, our family of four each took charge of a day. During each person’s day they made a meal, picked a place to eat out and decided on the entertainment for the day which varied to include, board games, bake-offs, museums, movies, lots of hikes, and once even an escape room. One person was in charge and the rest of the family agreed to happily follow (reducing decision fatigue!). We started this tradition when our kids were a bit older and we made fabulous memories that we enjoy reliving together.

Results of our family bake-off. Mine came in last (far right) despite including a bribe of a fine whiskey in the middle.

Take Photos and Look at Them

We tend to take a lot of photos of our time on vacation, when our children are young, and at big events (weddings, graduations, holidays, and sporting events). But we often don’t take a photo of playing a board game together, sharing a home-cooked meal, or of a walk together along the neighborhood trails. Don’t let the memories of the enjoyment of day-to-day life go undocumented. Having a lot of great photos is one thing, but looking at them is another.

If you were born before 1980, you probably have a sizable portion of your photos as hard copies—my wife and I certainly did. Scanning in over 7,000 pics was a lot of work, but well worth it. Now our pictures are always with us and we can easily search by date, topic, location, or face. My dad was recently on my mind (he passed away from Alzheimer’s in 2024), so even though I was abroad, I pulled up my photos of him to remind me.

We have looked at and shared these old photos more in the last 18 months than we had in the last 20 years! When we start reminiscing with our family and friends we are quick to share photos of those times together.

With my Dad in 1996, well before the effects of Alzheimer’s took hold of him. (from my old hard copy photos I scanned)

Reminisce

We can strengthen our memories through recall. We can certainly do this ourselves. I keep a list of all of the books I have read (at least the books I could remember when I made the list in 2009). I enjoy being reminded of the stories and concepts as I occasionally peruse the list. Keeping a journal can help. I have long-resisted keeping a diary or journaling. Honestly it sounded hokey. But my wife journals everyday and I have come to appreciate its value. She keeps a simple record of where we were, who we saw, what we did and ate each day. It has been invaluable in helping us cash in on memory dividends.

Reminiscing alone is certainly good, but doing it with family and friends compounds the memory dividends as you help each other remember even more than you would by yourself and we get to enjoy them together. This can be done in many ways. My wife and I created a list of how we celebrated our wedding anniversaries each year and of the plays we have seen together. We keep a small box of “What we are grateful for” that we bring out each Thanksgiving. We enjoy reading what we wrote from years past and we complete a new card, investing for future memory dividends.

Quizzes help us learn school materials and they can be a fun game with family and friends to help us reminisce together and strengthen our memories. My daughter is great at coming up with fun quizzes (our favorite camping spot?, favorite food on vacation?, our favorite home exchange?, and so on) that get us all sharing fun memories together. We will often quiz each other at the end of a vacation which helps cement our memories and starts cashing in on our memory dividends we just made—no need to wait!

Investing in memories and cashing in on them isn’t about living in the past. It is about enjoying your life today with those closest to you and building a life of contentment. Make new memories AND make time to cash in on these memory investments with family and friends.

The More of Minimalism

Minimalism has had a profoundly positive impact on my life. I’m healthier and calmer, I have more time and flexibility with money, and I’m more content overall. In an effort to share why I have chosen a minimalist life and why it is so rewarding to me, here are my eight benefits of being a minimalist:

1. More Time to Focus on What I Value

Minimalism helped me focus on my highest priorities. By getting rid of the physical things from activities that were not my highest priorities (e.g., canning equipment, guitar and musical gear, biking gear, and old collections), I was able to shift the pieces of time spent on each of these lower-priority pursuits to my more important priorities. I now have more time to travel, be with family and friends, take care of myself, be outdoors, and follow my curiosity.

By pursuing these top priorities and letting go of the rest, I found I didn’t need 98% of my belongings and I became a different person in the process. The exact percentage isn’t important—the number will vary from person to person—but I think almost everyone’s personal belongings will significantly decrease when we focus on only those priorities that truly matter to us and let go of all the stuff belonging to lower priorities. Now I spend a lot less time researching, buying, repairing, cleaning, and disposing of stuff I don’t need. This provides me an enormous amount of time to do what I value most.

