I remember my first taste of real-life personal freedom.
It was about a year after I quit my cubicle job. I was ruthlessly determined to live life on my own terms – so I had done some radical things to earn this delicious moment.
I had sold my car (the one with the monthly payment) and bought an old beat-up car for cash.
I had found the most perfect low-rent apartment on the outskirts of town, near the railroad tracks and fully equipped with both a bedroom AND a studio. (Ideal for the scrappy start-up mode I was in.)