Having a mortgage is a wonderful thing. In fact, I owe much of my work longevity to my mortgage. When I was 24, I came across a lot of cash due to a couple good stock picks. I was just lucky, because goodness knows I can’t pick stocks for doodoo. I never really told anybody how much I had, but it was enough to put 25% down on a median priced home in San Francisco and still have several years of mortgage payments left over.
By my mid 20s I began questioning the meaning of work. Perhaps I was simply suffering the lesser known “quarter life crisis.” Because I had arrived at what I considered to be too much money too quickly, working to make more money lost its appeal. It didn’t matter if I added another thousand or ten thousand to my savings, making money was so uninspiring. I was demotivated because of a couple chance trades that required very little skill, just a lot of balls.
The great irony is that I don’t need much of anything to live a comfortable life. Give me some clean clothes and a place overlooking the beach with a hot tub off the bedroom balcony and everything will be OK!