I also save time managing all that stuff. During my years as an active duty military member, I moved houses 13 times in 20 years. By my 5th move, I had 5 sets of heavy-duty metal shelving for garage or basement storage and 6 sets of tall plastic shelves for closets, utility rooms, and attic storage. Every move I would spend hours (days?) getting our 17,000 lbs of possessions stacked and stored. Many of the boxes I never even opened between moves, but often shuffled them around to reach other boxes. I would frequently open and dig through numerous boxes trying to find something I thought I had—wasting valuable time. When I got rid of all that stuff, I reclaimed my time.

More time for camping (Flathead Lake Montana)

2. More Money to Focus on What I Value

Similar to freeing up time to do what I value most, minimalism frees up thousands of dollars to invest or spend on the things I value most. Minimalism has freed me from the desire for more stuff to manage, clean, organize, and store. I no longer buy souvenirs or collectibles. I don’t buy new clothes for each season. I don’t buy in bulk or because an item is on sale. I also don’t need to buy storage bins, shelves, dressers, and the myriad of other things I used to organize and store all that stuff. Instead of spending money on the latest single-use kitchen gadget, electronic upgrade that I don’t need (or want), or containers to hold them, I redirect those monies toward charity, family and friends, travel, our early retirement, and the other experiences and hobbies I value the most.

3. More Physical and Mental Whitespace

My excess stuff added visual and mental noise to my life. My possessions demanded to be cleaned, fixed, maintained, used, and sold. Not only did my stuff take up my time and clutter my space, it also cluttered my mind with a constant stream of “shoulds”—a mental to-do list if you will. As I became a minimalist and decreased the amount of stuff I owned, I also freed myself from these numerous unwanted mental conversations. It was calming and mentally quieter.

With my few remaining possessions I had the mental conversations I did want to have. I can say yes more often to the books I want to read, yes to more travel, and yes to more quality time with family and friends. Likewise, by letting go of lower-priority commitments, I gained invaluable whitespace between my remaining activities—time to reflect, rest, and recharge.

I now dedicate a portion of time to doing nothing—to let my mind rest. Our brains need downtime to process all of the inputs that we feed it everyday. Having time to meditate, walk in nature, or just be is crucial to our mental well-being. I have learned to say yes to my health!

4. More Calm

Choosing to focus only on my top priorities freed my schedule. I no longer stress about getting from one activity to the next or having to choose between the multitude of tasks demanding to be completed. By letting go of our two cars, for example, I let go of my driving-induced stressed persona. I disliked who I became when driving in traffic—trying to will lights and other drivers to accommodate my tight schedule. It was stress I didn’t need. Now, when I do need to drive, I build in extra time, so I can mitigate many of the potential stressors of navigating the roads with my fellow humans. By reducing and focusing my commitments, I am able to build in extra time in my schedule that results in fewer activity conflicts, fewer tight transportation connections, far less stress, and much more calm

5. More Flexibility

Having less stuff means more flexibility to do what I want and live where I want. In my old life, I had to pass over several great rental houses because my family’s 17,000 lbs of stuff just wouldn’t fit. So I ended up with more expensive and less desirable houses. But now as a minimalist, I have increased flexibility and choices. I can easily move apartments if the rent is raised too high or the owner decides not to renew my lease. I don’t need a large moving van and crew of packers and movers to move my stuff. A minivan will do the trick if moving locally or a small low-cost self-loaded U-Haul box if I am moving farther.

This benefit is particularly useful as a full-time nomadic traveler. I only have a carry-on suitcase because I don’t need many clothes and I don’t want physical souvenirs. So I rarely pay for or deal with checked baggage. My backpack and suitcase are easy to carry on public transportation, up steps, or across bumpy terrain. They are easy to pack and unpack as we move from location to location.

As a minimalist, I easily adapt to the leanly-stocked short-stay accommodations. My apartment in Chiang Mai, Thailand, for example, only has two plates, two spoons, two forks, two wine glasses, two tumblers, etc. My wife and I don’t need more. I am content to wash these few dishes each day and enjoy the calm of the uncluttered space. Minimalism has increased my freedom.

We can easily move our remaining belongings at a moments notice

6. More Kindness to My Heirs

Every possession comes with an IOU. A future debt of time to care for and responsibly dispose of the item. Having a lot fewer possessions greatly reduces the workload shifted to your loved ones when you pass away. It took my wife and I many months to sell, donate, or otherwise responsibly dispose of our household of stuff. During that process we offered many things to our kids and other family members, only to discover that they wanted very little of what we owned. By pairing down our over 17,000 lbs of stuff, we have saved our kids the hard work of disposing of these items. We saved them time figuring out what was truly important in our lives. We also updated our wills and medical directives and let our kids know where our online possessions resided and how to access them. Pairing down now is both a gift to yourself while you are alive and a future gift to your heirs. We never know when our time on Earth will be up.

