Money is power. When I was younger and didn't have any, it was all that I desired. I knew that it would allow me to do things in life that I hadn't been able to do previously, things as simple as going out for a movie date with my girlfriend. However, as time passed, the level of financial burden it took to engage not only in small trivial pursuits, like going to the movies, but also the more expensive necessities of life, like purchasing a vehicle, became more apparent.

At first, this was simple to grasp. Dates cost money, money that I didn't have, so I became a cashier at my local McDonalds, and started making enough money to pay for movie tickets and popcorn. However, it didn't take long for things to get complicated. The following year the college application process had started, and when I saw the price tag of admission I almost fainted. My mom was a mother of four, with limited financial support from her various baby daddies, so I knew I wasn't going to be able to rely on her for help with my college tuition.

Luckily, I had an amazing teacher in high school, Mrs. Wolford, who taught a whole class centered around college readiness. In this class, we were given time to apply for scholarships and grant opportunities. I'm certain that if I hadn't enrolled in that class, I would never have made it into college. When you don't have a lot of money of your own, relying on the charity of others is power in its own right. Being able to swallow your pride and accept a handout is hard for many. A part of them feels like they didn't earn it, but I didn't care. I would have done anything to graduate college and improve my financial situation, so I swallowed my ego and happily accepted the help.

After graduation, I accepted an engineering position and slowly improved my financial situation. I paid off my unsubsidized loan and then focused on saving as much money as I could. It took me a year or so after graduation to finally get my own apartment, but once I did, my life continued to improve. My income was covering rent, car payment, insurance, food, gym membership, and so on. I no longer relied on someone financially, and the freedom that provided was intoxicating.

But, like all things it waned, and I soon found myself acclimated to my new standard of living. I wanted more. Life was good in Baltimore, but it wasn't great. One afternoon, I had been walking home from the gym and saw yellow caution tape strung across the street — someone had been shot and murdered. This was when I knew that I no longer wanted to live in Baltimore.

During one of my reflective nights, I booked an AirBnB in Denver for two months in the summer of 2022. A month of breakfast burritos, nights of house music, and abundant nature trails through epic mountain-filled landscapes had sealed the deal for me. I applied for an apartment in the Lower Highlands (LoHi), and once accepted, I had sealed my fate.

The start of my journey in a new city was anything but seamless. I had no certainty of employment. Over that period, I accrued over $4,000 in credit card debt. At the time it was not the smartest decision, but most decisions aren't. We make them from feelings and figure out the financials later. I had a feeling that enrolling in college was the right decision, and it ended up working out. I also felt like moving away from where I grew up was a smart decision, and it also worked out. Money is important but more so due to the freedom that it provides. It does you no good if you feel trapped and miserable.

My life has progressively gotten better over time, and all of it has been thanks to money. I usually channeled my focus on other things, like being a good student, or being a good employee, but money always seemed to follow afterwards. The little boy who could barely afford movie tickets in high school, over ten years later had earned himself a Christmas bonus of over $4,000.

Over the course of my life, I’ve had financial ups and downs, but through it all, one thing has been the same. The desire for freedom. I want to be able to do things and travel within a city and between cities to do them. I also want to structure my daily life so that it provides me with all that life has to offer: peace, fulfillment, laughter, novelty, and so on. However, as simple as this is, it is quite difficult to materialize all of it to its maximum level.

For the six years I spent working as an engineer, I was generally able to do the things I wanted, and lived a very fulfilling life, but it was far from peaceful at times and I found myself craving more time to do the things I actually wanted like writing, spending time outside, and so on. Now that I’ve taken a break from the corporate lifestyle, and no longer have deadlines and client meetings to meet, I can structure my daily life more flexibly. If I want to do creative work in the morning and then go out in the afternoon to the beach and drink some beers with my hostel friends, I can. However, now that I have limited money, I must be more conscientious. I can’t eat at fancy restaurants like I used to or go on the high-ticket excursions that my previous flush-with-cash engineer self wouldn’t even think twice about. Something always has to give, and in my experience it’s always been the counterpart to the largest pain points I’ve been experiencing at any given point in my life.

When I was younger, financial instability was soul-crushing, so I structured my life to gain stability. I studied for multiple hours per day, which eventually led to predictable and sustainable bi-weekly paychecks. As I got older, and started to build up various financial accounts, I was granted the luxury to test this financial stability I had developed to solve other pain points. My two most recent large life decisions jeopardized my financial stability, in the pursuit of what I imagined would be a better daily life. And so far, both have proven to validate this notion I had.

