I used to be deeply frugal—pinching pennies, cutting corners, always looking for the cheapest way to get by. Moving to the Bay Area only amplified this mindset. The sheer sticker shock of rent pushed me to find ways to save. I moved into a house with four roommates, though I paid a bit more to have my own bathroom. At the time, my rent was around $1,450 a month—high by my old standards of $750 for a 2BR in Greensboro, but still a steal for the area. Even as I started making more money after a promotion at work, I found myself complaining about my living situation. The house was fine, but the usual annoyances of shared living—waiting for the kitchen, dealing with noise, negotiating chores—wore on me. One day, a friend bluntly called me out:

“Kim, you make enough money now. You don’t need to suffer.”

That comment stuck with me. Why was I still living as if I couldn’t afford better?

The Origins of My Frugal Mindset

When I left home for college at 18, I became fully responsible for myself. Growing up poor to lower middle class, there wasn’t any financial safety net waiting for me. Scholarships covered my tuition, but I had to take out student loans and juggle part-time jobs to pay for everything else. At some point, I stumbled across r/FIRE (Financial Independence, Retire Early) on Reddit. The idea of saving aggressively to retire young resonated deeply with me. I was already naturally frugal, but FIRE turned it into an obsession—optimizing every dollar, cutting expenses, and avoiding any “unnecessary” luxuries.I spent years operating under the belief that every dollar spent today was a dollar that could be invested for freedom tomorrow. But at some point, I had to ask myself:

What am I working so hard to save for? What am I actually retiring to?

Would early retirement mean playing video games all day? Maybe. Eating delicious food? Possibly. Traveling? That sounded nice, but was it enough? I didn’t know how to look inward back then, and I think I was too afraid of what I might find.But I knew one thing for sure: living with roommates wasn’t it. So, a few months after that conversation with my friend, I upgraded. I moved into my own place in Oakland, paying $2,400 a month—a big jump, but one that brought me peace of mind. Some luxuries are worth paying for, and for me, having my own space was one of them.

Coming Full Circle: A Coat at 2nd Street

Fast forward to today, and here I am traveling through Japan, pinching pennies again—but this time, it’s different. I’m staying in the cheapest hostels I can find, averaging $20–$30 per night. But then, in contrast, I don’t hesitate to spend nearly as much on an onsen visit. And then came the moment that made me reflect on all of this—standing in a 2nd Street thrift store in Susukino, staring at a long Woolrich coat that felt perfect. I wasn’t even looking for anything. I was flying out later that evening and barely had space in my bag. But when I tried it on, I felt it. Warm. High-quality. Just my size. I peeked at the price tag: 22,900 yen (~$150 USD). A bit pricey for a thrift store purchase, so I put it back. But as I kept walking around, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Why am I hesitating?

I had been walking through snowy Hokkaido for days, wearing my old Columbia coat—one that had been through countless adventures with me but was worn out, full of tiny holes, and no longer keeping me warm enough. I went back, slipped my hands into the pockets—and felt something inside. A piece of paper. I pulled it out. It was the original price tag. 90,000 yen. Almost $600. At that moment, something clicked. I had spent years viewing money through a single lens: how much can I save? But now, I was beginning to shift towards a different question:

How much value does this bring to my life?

I pulled the trigger and bought the coat.

Redefining My Relationship with Money

Years ago, I would have walked away, convincing myself that I didn’t “need” it—that my current coat was “good enough.” But I don’t want to live in scarcity mode anymore. This coat wasn’t just about staying warm. It was about choosing comfort and quality when it truly matters. This doesn’t mean throwing my financial mindset out the window. I still enjoy finding great deals, stretching my money, and being intentional about spending. But what’s changed is that I no longer equate frugality with deprivation. I still stay in cheap hostels, but I’ll happily splurge on an onsen. I’ll hesitate over a coat, but I’ll recognize when it’s worth investing in. I no longer see spending as a failure to save—I see it as an investment in my experience, comfort, and happiness. And maybe that’s what all of this—quitting my job, taking this journey—is about. Not just saving for some undefined future, but learning how to live fully, today.