Join us for a tale of extreme frugality, existential dread, and the glorious pursuit of a life where every day is a Saturday and your only boss is your own rapidly diminishing will to live. A sarcastic fable for the modern aspirant.
Alright, gather ‘round, you beautiful, ambitious future-paupers. Let me tell you a story. Not a fairy tale with dragons and princesses—those are too unrealistic. No, this is a story about the FIRE Movement Sarcasmo, the most logical and not-at-all-cult-like path to enlightenment.
Our hero, let's call him Chad, wasn't always Chad. He was once "Brendan," a perfectly normal human who enjoyed minor luxuries like "brand-name toothpaste" and "occasionally seeing a movie in a theater." But then, he stumbled upon the sacred texts—a subreddit glowing with the soft, blue light of financial spreadsheets.
He learned the holy acronym: Financial Independence, Retire Early. The promise was intoxicating. Imagine it: Waking up at noon not because you're unemployed, but because you're financially independent. Your only commute is from your bed to your laptop to check your dividend stocks. Your only boss is the passive-aggressive note your partner left about whose turn it was to rinse the yogurt container for recycling.
Chad was sold. He embarked on The Quest.
Phase 1: The Ascetic Awakening
Chad became a monk of modernity. He canceled his Netflix subscription, declaring, "I shall read library books on macroeconomics for fun!" He mastered the art of the 37-bean medley, a culinary masterpiece that cost $0.11 per serving and doubled as a home insulation project. He wore his shoes until the soles whispered secrets of the pavement to his socks. His social life became "potlucks" where everyone brought a single ingredient they'd fished out of a "reduce-to-clear" bin, and they'd combine them to create a mysterious, beige casserole.
His mantra? "Is this purchase going to delay my retirement by 3.7 seconds? Then no."
Phase 2: The Side-Hustle Hustle
But saving alone wasn't enough. Chad needed to earn. So, he became a gig-economy wraith. He drove for rideshare apps, but only during "surge pricing" caused by natural disasters. He sold his old possessions, then his slightly less old possessions, and then started a blog advising others on how to sell their possessions. He was a man on a mission, a ghost in the machine, fueled by cold brew coffee he made from beans he found... well, let's not ask.
He was maximizing his savings rate, a glorious number that climbed while his personal joy plummeted like a tech stock in a recession.
Phase 3: The Glorious "Retirement"
And then, the magic day arrived. The spreadsheet turned green. The compound interest curve had kissed the sky. Chad, at the ripe old age of 38, was FREE.
So what does a FIRE disciple do with this hard-won freedom?
He gets up at 11:30 AM. He spends two hours meticulously tracking his energy bill from the previous day. He then spends the afternoon engaging in his favorite hobbies: "fixing things himself" (which turns a 10-minute, $50 job into a 3-day, $300 catastrophe) and "contemplating the philosophical implications of early retirement while staring at a wall."
He is the master of his own domain, a domain that smells faintly of boiled lentils and quiet desperation. His friends are all at work, living their "wage-slave" lives, able to afford things like "dental work" and "spontaneous joy." But not Chad. He is untethered. He is… profoundly, earth-shatteringly bored.
Because the secret they don't tell you in the FIRE Movement Sarcasmo is this: Retirement isn't the goal. Having a life worth retiring into is.
So the next time you see someone proudly proclaiming they've achieved FIRE by living in a van down by the river and foraging for berries, just smile. They've won the game. They've traded 40 hours a week of meaningful work for 168 hours a week of calculating the thermodynamic efficiency of re-using dental floss.
It’s not about escaping work. It’s about finding work you don’t want to escape from. But hey, what do I know? I'm still a wage slave, foolishly paying for Spotify Premium like some kind of decadent Roman emperor.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to my job so I can afford to buy avocados. Because that would be a truly tragic way to delay retirement.
"Disclosure: Affiliate links included. I may earn a commission at no extra cost to you."
Comments
Post a Comment