When I moved from Baltimore to Denver, it was in pursuit of greater peace, novelty, and creative fulfillment, and all three came true. Similarly, when I packed up all of my stuff into a storage unit this past November, and decided to indefinitely travel Latin America, the same three have also proven to be true … for the most part. I’ve been growing creatively, and I’ve experienced so many things I never thought that I would have, but it definitely has been far from peaceful. And maybe arriving at everlasting true peace is a childhood fantasy I just need to rid myself of. Life is hard, but it would be harder without money. I wouldn’t be able to be living the lifestyle I’m living right now without the money I saved up from my previous life as an engineer.

In this present moment, as I do my best to build up my freelance work, I see the ticker in my account slowly inching closer to zero. For now, I have the freedom to continue, but at some point, I will once again have to make a decision that has financial implications. I will again be at a place of financial instability and will likely crave it once again. It’s inescapable. We need money to live. I can only hope that the future will allow me to pursue my dream of writing and performing data analyses online, but at this point it’s up to life whether that’s in the cards for me.

I just need to focus on what I can control, creating the best content that I can, and hopefully, a reader like yourself feels inspired. If that reader is you, feel free to navigate to my about page, and scroll down to my email link. I’d love to learn about what journals or business you think I’d be a good fit for.

The popular saying goes, "The grass isn't always greener on the other side." Yet, this statement implies that there are indeed times when it is. So why are we then told to err on the side of caution, if there is potential of improved life outcomes from our instinct to run away?

My background is in engineering, so I'm not equipped to dive into the psychological aspects of why I and so many other people have this instinct to drop everything and run. However, I read a book titled, The Alchemist, and I just couldn't put it down. As I flipped through the pages, and followed Santiago along his journey, I felt so validated. Santiago and I shared very similar ways of viewing the world. It will be impossible for me to explore all of the themes in the book, but let me do my best to highlight what I find to be the most pertinet aspects of his story for this discussion.

Santiago's Gamble

Santiago, the main character, is fixated on the idea of finding a treasure and breaking free from the identity of shepherd boy that was bestowed upon him. He sells his entire herd and uses the money to travel from his remote town in Andalusia, Spain to the nearest town in Africa. Upon entering his first port town, he gets swindled and loses all the money he had amassed for his journey. He eventually continues, joins a pack of riders and adventures through the unforgiving desert. The book's climax results in what can only be described as a mystical experience — where he talks to what some would call a God, and is told the treasure he was seeking was only a stone's throw away from where he had grown up the entire time.

Reflection on Santiago's Journey

If the treasure were near his home all along, how can any sensible argument be made for leaving? From a purely logical perspective, leaving his hometown resulted in him wasting a considerable part of the year searching for this treasure, just to have to turn all the way back close to where he started. Knowing this, you could say his decision to leave was pointless, but you can only say this in hindsight, after his journey is over. It wasn't until he left his town, and saw the lives of others, that he was able to come back and appreciate the life he had taken for granted. To some, this example may seem a bit silly. How am I supposed to relate to a boy finding a treasure? The time for pirates is in the past. So, let me illustrate my personal example, and the parallels I saw between Santiago and I in my personal life.

Running Towards Rome

Ever since I was a teenager, there was one place I always wanted to visit — Italy. My family is from the Appalachian Mountains, but a few generations prior had boarded boats from Napoli and made their way to America. It was only roughly two years ago that I finally obtained my passport, and once secured, I made it my central mission to make it to Italy before my 26th birthday.

I had a lovely time checking out all the cultural sites and popular restaurants, but I look back at the not so lovely times and find these to contain the most useful life lessons. Every time I wanted to say something nice about someone's outfit, or the food they had prepared, I just couldn't find the words to convey what I wanted to say. The language barrier, and lack of social contact with others, really cornered me into a period of isolation.

I felt like this culture was rejecting me, a feeling I was all too familiar with. I had previously made the decision to move from my home state a year and a half prior, and I still hadn't made myself a single reliable friend in my new city. I also had just finished a 30-day challenge of posting to YouTube, with each video getting less than 10 likes. I was failing in friendship, and entrepreneurship and to top it all off my relationship was on the brink of collapse.

During these ruminations I had at various cafes and restaurants in Rome, I reflected on how I had approached my life. I came to understand that I had developed a reliance on my partner and her friend group for companionship. I had tried to make my own friends early on in our relationship, but gave up after some time. This was a sad realization, but a much needed one.

Discontent is a normal feeling that isn't location dependent. Discontent arises from our perception of where we live and how we act. It arises when we expect better of ourselves yet continually fall short.

