Moving on Up

In December of 2020, my wife and I purchased a 9-acre plot of land where we would eventually build our dream house. We spent most of 2021 designing it, and then embarked on a two-year construction process. I moved in last week, and I can tell you that I am happier, in a deep existential sense, than I have been in a long time.

This is the house where I will spend the rest of my life. Moving is very stressful, so it is good to know that our last move is behind us. And the move went surprisingly smoothly, with almost nothing in the way of damage or missing items. We have unpacked about 85 percent of our stuff at this point, but we are still in the process of purchasing art and furniture and filling out the house. One thing I hadn’t thought of is rugs. With the large rooms, the acoustics aren’t very good, and we need some rugs to soak up the sound.

Anyway, I don’t want to spend the next 1500 words writing about the house—which is incredible—but instead, I want to talk about the idea that you always must be dreaming big, and moving forward and executing on those dreams. We lived in our last house for nine years, and while that, too, was a great house, it got a little claustrophobic after a while, both spatially and mentally. You get comfortable, and you fall into a routine, and it is tough to stay motivated. One weird thing: in the old house, when the alarm went off, I’d hit snooze a bunch of times and roll around in bed for 45 minutes. In the new house, I am out of bed like a shot, heading down to my home office, ready to start the day. I’d say that the new house has increased my motivation, but not so much in a financial way—after receiving the proceeds from the sale of the old house, we’ll have about 60% equity in the new house, and the remaining loan balance will be very manageable. One of the things I talk about in my personal finance literature is the idea of living at your means. Not above your means, not below your means, but at your means. I am now, for the first time in a while, living at my means.

It's a self-esteem thing. You have a high opinion of yourself, you will live in a big, fancy house. You have a low opinion of yourself, you will live in a shitbox. If you have a high opinion of yourself, you will have a fancy car. If you have a low opinion of yourself, you will have an unfancy car. Of course, there are people running around out there who have high opinions of themselves without the financial means to back it up. And there are people out there who have tremendous resources who choose to live in squalor. The goal is to be right-sized, and have the correct opinion of yourself. That’s a difficult target to hit. I didn’t have to build a house and move. I could have stayed in the old house and been perfectly content. But I wouldn’t have grown as a person. Building a house is a big undertaking, you know, and you have to deal with all sorts of characters like contractors and subcontractors and architects and stuff, people who might not share your foresight. That’s part of the process, and that struggle and suffering is how you grow. I didn’t build the house, at least not in the sense that I swung a hammer, but I built the house. I dreamed it up and marshaled resources and had other people build it according to my vision. And now, for the rest of my life, I can say that I built a house. Pretty cool. Trust me, it’s a pain in the ass, and the pain in the ass continues. It’s not entirely finished, and I still have people working on the first floor, and then there will be a lengthy punch list. Was it worth it? It was absolutely worth it.

Remember: he who puts himself through the most stress wins. A lot of people spend their time avoiding stress, and if you live in squalor, you will certainly live a stress-free life. Building this house has basically been low-grade stress for the last three-and-a-half years, and the moving process was enormous stress. But now I’m in my new office, at my new desk, tapping away on my computer while listening to 2016-vintage deep house. Life could not be better.

So. Having built the house and moved in and living in unimaginable luxury for a week, what is there to be upset about—ever? I want to introduce to you the concept of luxury problems. Goddamnit, I have leaves in my swimming pool. Another way to look at this is: dude, you have a swimming pool. Most problems are in fact luxury problems. The only real problems are death or illness of loved ones, or serious legal problems—you know, big stuff like that. Everything else is not really worth getting worked up about. Earlier this year I took my poorly-functioning Panerai watch to the boutique in Miami, hoping to get it fixed. They were friendly and helpful and did indeed send it out for repairs. I got an email from Panerai that the repairs were complete, and they sent it back to the store, but by this time, I was back in South Carolina. The store was supposed to send it back to my home address, but they sat on it for about 10 days. I was pissed. Called a buddy of mine and told him that I had the most luxurious of luxury problems—the Panerai store wasn’t sending my watch back fast enough. That is pretty much my life, getting pissed about inconsequential bullshit that just does not matter and then feeling stupid about it. We all want what we want, when we want it. Sometimes that doesn’t happen, and then we have to roll with it.

I know the demographics of my readers pretty well, and the vast majority of them are what I would characterize as affluent—maybe even rich. If any of this sounds familiar to you, there you go. But you can have luxury problems even if you’re rich. Because if you have a house or apartment, a car, a TV, some appliances, food, and entertainment, then all your basic needs are met, and if all your basic needs are met, then you really don’t have much to complain about. That is the baseline for financial success in this country. Around the year 2000, I was making what would have been a median income. I had a condo, a sick stereo, wall-to-wall carpeting, and a cat. I was driving a Toyota Tercel, but I was happy. Happier than a puppy with two peters. But like a lot of people, I decided that I wanted more. Some people want more, and some people don’t want more. They are complacent. And I’m not even the most ambitious guy in the world, not by a long shot. If money was really important, there are a lot of things I could do to get more. And I might do them, because even at age 50, I am still not complacent. Bigger, better, faster, stronger.

Anything that is hard is worth doing. Even if it’s not remunerative. I’m a big proponent of doing hard things for their own sake. I’m not a runner—used to be, but not anymore. I ran a marathon once when I was 24. Had to climb the mountain. Now I can always say that I ran a marathon, and I will never forget that experience. I can’t say it was particularly enjoyable, but it was a hard thing, and I did the hard thing. Let me tell you, nobody makes very much money writing books. But it is a hard thing, and I do the hard thing, and I am pretty good at the thing. Coming up on my fifth book in November (NIGHT MOVES—which I hope you will buy), and there aren’t many people who can say that they’ve written five books. I met Ben Mezrich at a conference, and he told me that he has written 25 books. Jesus H Christ. Only a few of them have been successful, but he keeps throwing spaghetti against the wall. And I think Ben would admit that he’s not the greatest writer in the world, but he has a nose for a good story. Writing one book is hard, writing five books is super hard, and writing 25 books is masochistic. But like I said, money isn’t necessarily the object—do something you love, do it well, and you will not be unhappy.

One downside to a big house—I keep losing shit everywhere. My keys, my phone. I am going to have to put Airtags on everything, because I’m a lost ball in the high weeds.