7. More Kindness to the Planet

In becoming a minimalist, I have realized that I don’t need or want a second (or third) set of dishes, a closet full of rarely worn clothes, or a bevy of decor items. Having less stuff, and using the little stuff I do have for its full useful life, uses fewer of our Earth’s limited resources. If I don’t take something off the store shelf (or purchase items much less frequently), then the company isn’t going to immediately obtain the natural resources and spend the energy to make a replacement item, package it in layers of cardboard and plastics, and refill the shelf space for the next customer. Having less is a gift for the planet, which in turn is a gift to ourselves, our kids, and our neighbors.

8. More Contentment

Minimalism has helped me recognize what is truly enough—enough money, enough stuff, enough commitments. I no longer pursue happiness. According to research, sixty percent of my happiness is out of my control. It is fleeting, and it places too much weight on what I own and do. I don’t need my bed, my food, my workout, or my clothes to make me happy. They just need to do their jobs. Instead, I pursue contentment in my simpler life. Contentment allows room for both the bliss and grief that are part of everyone’s experience. Recent examples in my own life include moments of bliss at my children’s college graduations and grief for my dad’s passing, but still being content. Always pursuing happiness can crowd out sadness, fear, and grief. I have more emotional flexibility and mental clarity when my goal is contentment. I can obtain a fully contented life because I have found enough.

I am enough.

Five Things Minimalism Is Not

Minimalism changed my life for the better. Minimalism at its core is focusing on what we truly value and eliminating the rest. There is not a definitive number of things a person should own to be a minimalist, and making minimalism a comparison game defeats one of its key purposes.

While the concept has grown in popularity over the last 15 years or more, I found it difficult to discern the core concepts from the many voices pushing different interpretations. I continually found the term misused, misunderstood, and co-opted to sell us more stuff or get more likes on social media posts.

The following are five habits that do not align with a minimalist life, even though they can be very good at posing as the real thing. They should not be confused with the life-changing power of minimalism.

Stopping just short of hoarding. If someone has a true hoarder in their lives, then a huge number of possessions can appear minimal in comparison. It’s probably obvious, but worth stating: simply not being a hoarder does not make me a minimalist. Getting rid of just enough stuff to avoid being a hoarder does not make me a minimalist. If we feel that we don’t have a problem to solve because hoarding is our comparison point, then we need a new reference point: a home free of everything that isn’t aligned with our values.

Being great at organizing a lot of stuff. Buying shelving, cabinets, bins, and other “organization” supplies so I can neatly store thousands of pounds of stuff in closets, attics, sheds, furniture, and basements does not make me a minimalist, even if my friends tell me my house looks tidy. I used to get that compliment often—I was a master at storage and organization. But that stuff, even if neatly arranged, was a burden on me. I had too much. Storing it neatly wasn’t the answer—getting rid of it was.

Embracing a “minimalist” designer’s style. Replacing my old stuff with new, sleek, white-palleted decor, or putting pasta, cereal, and dried beans in new matching glass containers that look Instagram-worthy does not make me a minimalist. Buying a designer paperweight from Marie Kando’s online store won’t make me a minimalist (but it will likely spark joy in her wallet). Being a minimalist is not about meticulously arranging my clothes in my closet from biggest to smallest, or by thickness of fabric (as Marie Kando suggests), or any other time-consuming design arrangement. If my effort to arrange my stuff is worthy of a social media post, then I am missing a key point of minimalism—simplicity.

Decluttering every year. If I need to declutter every year because there is a perpetual influx of new things in my life, then I am not a minimalist. I’m not talking about getting rid of my few worn out or broken items or some gifts from well-meaning relatives—I’m talking about remaining in a cycle of consuming, in which I regularly purge things just to create space for more purchases. For decades, every 6 to 12 months I found myself cleaning out the garage (or the shed, or my closet, or the basement) and driving a car load to donate at the local charity, and every 3-4 years I had a yard sale. Because I had not addressed my problem with collecting more stuff after each purge, I was doomed to repeat the collect-purge cycle. While it always felt great to get rid of that carload or sell that stuff in my yard sale, those purges did not make me a minimalist.