A 50-room mansion is the pinnacle of success on the exterior, but the 47 vacant rooms within its interior exude despair and failure. Similarly, my time in Rome probably looked envious to most. I was taking pictures near the Colossuem and Trevi Fountain. I was eating delicious pasta, pizza, and tiramisu. On the outside, to my Instagram followers, it looked like I was having the time of my life, and many days I was. However there were many times I felt incredibly lonely. One meal by yourself is fine, but once it becomes every meal, the isolation slowly nibbles away your self-esteem.

Luckily for me, my hardships pale in comparison to what Santiago suffered. I dealt with isolation solely. He dealt with isolation, financial insecurity, and the risk of death. However, these difficulties, no matter how small or large, are what allow us to overcome the mental afflictions we sometimes sit in for years. Understanding what you personally need to shift your perspective is paramount, and I think that's why I relate to Santiago so much. I understand his approach. Regret and despair eat at him. Keeping him from the present. It's only until he commits to selling his sheep and seeking the treasure that his mental affliction starts to alleviate.

So, in Schrödinger-style, I'll end with this: We will never truly know if the grass is greener, unless we inspect it for ourselves. It may not be, and in those cases it's okay to be wrong. Life is challenging, and there will never be a "right decision". Just one that seems the best at the time you make it. You can correct a poor action, you can't correct inaction. So whatever it is that you are wrestling with, finally do something about it. Buy the gym membership. Have the hard conversation with your wife. Sell your car. Do it. You can fix your mistakes later.

It was a sunny summer morning in Virginia Beach. Pedaling quickly through the neighborhood, I bolted through stop signs, leaving in my wake a symphony of blaring car horns. After a sketchy unsignalized crossing through a four lane arterial, and a sprint through the strip mall parking lot, I soon arrived at the back-entrance of the pizza shop. Using the handlebar of my Mongoose, I carefully propped it against a brick wall in the alleyway and rushed to the back door. The worn hinges creaked, as I peered through the slit in the door. There was no sight of my dad. I let out a sigh of relief and ran stealthily to the dish-cleaning room.

Bubbles rose as water filled the bucket I had placed in the sink. I found two rags from the industrial shelf and tossed them in. I lifted the bucket and slowly waddled to the front of the store. While doing so, I briefly glanced into my father's office, and through the large stacks of documents on his desk I could see him intently gazing at his monitor. I always wondered what he did in there, but he told me it was nothing I needed to worry about. I continued along my penguin path, ensuring not to disturb him.

Methodically, I doused the rags, wrung them out, and wiped the tops of the tables. I had wiped all six of the countertops, and two pairs of booths, before my dad came out to check on me. When we made eye contact, a fear welled up inside. My dad had a short temper at times, and I was certain I was going to frustrate him for being late. However, that was not the person I received that day. He was either in a good mood, or too busy focusing on business finances to notice my tardiness. Either way, I was relieved when a smile formed on his face. He stepped a bit closer, and shouted from the main walkway of the restaurant:

"Austin! You've got five minutes to finish cleaning the tables. I need your help with something else. Hurry up!"

My father's exclamation lit me up. During my first couple of weeks working at his shop, I had mostly wiped down the counters or washed dishes in the back. He never made a statement so vague. Naturally, I couldn't help but wonder what my dad needed help with. I quickly wiped down the remaining booths and waddled back to the cleaning room.

Always wash your hands before dealing with food was my dad's number one rule. I squeezed the Dawn into my palms and scrubbed vigorously. Scalding hot water cascaded over my hands. I dried them with a paper towel and then joined my dad in the kitchen.

A collection of vegetables, cutting board, and chef's knife were the first things to catch my eye. I had always watched from afar and had been forbidden to touch a knife. A part of me felt that my ban on knives was being lifted. I inquired:

"Hey Dad! I'm done cleaning. What do you need help with?"

Enthusiastically, he chimed:

"Hey bud! Thanks for getting the storefront set up. I was thinking you could help me prepare the house salad for today's guests. You up for the task?"

And with my own genuine enthusiasm, I replied:

"Pshhh, yeah! It beats cleaning the dishes. Plus, making a salad can't be that hard. Let's do it!"

My dad grabbed a red onion and held it in his hand. Then, he started his instruction:

"Well, first things first, to make a salad, you need to cut up the vegetables into bite-sized pieces. And to do that, you need three things: a knife, a vegetable, and a cutting board. Each vegetable will require a slightly different chopping or slicing technique, but they all require the same philosophy and that is … what Austin?"

