The Art of Simply Living: Lessons from My Journey

"Simply Living Life."
If you’ve followed my journey for a while, you know this isn’t just a tagline I slap on a website header. It is the filter through which I view the world. It is the choice I make every morning when I wake up in my RV, and it is the philosophy that guides me as I navigate a world that seems determined to get faster, louder, and more complicated.
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Over the years, I’ve shared pieces of this puzzle. Today, I want to bring those pieces together to share what I’ve really learned about the art of living simply.

It Started With a Realization
My journey toward simplicity wasn't born out of a desire to just save money or be trendy. It was born out of a realization of how fragile time actually is.

In 2017, I embarked on a bicycle ride across America. I didn't do it for fitness; I did it in memory of my brother, Bob, whom we lost to cancer in 2002. Pedaling mile after mile, state after state, I learned that time is the only currency we cannot earn back. We spend so much of our lives waiting—waiting for retirement, waiting for the weekend, waiting for "things to settle down" before we actually start living.
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That ride taught me that you have to Take Time for Life now. Not later. Now. And to do that, you have to clear the clutter that stands in your way.

The Freedom of Less
For over 10 years, I have lived full-time in an RV.  Since July 2021, I have been completely car-free in the Boise area.

When I tell people I don’t own a car, they often look at me with a mix of confusion and pity. They see the constraints: What about bad weather? What about carrying groceries?

But they don’t see the freedom.

I have found a profound richness in this subtraction. By removing the car payments, the insurance, the gas costs, and the surprise repair bills, I haven't just saved money; I’ve saved my peace of mind. I navigate my world on an e-bike and have met people I never would have sitting in a car.

Living car-free forces me to be intentional. I can't mindlessly rush. I have to engage with my environment. I have to slow down. In a world of high-speed everything, moving at the speed of a bike feels like a rebellion.

Silence in a Noisy World
Simplicity isn't just about physical stuff; it's about digital noise, too. I’ve spent decades working in technology, so I love what it can do. But I also know what it can take away.

Recently, I cancelled my streaming services. I realized I was spending more energy scrolling through menus, paralyzed by choice, than actually relaxing. I bought a simple 24-inch TV and hooked up an antenna. I found 90 over-the-air channels. It was a "back to basics" move that felt surprisingly modern.

I also took steps to reclaim my digital privacy using tools like Incogni to get my name off data broker lists. Why? Because you can’t have a simple life if your personal data is being auctioned off to the highest bidder, cluttering your inbox and phone with spam.
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Progress isn't always about adding more tech. Sometimes, the smartest move is subtracting the tech that no longer serves you.

Preparedness and Community
Living simply doesn't mean living naively. I talk a lot about being prepared. In the RV life, you are closer to the elements.
Years ago, I had my own personal "SHTF" (Sh*t Hits The Fan) event when a junction box melted down, leaving me without power in 90-degree heat. Because I follow the "prepper" community, I had a Jackery solar generator, battery lights, small fan and a radio. I was uncomfortable, but I was safe.

But here is the real secret to preparedness that I’ve learned: Community is the ultimate survival tool.

When my power went out, it wasn't just my gear that saved me. It was my neighbor lending me a cooler for my food. It was Mike, a local mobile RV repairman, showing up immediately to get me back online.

​When you strip away the walls of a complicated life, you tend to lean on your neighbors more. And that connection? That is what life is all about.

The Heart of the Matter
At the end of the day, living simply creates space for what truly matters: the people (and animals) we love.

I think often of my dear friend Rand, who passed away recently. His laughter and kindness impacted my life in ways I can't fully articulate.

​I think of my Golden Retriever, Ace. It’s been years since I lost him, but his photo still sits on my shelf. As Anatole France said, "Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened."

When your life is full of "busy-ness" and material noise, you don't have the bandwidth to truly cherish these connections. You’re too distracted.
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By simplifying my life—by living in the RV, by riding the bike, by cutting the digital cord—I have tried to keep that bandwidth open. I want to be awake to the grief, the joy, and the beauty of the special  friends I have, like Colleen, Doug and Jeff, and the memories of the ones I’ve lost.

Most of all, this simplicity allows me to show up fully for my son, Nick. He may be in another state raising his own family, but when we connect, I am able to be truly present for him—free from distraction, ready to listen and share in his journey.

My Invitation to You
You don't have to move into an RV or sell your car to start this journey. You just have to ask yourself: Does this add value to my life, or is it just taking up space?

If it’s just taking up space—whether it’s a physical object, a digital subscription, or a mental worry—let it go.
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Take time for life. It’s happening right now.