Confusing the allure of newness with my true values. New stuff has an allure (a spark of joy?) that is often confused with our true need to have something which honestly supports our top endeavors. My temporary desire, often fueled by societal pressures, to have the latest cooking gadget or electronics upgrade and the fleeting joy that purchase brings should not be confused with truly aligning my possessions with my values.

All of these habits have one thing in common—continued accumulation of more stuff, regardless of how much we dispose. By separating the minimalism wheat (intentionality and contentment) from the chaff (creating a certain “look” and endless organizing), I hope the benefits of real minimalism will be easier to find.

Why You Should Quit Your Dream Job

I frequently hear on Financial Independence and Retire Early (FIRE) podcasts and read in FIRE blogs that the RE (Retire Early) part of the FIRE acronym should be dropped. They can’t imagine not working, they say, and besides, they enjoy working.

I know what they mean. I had my dream job, and I worked it even after I achieved full FIRE. I had quit my career of 29 years in retail and hospitality management, and then I found the perfect job that I loved doing—educating military service members on personal finance. Despite my dream job having everything I wanted, I quit it just one year later.

And, if you’ve reached FIRE, I think you should quit your dream job, too.

What? Quit you say? Then it couldn’t have been your actual dream job, right? Wrong.

This was my dream job! It had it all: an important mission educating military service members on personal finance, a kind and supportive boss, great co-workers, practically unlimited resources, lots of autonomy, great pay and benefits, no supervisor responsibilities, and the ability to telework as much or as little as I wanted.

Logo for the office of my dream job (I linked it to the FINRED website)

It was the perfect job for me! So why did I quit?

In a nutshell, we have finite lives. As much as I valued this job, it wasn’t the number one thing I wanted to do AND it was physically and mentally keeping me from doing the things that I valued more.

My top five things I wanted to do were: travel, improve my health (walk and hike more in particular), spend more quality time with friends and family, follow my curiosity (to include learning a language), and read more books. It turned out that the sixth thing I wanted to do was help people improve their personal finances—my dream job.

What We Tell Ourselves About How It Is Going To Be

When I applied for the job, I made a bargain with myself that I would only work the required 40 hours a week. I committed to not work any extra hours or sit endlessly at a desk—a way of life that had plagued me throughout my working life.

I promised myself that I would use my free time to do those top five things I wanted to do. Since I had limited time off (4 weeks per year), I planned to jet-set off with my wife on the weekends to visit family and see new places.

To work on my health, I bought a new standing desk, new ergonomic chair, headset, and a variety of other office items to make my home office as comfortable as possible (I had a dedicated room upstairs with two nice windows). After work, I planned to walk every day and do my daily stretching and body-weight exercises. Also I would read more, study my Spanish, and spend more time with family and friends. It was going to be great!

Since I didn’t need the money (I was fully FIRE), I committed to spending the extra $125K+ a year after taxes on travel and things that would make life easier, such as housekeeping, lawn care, and eating out, so I could maximize my time off.

So how did I do that year in my dream job, achieving the things that I wanted most in life? The reality was a lot different than what I planned.

Even My Dream Job Didn’t Fit Neatly into Working Hours

I often worked extra hours despite my promise not to. At first, my justification to myself was that I needed to get up to speed on the new job. But after a couple of months, that justification morphed into a desire to accomplish a lot (and I did!).

I’ve known for some that when I make a commitment to others, I place that higher than commitments I make to myself. This year of work after I reached FIRE reaffirmed that understanding. Work severely limited my ability to engage in my higher priorities. I didn’t need more money – I needed time.

Traveling to Asia and having the time to visit the minor temple sights in Cambodia wouldn’t happen if I was working full time

Lots of Travel, But Little Decompression

I took many weekend trips that year. We often left on Friday nights and returned Sunday evenings (or Monday evening if it was a holiday). The fun weekend destinations included New Orleans (once with my wife and once for an NFL game with a friend), Phoenix (to see relatives), Miami (Formula One Grand Prix with a friend), Puerto Rico (for my birthday), rural Virginia (for CampFI Mid-Atlantic), Charleston (for our anniversary), and Thomas, West Virginia (for great bluegrass music).

