During a discussion with my wife, we veered into the ideology of the FIRE community. From the surface, it’s a very laudable goal: save 50% or more of your income, living as minimally as possible, invest the rest and retire early.

My wife relayed the story of a family member of her coworker who did this very thing. Their kids are off to school now and they are retired early with no debts, however, all their opportunities to travel or be part of community activities as a family are gone. Since they never did any of it (focusing purely on the goal of retiring early), they missed out on something they can never get back.

I get the appeal and the arguments for pursuing this route as you wind up with no debt, no mortgage and no fear of being locked down to any particular line of work just to pay the bills. The common phrases thrown around within the community include, “getting out of the rat race” and “not waiting until a time when you can’t enjoy life anymore.”

This also stretches across the divide from the ultra-frugal community to the “make mad bank” entrepreneurs looking to build a multi-million dollar business to sell. Same type of sacrifice, but with a heavier dose of luck required for this to work out. Actually, luck is required for both these camps, but that’s beyond what I want to get at here.

There’s good lessons to take from what they’re doing (mainly a rampant stampede upon mindless consumerism and learned helplessness) and everyone should have a strong foundation of financial literacy. However, I find their arguments beyond the numbers a lot less convincing.

People today are living longer, aging better and have a much better understanding of health than at any point in history. Yes, the vitality of a twenty year old will always be superior to that of someone older, but to say you’re wasting your “best” years needs another follow-up question:

Wasting them how?

I assure you the way a young person treats swaths of free time will seem incredibly more wasteful than an older version of themselves. Also, preferences, tastes, hobbies and even goals change over the course of time and as a young person, you just don’t know what you want. Rather, you think you know until you get there and then have to contend with the disappointment that it’s nothing to celebrate (I’ve heard it referred to as the arrival fallacy).

I think beneath the surface is an underlying issue that says we don’t know how to enjoy ourselves until we’re free from having to do anything. That the allure of never having to work again is a retaliation against this North American value that your meaning in life is tied to what you do. That putting your faith in a market that must grow is the only solution.

When we focus on the numbers, we miss the moments we could’ve had with our family, friends and community.

There definitely comes a point when, as my mother-in-law so wonderfully put it, you hit your “best before” date. But there are many ways to enjoy your life along the way before you get there.

I like people admitting they were complete stupid horses’ asses. I know I’ll perform better if I rub my nose in my mistakes. This is a wonderful trick to learn.
-Charlie Munger

Despite shaking my head at some of the stuff I’ve written over the years, I have chosen not remove a single word of it. This includes the stuff I don’t necessarily believe anymore, agree with, have moved on from or is even in contradiction to where I am today. I mean, a few of my posts on LifeHack had glaring grammatical and spelling errors, and I’m okay with it still being posted.

I keep it there because it’s a chance to see the best of what I could produce at the time.

A chance to see where I’ve been wrong, how I’ve evolved and where my writing has been.

More importantly, a chance to see who I was at that moment.

In looking at the broad span of time in which I can see myself, it gives me the encouragement to continue with the path I’m on right now. It shapes me, keeps me honest and helps me avoid the same critical errors (although committing new ones is still pretty easy to do).

There used to be a real feeling of shame over other mistakes in life—a pang of regret, mired in anger, for doing such a thing or being such a way. Admittedly, ego and stubbornness also play a part in this as it’s responsible for protecting my current self by distancing it from any other version of me that existed.

It’s taken a while, but that feeling is (almost) gone.

I can now look upon those moments and say,

“Yep. That was a mistake. Here’s the correction. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

In 1958, Leonard Read published an essay titled, “I, Pencil” which is arguably one of the most famous essays in economics.

The basic summary is this:

Not a single person today knows how to make a pencil, from beginning to end.

When you consider the resource extraction, the transportation, the manufacturing, marketing, shipping and all the ancillary industries that feed into its production (right down to the person who makes coffee for the workers), it’s a very complex system.

And we’re talking about a pencil.

I look upon this essay now in a world that is incredibly interconnected and excruciatingly complex, but people insist on reducing it to the most simplistic ideas, and sincerely wish more people would heed its message.

If we want to understand things, we have to be ready to wade into incredibly deep waters.

One of the major themes I’ve been touching upon in my writing here is solitude and admittedly, that comes from a complete projection of my own life.

I grew up in a very busy household with a revolving door of surprise guests, endless phone calls and what appeared to be a weekly family function given the numerous relatives. It only occurred to me recently why the library and Church were two of my favourite places.

And given the hidden hunger for peace and quiet, it was no wonder I always signed up for a retreat. While I don’t want to completely disregard the spiritual fulfillment they would provide, I cannot deny my attraction to them came for a longing of quiet solitude.