I was genuinely confused, so I uttered something incoherent. With confidence and assertiveness, my dad replied:

"The philosophy is simple. Never cut vegetables in a way that sends the knife towards your body. To avoid this, you must always cut down and away from your body. Never cut upwards or towards yourself. That is how you will slice your finger off. And we cannot be doing that, because, well … your mom would kill me. Do you understand?"

I nodded my head as we locked eyes for most of this lesson introduction. Something close to fear crossed his face when he brought up the threat of mom's reaction. This was the first summer I was able to work with him, and even with all its complications, I felt like I was getting closer to him, and I didn't want my mom to yank that away.

By the end of our lesson, we had a nice pile of chopped red onions, romaine hearts, artichoke hearts, halved cherry tomatoes, and cucumber slices. We added croutons, and our signature vinaigrette, before tossing it with a pair of metal tongs.

Those six weeks in Virginia Beach eventually came to a close. I had felt fairly disconnected from him for most of my childhood. This summer was the first time I really felt like I had been included in his world. I could see the joy on his face, as he talked with customers, and tossed pizzas in the air. I watched him from my spot in the cleaning room, with a bit of envy, but also with pride that he was my dad.

A few months after my stint in Virginia I was walking home from wrestling practice, on a cold January evening. I received a call from my mom, telling me to come home. I walked through the front door and after a few awkward silences and apprehensive looks, I was told that my dad had passed.In that moment, all my emotions were stripped away. As if a kill switch had been flipped in my brain. I didn’t cry. I didn’t want to console anyone in my family. I just wanted to be anywhere but that house, so I left.

I strolled back to school, in a robotic like trance. I wanted to go join my wrestling buddies and pretend like nothing had happened. Unfortunately, I wasn’t granted that luxury. My coach caught wind of the news and told me that it was best to go spend time with my family. I did, begrudgingly.

A week would pass, and soon time came for the funeral. Again, I felt empty. I looked down at the casket and saw no part of my dad there. He was as alive as a stuffed animal. Honestly, even less, at least stuffed animals have their eyes open.

Only after a good bit of time would I truly allow myself to feel the full range of emotions that I was supposed to. Anger came first. I was so mad at him. He made the decision to leave this earth, without consulting me, and I hated him for it. He would no longer be able to see me graduate. Buy my first lottery ticket. Get married. Welcome my first kind into the world. And so on. I knew none of these were guaranteed to me, but I knew one thing was certain, he wouldn’t be there to experience them with me. Knowing that, caused me a great deal of pain.

This anger of mine lingered into my college years, and it wasn’t until I was forced into therapy that I would work my way towards acceptance. The bargaining stage was particularly hard for me. I just couldn’t help but think about how I could have done things differently before he passed. I played over scenarios where I was a bit nicer to him during New Year’s Eve and bit my tongue about him missing child support payments. I felt like if I was a bit nicer, maybe I could have helped to save him from himself. Now that I’m older, I understand how naïve that stance is, but back then it’s all I could fixate on.

It wasn’t until some time after college that I started to feel whole again. I gained financial stability and was doing what I wanted in life. Reading, writing, going to the gym, seeing my friends, exploring new cities, and so on. I entered each of these actions with intensity, and I couldn’t help but see similar mannerisms to the ones my father had displayed when I was younger. Particularly when I went through my phase of posting to YouTube for a month straight roughly two years ago. My father had similarly posted videos to Facebook explaining his stances on green infrastructure as he ran for the state representative in his region of Pennsylvania.

More than ten years separated me and my father’s fascination with posting video content online, but one thing was the same, our passion for what we spoke about. It was when I first had this reflection, that I realized the larger lesson I had learned during my time at my dad’s pizza shop. It wasn’t about cleaning tables, making salads, or washing dishes. It was the smile on my dad’s face as he greeted regulars, remembered their orders, and walked the pizza to their booth personally. It felt so natural to him. Just like how reading philosophy and writing R code feels to me.

It’s from this innate interest and intensity that I’ve found the best piece of advice for myself that I also recommend to others.

Find the thing that draws you in for hours and hold on to it tightly. For my father it was tossing around pizzas, and for me it's been writing in a journal or typing on a keyboard. His pizza shop is my novel.

My dad was a complicated man, but at his core, he was a man of passion. For my dad, a restaurateur was considered ideal. For me, I've always been fascinated by the idea of blogging, and one day becoming a New York Times Best Seller. These larger-than-life ideas, and things to work towards, make life worth living and less daunting. That alone — the faith to pursue something bigger than yourself, regardless of its outcome — is probably the best lesson my dad has ever taught me.