I also took longer trips: 4 days in Minneapolis for a family reunion, 8 days in Newfoundland with my son, 10 days hiking Hadrian’s Wall in England, and about 10 days hosting our two adult kids over Christmas, though I worked several of those days.

While all of this travel may sound great, I found it to be tiring. There was no downtime between work and travel. On those weekends when I wasn’t traveling, I was researching and booking my airline, hotel, transportation, and excursions. Travel planning takes time.

Because I only had a couple days at each location, I found myself scurrying around when I got there, trying to maximize the visit (the way most Americans go on vacation). I was also traveling when everyone else did (weekends and holidays) and fighting crowds as a result.

My time off was limited by my work, and although I had a generous 4 weeks of paid time off each year, it wasn’t nearly enough. My higher priority to travel and follow my curiosity was being hampered by my dream job.

Did My Health Improve?

No. My sleep was hit or miss as it was often interrupted when I had an important upcoming meeting or project due—I couldn’t turn my mind off easily. Having a job that I cared a lot about was difficult to turn off when I closed my laptop.

Even with the new high-end standing desk, I sat for most of the day. I did get out for a walk most evenings before dinner, but I had difficulty fitting in my stretching and body-weight exercises as work started early. I was no longer biking with my friends on the weekends—it just didn’t fit.

Hiked 10,000 foot peak in Vietnam. Not working enables lots of hiking, walking and biking in my days.

Did I Find More Quality Time With My Family and Friends?

No. While I did make some trips to visit family, they were limited by my time off (which was split between seeing new places and seeing family) and similar to my sightseeing, it was harried and less quality. I was seeing my family and friends about the same as I did before I reached FIRE—not enough.

What About My Priorities of More Reading and Learning a Language?

Because I was so engrossed in the important work of my job, I was mentally exhausted at the end of most days. My best creativity and concentration were focused on better reaching military service members with quality personal financial information. After work I didn’t have the mental energy to read the books I wanted to, or focus on improving my Spanish—I found I needed to spend much of my free time mentally decompressing from work.

Relaxing and reading on my porch in Luang Prabang, Laos.

Since Quitting My Dream Job

After quitting my dream job, my wife and I fully embraced minimalism. We sold or gave away 98% of our belongings, turned our house into a long-term rental, and became full-time nomadic travelers with a backpack and a carry-on each. That change has been deeply valuable to us, and it took time–time I simply didn’t have when I was working my dream job.

But here is where I really saw the effects of quitting. This comparison chart shows my time (counted in quality days) spent with friends, family and traveling during my year of working my dream job vs. my first year after quitting my dream job.

	Friends	Family	Travel	Total
Year During Dream Job	13	45	23	81
Year After Dream Job	43	130	178	351

Quality Days Spent on Three of my Top Five Priorities.
Note: some days overlapped with family or friends on vacation, so I chose what the primary purpose was for each day listed to avoid double counting. It doesn’t add up to 365 because there were about 14 quiet days that didn’t neatly fall into any category, so I left them out of this tally.

By letting go of my sixth priority (my dream job) I have been able to fully achieve my top five.

I traveled more than in my previous 13 years combined.
I read more books than any year, to include college.
I spent more time on my health than I had in decades.
I spent 3.5 months practicing my Spanish to include in-person classes and daily app learning.
I spent 3x more quality time with family and many friends.

I have found contentment in my daily life and I couldn’t be happier.

Is It Time to Quit Your Dream Job?

Even if you have your dream job, that isn’t necessarily reason enough to keep working after achieving FIRE. I recommend that after some soul searching you ask yourself: “Is this job truly my top priority in my life and with my time?” If it isn’t, then ask yourself “Does this job hamper my higher priorities in any way?”

If your answer is yes, and your dream job prevents you from fully doing any of your higher priorities, it is time to quit.

The Pursuit of Contentment

“I want to be happy” was how I replied when asked as a youth what I wanted to be in life. Likely inspired by our country’s Declaration of Independence, I bought into the enticing desire of achieving full happiness. It doesn’t work that way.

In the pursuit of a life of bliss, I read several books and listened to numerous podcasts on happiness. I was struck by the happiness science finding that 50% of a person’s happiness is based on genes, 10% individual circumstance (environment mostly out of our control), which leaves just 40% under our control. More than half of a person’s happiness (or lack thereof) is out of one’s control.