However, as we are creatures of habit, my first few years living alone wasn’t the seamless transition you would expect. I spent most of my time with other people or inviting them over to my place rather than settle into the peace I was really seeking in life. I wanted solitude but I didn’t want to be alone.

Humans are social creatures—who knew!?

As the world became more interconnected and the romanticized idea of “cabin in the woods” drifted away (I mean, find me a wooded area developers haven’t put a bid on), a hunger for the solitude I once sought increased. Not just for me, but for others as well.

The idea of going on a retreat now seems superfluous as any given retreat getaway is marketed and advertised to attract as many people as possible. The irony of economics trumping the very thing it’s trying to sell is not lost on me.

Even the monasteries, temples, ashrams and hell, campsites, are flooded or closing down in light of the continuous expansion and development of our world, which leaves us the question:

Where can we go for solitude?

Or, as the titles of this post asks, where do we retreat to now?

The person who can answer this question will be doing a great service to the world.

I think hope can sometimes be a lie to postpone letting reality change us. Instead, I know many of us will do good stuff amidst all the bad.
Jem Bendell, Breaking Together

As a Religion teacher and ardent student of Religious History, I have to admit that hope appears as fodder for those who see no option for a better life. This is one of the many attractions to cultivate a religious life—a hope for a better tomorrow when all will supposedly be made right.

What “right” looks like is beyond me because I don’t think anyone really knows.

Hope is also what we put our trust in as we face the inevitable end of life either with loved ones or ourselves. It’s an idea to cling onto that death really isn’t the end and despite the claims, narratives and studies of near death experiences, nobody really knows what happens afterwards.

I’m on no pedestal to put the idea of hope beneath my own feet, but I often think back to the words of a friend of mine who built me a financial plan as part of his Masters work in Economics:

“Save hope for your Religion class and put together a plan that’s going to move the needle.”

It’s in this vein that I return to my writing.

Not just for this site, as I still need a space to process and work out my thinking, but in dedication to a new project. Something much different than my previous work, but congruent with what I’ve been doing here.

The thing is, I see a lot of people giving up hope, not only in this world, but in each other. And you know what?

I absolutely understand.

We have been facing our biggest social, political, economic, technological and environmental problems that we’ve ever faced and a little bit of positive thinking, or a few feel good stories, aren’t enough to get us through. However, to give up hope and move immediately to despair is not useful.

My reading of Bendell and reminder of my friend have allowed me to consider an alternative. It’s not something that can be relegated to a blog post or two, and goodness knows I’m sick of diving into books that should have been that, but it is going to take me longer to articulate.

It’s going to be interesting and I will be very excited to share it with you when it’s done.

The devices.

The people.

The traffic.

Industry.

Our television sets.

Earbuds.

Millions of streaming options: music, podcasts, audiobooks.

Billboards.

Advertisements.

Cluttered rooms thanks to cheap items and free shipping.

Endless scrolling.

Pointless online debates: cyclical, never ending.

Massive lineups.

The smells.

The voices in our heads.

Time for bed.

What the world needs right now… is silence.

For all our senses.

And our sanity.

“Did you go full ‘Vito’ on them?”

Against my better judgment, or maybe on the fine outskirts of it, I showed my philosophy class this video about imagining the tenth dimension. Many of my students broke down. 

One got up and had a full on existential crisis, yelling at me that nothing matters anymore. 

It’s a delicate procedure to crack a mind, especially when you tear down a worldview like time doesn’t exist and free will is an illusion. It’s stuff that’s kept me occupied for decades, which is why my wife asked if I went “full Vito” instead of treading carefully. However, I’ve come to understand the beauty of a universe that’s already decided. 

It’s remarkably hard to articulate to myself, so please feel free to disregard if you find it difficult to follow along…

or if you think it’s full of shit. 

Believe me, I’m not attached to my ideas and don’t take offence to those who have issue with them. We’re all broken people navigating unknown landscapes and nobody really has it all figured out.

Without venturing too far into the arguments, let’s run with the assumption that the entire universe is deterministc—everything can be predicted and will happen regardless. Therefore, your entire life has already been decided and the decisions you think you’re making aren’t really yours to make, at all.

If that’s the case, rather than break down over it and throw my hands up in defeat, what if I assumed that at some point, it all works out? What if I can look at the end of my own timeline and smile knowing what’s there? What would I find?

As someone who is incredibly hard on himself, and has never really learned to love who he is, I’d like to think there’s a point where I truly do love everything about who I am; faults and all. So if it happens, then it must’ve started at some point. And why not make that point right now?

At the cost of sounding like someone spouting nonsensical theories like manifesting reality or law of attraction, there’s something we’re all moving towards in our own lives. Something deeper than material possessions as those are simply the by-products of the internal state of mind.

But really, what if it all works out?

What if I end up being exactly where I need to be? How would I look at each day now? How would I look upon all the events that’s been?

