noun. The Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything.
I am a 38 year old dreamer and a software engineer. I am married to a 32 year old programming language enthusiast who writes non programming language code for a living. One daughter and one dog complete our family. If you want to know more about who I am and where I come from, I’ve written a whole backstory series for you to peruse.
I have lived a good life thus far. I have been luckier than most and happier than many. However, if I were to continue to live this life until I was old, wrinkly and saggy, and if I were then to turn around and survey my life, one foot in the grave, I suspect the following internal dialogue would ensue.
|I:||You’re going to die soon.|
|Me:||I am aware of this and you are Captain Obvious.|
|I:||Do you have regrets?|
|Me:||Everyone has some regrets. If someone says they have no regrets they are a Great Enormous Liar Box. Or an Idiot.|
|I:||Let us try that again. Could you have created more, dreamed bigger, seen more, lived harder?|
|Me:||Yes! Yes! I wish I had. I don’t want to die. I’m not ready. I need more Life. One isn’t enough. This sucks. I want my money back (……trailing off into incomprehensible whining as I’m dragged kicking and screaming to my grave).|
I want a life that is is worthy of a memoir – not necessarily a New York Times bestseller memoir, but at least a ‘great grandma was seriously fucking cool’ kind.
I wanted a different kind of life, but wanting that seemed about as realistic as taking wing and soaring off into the sunset.
Until, like my ancestors of yore, I discovered FIRE (Financial Independence/Retire Early).
I devoured everything I could get my hands on that was remotely FIRE related. I gave it some Deep Thought. I ran some numbers. I got tremendously excited and ran around in little circles squawking like a chicken who is high on various illegal substances. I converted Mr. BITA to the cause. We made a FIRE plan.
And then I noticed something about our FIRE Plan.
According to the Plan, I can retire at 42. I know a good old fashioned sign when I see one.
According to the Plan, Mr. BITA can retire at 42 (Ok, I admit I cheated. In the original plan he would be able to retire at 43, but 43 has no poetry to it. 43 is the step-sister with the crooked nose. 42 is Cinder-fucking-rella. I tweaked the Plan).
42. Yes, 42 is the Answer. This blog will document our journey to financial independence and beyond as we try to figure out what the Question really is.
As we journey we will share with you, Faithful Reader, our plans, our ‘numbers’, interesting discoveries that we make along the way, all the embarrassing ways in which we fail and all the spectacular ways in which we pick ourselves right back up and keep on going.