This finding is eye-opening on why happiness is so elusive for so many people. If I was born with a 5% genetic predilection to happiness, and I somehow maxed out my environmental circumstances AND all happiness related measures under my control, I could achieve a maximum of a 55% state of happiness.

That is a failing grade, and I doubt I could consistently maintain a 100% achievement of the areas in my personal control, especially when my genetic disposition was fighting against me.

I’m More of a Piglet Than a Pooh Bear.

I have found that my normal state is not one of default happiness. Do I think I am an Eeyore with a 5% genetic happiness disposition? No. But I also don’t think I’m a Pooh Bear with a 45%+ genetic good humor and gentle kindness.

Unlike Pooh, happiness doesn’t come naturally to me. I am more like a Piglet. I naturally worry. I look for security and close friendships. Sure, I’ll be brave at times with my friends, but my default is not the blissful happiness of Pooh.

Happiness carries too much weight.

Happy moment sitting on a dune in the Sahara

I have learned that I don’t need to achieve the joy of happiness in all the day-to-day things I do or own. My wardrobe, meal, or wherever I’m staying the night isn’t responsible for my happiness, it just needs to fulfill its job. A car doesn’t need to spark joy, just get me where I need to go safely.

Happiness has a short shelf life and it is fundamentally based on comparison—with others and with personal expectations.

I think about the sheer joy my 14 year-old daughter expressed on her first business class flight experience. Through a series of crazy events, she unexpectedly was upgraded to business class flying home from Barcelona. She didn’t know until she was on the plane. She reveled over each item in the bag of sundries provided and in her ability to order all the pineapple juice she wanted. She was so grateful for the experience.

But conversely, I have seen people who travel business class frequently who complain about some aspect of the service and take the experience for granted. They have lost that first-time joy because business class has become routine.

The latter is an example of hedonic adaptation where humans will reset expectations as new experiences become expected. As we quickly adapt to life’s changes (e.g., new exciting car quickly becomes our regular car), we are continually chasing the next level item (oooh, look at that better and more expensive car!!!).

As a corollary, getting rid of unhappiness does not necessarily bring happiness. Happiness researchers share that negative emotions such as sadness and fear are necessary for survival, and that suffering is part of the human condition. Achieving 100% happiness would require humans to ignore these other important emotions and states of being. It is just not humanly possible to be fully happy all of the time, and yet we humans continue our endless pursuit of this holy grail.

The more I pursued happiness, the more elusive it became—always just around the corner, but never with me for long.

Instead, I pursue contentment.

Pursuing contentment addresses the hedonic adaptation treadmill problem that the pursuit of happiness tends to create. I have determined what is enough in my life—enough money, enough stuff, enough commitments.

Minimalism was a big help in this. In embracing minimalism, I lessened the emotions and value I placed on items I owned. The things I own, such as a car, watch, clothes, boat, home, etc., are no longer symbols of myself, any of my achievements, or my love of other people. It changed who I am. I don’t need to dress nice for other people. I don’t need new things to impress others.

I also fluctuate my life’s experiences to help me maintain an appreciation for the lucky life that I live. In the past year as a full-time nomad, I have slept on an inflatable camping mattress, two bunk beds, a rock-hard bed that made my hips ache, and several gigantic and comfortable king beds, and many beds in between (62 in all).

The variation keeps my perspective in check. If the bed does its job, then I am content with that. I don’t need an incredible bed every night to appreciate my daily life. The same applies to my food, clothes, transportation, and excursions.

Instead of asking myself “Am I happy?” I ask myself “Do I have what I need?” The bar for responses to the latter question is much lower, and I achieve contentment at a far higher rate than happiness. Attaining 100% contentment feels achievable in a way attaining 100% happiness never has.

Of course, I still feel many moments of happiness as I sit on a dune in the Sahara desert in Morocco or hike along a Roman road to the Bachkovo Monastery in Bulgaria, but these highs are no longer my measure for daily success. I instead measure my daily success by my level of contentment—having enough to meet my needs and pausing to notice that.

Recently, I had a nice take-out meal from Seven Eleven in Japan and I enjoyed it in a park with my wife. Nothing fancy. We had lots of ants join us. There were lots of weeds around. My seat on the concrete step was hard. The sky was beautiful. The mountains in the distance were nice. The buildings around us were interesting.

Was I happy? Maybe. Was I content? Fully.