I feel like it would be really exciting to move towards it because then it would feel like all of life is pushing me, instead of dragging me down. This way of thinking about it has transformed what could be perceived as a dreadful thought about a deterministic universe into a powerful one. Because regardless if my choices are really mine, it’s good to know I can go where I need to be.

A few nights ago, I decided to watch the film, “Sound of Freedom.” This is supposedly the most controversial film of 2023 and I wanted to understand why people were so up in arms over it, despite my hesitation to watch it. 

Now, to be clear, my hesitation comes from spending time with the people in the PACT (People Against the Crime of Trafficking) chapter of my city, speaking/teaching about this issue in my Ethics class and the many books/articles I’ve read over the years about it. Given what I’ve learned, I find it a very difficult subject, even though it’s so important.

As a movie, we can speak about its artistic dimensions including direction, acting, set design, costumes, etc. It was clear there was a limited budget to put this together, but what they did with those funds worked really well. There were moments when the acting really brought you in, but there were also frustrating points where scenes felt like they were dragging on. From a cinematic standpoint, I found it to be decent.

But we are talking about a movie based on a true story and this is where it all goes off the rails.

The core message of the movie is to put an end to child trafficking. It’s disturbing, it happens and it needs to stop.

I would think that’s a message we could all rally around as even prisoners in maximum security facilities consider crimes against children more heinous than anything they could’ve done. 

But, nope—the Internet lost its mind.

“This movie misrepresents the data as most child trafficking is done by groomers targeting teenagers. It’s way more nuanced than this sensationalized story.”

Okay… but it’s a movie and you need to sensationalize it. Otherwise, it becomes a boring news report that nobody cares about, which was the whole purpose of why this film was made.

“This is QAnon conspiracy nonsense!”

Children are being trafficked. Not sure what the conspiracy part is.

“This is nothing more than conservative propaganda!”

Hmmmm… not a single mention of politics or political ideals other than working against the crime of trafficking children. As someone whose eyes have rolled to the back of his head at political imaging in films, I didn’t see that here.

“This movie preys on the emotions of the audience to get more people to watch it!”

I’m not even going to validate this argument as legitimate. 

“Have you heard the things Caviezel and Ballard have said in interviews?”

This I can understand as I love Woody Allen movies, but can‘t reconcile the allegations. The conversation about separating the art from the artist is a whole other issue.

Anyway, these go on and on and I just can’t wrap my head around it.

Liking or hating the film is one thing, but getting into arguments about child trafficking? Let’s just say as someone who has been online since the mid 90s, I can understand why my generation hates the Internet today.

I came across an observation online that specified we spend the first eighteen years of life growing and learning… then the rest of our lives dealing with those first eighteen years.

It’s an interesting take because, I find, the true measure of adulthood is when you accept the circumstances of your upbringing don’t get to define the life you want. Given that some circumstances are vastly more traumatic than others, getting to this point will vary.

Yet, the real difficulty is every time we look upon our past and consider our lives at that time, we keep it attached to our current selves. If who we are is a narrative of where we’ve been, then creating a new story needs a new beginning, and that involves letting go of the wounds.

Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting, but allowing the wound to scar over instead of keeping that tissue ripped open.

“In a nation which increasingly appears to prize social virtues, Howard Hughes remains not merely antisocial but grandly, brilliantly, surpassingly, asocial. He is the last private man, the dream we no longer admit.”

Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Written in the late ‘60s, Didion manages to express a sentiment that transcends time and provides more meaning for a world that cares little for personal autonomy. If you consider the leverage tech companies have on the world, building dependency on your data and a refusal to accept boundaries on it, solitude seems out of reach.

A myth from a time long forgotten and an unreasonable way to function today.

As I write this, I consider the time coming when AI built into operating systems will be reading and analyzing every keystroke I make. The algorithms have already been doing this across the board, to the point where Apple emphasizes privacy as one of their selling features. Other companies use superfluous language such as “user experience” and “personalized” in hopes they can divert attention from their clear Orwellian doublespeak of, “we’re logging everything you do.”

We’re a long way from the days of being able to own a product and do with it what we will.

The real problem, however, is we’re meant to believe our participation in the world today involves this tradeoff:

You can’t get away from big tech taking your data, someone has recorded you in some way in public and posted it for the world and then there’s good old-fashioned gossip that is the backbone of human civilization.

Growing up, the running joke was the evening calls my mom made to her family weren’t phone calls, but fodder for the gossip line. I know I’m not alone on that sentiment.

This begs the question of whether privacy is still achievable. Was Hughes really the last private man?

That question can be answered with another one:

Is it possible to retreat from the accepted narratives while still participating in society?

I look at people like Neal Stephenson and think, yes, it’s still possible. There just must be a willingness to commit to it.