I grew up in a frugal household, always saving for the next inevitable rainy day. We picked up pennies, reused Ziploc bags, clipped coupons, and cut mold off bread. To earn spending money, I joined pediatric medical studies and picked olives for a quarter a bag. That upbringing taught me how to save and associate money with security. But it also left me with a scarcity-driven relationship with my finances.

In my twenties, I asked a financial advisor to help me learn how to invest, but was turned away for not having enough money. So I went to the library, read every personal finance book I could find, and eventually discovered the FIRE (Financial Independence, Retire Early) community. Frugality felt familiar, and after graduating into a post-recession economy, the promise of financial independence felt like control.

I tracked every dollar, lived like a student even after landing a salaried job, and chose work over spending time with loved ones, convinced I was doing the “right” thing.

Then I got hit by a car while biking home from work.

Recovering from my injuries gave me time to reflect. My neurosurgeon gave me a lifelong list of things to avoid, including most fun things: roller coasters, martial arts, mountain biking, and heavy lifting. Around the same time, my parents said if I’d died, they would have buried me in a pine box because it was the cheapest option. (For the record, I had life insurance to cover funeral costs.)

I realized that up until that point, I’d been treating money as the goal, rather than a tool for living a meaningful life. In trying to protect myself through saving, I’d missed out on fully living.

Today, I believe money should help you live the life you want now, not just “someday.” It’s not about hoarding, hustling, or tying your self-worth to your net worth. It’s about freedom, alignment, and using money to support what truly matters—because life is short, unpredictable, and precious. And your financial plan should honor that.