The Things You Own End Up Owning You
I Sold 90% of My Life for a Move I Reversed Two Weeks Later
When I returned to San Francisco just two weeks after moving to Singapore, my friend laughed, “you basically went through an extreme version of Marie Kondo-ing.”
It was true. A job offer in mid-2024 required me to liquidate my San Francisco life. This wasn’t just packing; it was a purge that forced me to shed 90% of my possessions. Moving to Singapore would mean smaller residential spaces, so I needed to downsize.
An Inventory of Old Identities
The purging process was brutal, emotional, and expensive. It took over a month of frantic listing on Craigslist and NextDoor. I had to sell my car, give away my TV, all my kitchenware, multiple office tables, an electronic standing desk, a couch, a bed, and dozens of beloved board games. I hosted giveaway parties so friends could claim my possessions—a farewell to years of memories.
I had spent easily over $10,000 – this included the costs of flights to Singapore and back, shipping six boxes, selling my car and furniture, and premature lease termination fees. The hardest items to part with weren’t the most expensive, but the ones that represented identity clutter.
I sold my bicycle, which I hadn’t used in two years. I sold my snowboard, having avoided trips due to ungodly weekend traffic to Tahoe and long lines at the ski lift. I was storing outdated fantasies. I still recall the first day I landed a grab on a ramp in the terrain park. That was my peak snowboarding self, and it was a ghost I was paying rent to store.
The car was the largest anchor. During COVID, moving to the suburbs was the right decision. It allowed me to adopt new hobbies like tennis and pickleball, and afforded me the luxury of driving 30 minutes for joys like a good udon bowl or a game of soccer.
The sheer volume of items that needed to be packed or sold was immense, but it was a heavy, wrenching, necessary farewell.
The Unforeseen Gift of the Two-Week Return
The transition point came not when I left San Francisco, but when I landed back two weeks later, having purged my life for a move that was immediately reversed. The reason for this reversal is not the subject for this essay.
I returned to SF with essentially nothing, forced into a state of minimalism. Without my car, the first few weeks were a logistical challenge. But every day that passed without having to worry about car window smashes, insurance renewals, car depreciation, or searching for parking felt like an unforeseen dividend.
It was an instant and unintentional reset to my pre-pandemic, urban, car-less life.
Embracing the Urban Trade-Offs
The return allowed me to experience life in San Francisco again, but with a profoundly different perspective. I rediscovered my affinity for urban living and the rewards of a lower footprint.
Of course, freedom came with difficult trade-offs. Getting rid of the car meant accepting that visiting friends and family in the suburbs or pursuing space-intensive hobbies like tennis and soccer would become infinitely more difficult. Furthermore, urban life subjects me to the inherent ills of the city, be it dirty streets or the unpredictability of transit schedules.
But perhaps the biggest adjustment is dealing with America’s deeply entrenched culture of automobile dependency. Not having a car definitely limits my dating options; women literally ask, before a first date, “How would you pick me up?” or “How are you getting down to San Jose (from SF)?” when they learn I choose to live without one.
Yet, there is a clear upside. It is amazing how much less stressful it is to have someone—or an AI—drive the car for you. I honestly feel much safer, recognizing that I have only a fraction of the awareness that an AI driver would have. The suburban stress of maintenance has simply been replaced by the logistical stress of navigating life in a society built for drivers, a stress I now gladly delegate.
I’m finding hidden tennis courts and local soccer groups instead of driving out. Plus, I’ve adjusted to the grocery situation, adopting services like SayWeee has proven to be more convenient, and time-efficient than driving to the grocery store and loading up a trunk.
The Philosophical Shift and Shared Living
It was only after living this new, lighter life for a while that the philosophical shift truly crystallized. The pursuit of “individual freedom” in the suburbs—having my own car, my own apartment, and the ability to set all the rules—had simply trapped me inside the echo chamber of my own habits and possessions.
This profound realization emerged: My painful month of shedding possessions was not a loss; it was the forced escape from the old self.
I joined urban communal spaces (shout out to The Commons and Frontier Tower), which have played a critical role in my social life after I returned from Singapore. I have been able to meet many like-minded people who shared my values, individuals I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting had I stayed in my previous suburban home.
This willingness to let go of self-rule also extended to my living situation. Instead of retreating to my own isolated space, I moved into a shared house that happens to be vegan. While I’m not vegan, I’m very vegan-sympathetic, and settling into this continuous choice has exposed me to a healthier, higher-fiber, lower-carbon lifestyle.
I wouldn’t have had this revelation about the benefits of shared living had I continued to live alone in my two-bedroom suburb where I set all the rules for myself. Letting go of possessions opened me up to letting go of self-defined limitations.
The Ultimate Gain: Portability and Perspective
What began as a painful month of liquidation ultimately resulted in an unexpected opportunity for self-discovery. I am no longer weighed down by my possessions.
The benefits:
A time dividend, freeing me from hours of maintenance and cleaning.
A lower financial and spatial footprint; the rent needed to house the volume of possessions is gone.
The ultimate flexibility. The lightness frees me up to travel months at a time without worry.
In the year since moving back to SF without the bulk of my junk, I have spent three months abroad, working remotely in Chiang Mai, Bangkok, Vienna, Nairobi, London, Lisbon, and Mallorca. My life is portable.
The tears I shed during the purge were for a life I thought I was losing. The life I gained back—the unburdened, flexible, and philosophically challenging urban existence—was an unexpected gift. My painful month of decluttering was not a loss of possessions, but the essential gain of a life I can now easily carry.
As Brad Pitt famously said in Fight Club: “The things you own end up owning you.”
Footnote: This essay is dedicated to my wonderful housemates, the Commons, the Frontier Tower, and those who introduced me to urban community spaces (Sophie and Ming).
man fight club as the origin of one of my favorite quotes was a surprise
enjoyed hearing about your journey!