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I wasn’t born into a rich family. In fact, I grew up in what many would describe as a modest, if not downright frugal, household. We weren’t poor, at least not in the sense of going hungry or lacking shelter. But luxury was never in our vocabulary. There were no family vacations to Disneyland, no dinners at steakhouses, and certainly no new cars in the driveway. We lived below our means—always. Not because it was trendy or part of some minimalist movement, but because that was the only option we had. And honestly, I didn’t fully understand the value of that lifestyle until I was much older.
The House That Wasn’t Ours
For over a decade, my family lived in the same rental house. It was nothing fancy—just a basic, two-bedroom home in a working-class neighborhood. Rent was $1,000 a month, and we were lucky. Our landlord never raised the rent, possibly because the payments were essentially off the books for him. It was steady, easy money. And for us, it meant stability. In a world where rents go up every year and tenants come and go, our family stayed put. That house saw birthdays, holidays, heartbreaks, and milestones. It wasn’t ours on paper, but it was home.
We never owned the place, but we made it work. We never renovated or upgraded it. There was no stainless steel refrigerator or granite countertops. Our furniture was used, often handed down or found at garage sales. We didn’t care. Our priorities were different—necessity over luxury, functionality over aesthetics.
Home-Cooked Lessons
When I say we didn’t eat out, I mean it. Maybe once every few months we’d go to a fast-food restaurant, but even that felt like a treat. My mom cooked every meal—every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There was no Uber Eats, no pizza delivery, no sushi splurges on a Friday night. She would stretch a single chicken into three meals. Rice were staples, not side dishes. And leftovers weren’t optional; they were a requirement.
At the time, I didn’t understand why we couldn’t go out to eat like my classmates. I didn’t know how much a dinner for four would cost at a sit-down restaurant. I didn’t know how fast takeout bills could add up. All I knew was that we didn’t do it, and that was just how it was.
Looking back now, I see what an incredible skill that was. Not just the cooking, but the discipline. The planning. The budgeting. The commitment to living within our means—no matter how tight those means were.
The Car That Should’ve Been Junked
My dad drove what I can only describe as a beater. It was old, rusty, noisy, and possibly a few repairs away from falling apart entirely. It wasn’t the kind of car you’d want to be seen in if you were a high schooler looking to impress your friends. It was the kind of car you parked a few blocks away from school so no one would see you getting out of it.
But that car ran. Barely, but it did. My dad never had a car payment. Never. He paid cash for used cars and drove them until the wheels threatened to fall off. He knew a friendly mechanic that would help him out if something more serious came up. For him, cars were tools, not status symbols. They got you from point A to point B. That was it.
I didn’t understand that mindset until I started making my own money and saw how quickly car payments, insurance premiums, and maintenance costs could drain a paycheck. I saw friends/co-workers upgrade to new vehicles as soon as they got a raise, only to end up stuck in a cycle of debt. I finally got it. My dad wasn’t being cheap—he was being smart.
The Wake-Up Call of Adulthood
It wasn’t until I moved out and started paying my own bills that I truly began to appreciate how my parents lived. Rent, groceries, insurance, gas, clothes—everything cost money. A lot of it. Suddenly, the idea of eating out three times a week or owning a luxury car seemed absurd. How could anyone afford that?
More importantly, I realized how easy it is to get trapped in a lifestyle you can’t sustain. Credit cards make it easy to live beyond your means. Social media makes it seem like everyone’s living in luxury. There’s this pressure to keep up, to show that you’ve “made it,” even if it means drowning in debt. I wanted no part of that.
And the reason I didn’t fall into that trap? Because of how I was raised. Because my baseline, my default setting, was a low-cost lifestyle. I didn’t crave name-brand shoes. I didn’t dream of luxury vacations or high-end gadgets. I had learned to be content with less.
The Porsche That Made No Sense
Not long ago, my wife introduced me to one of her friends. She was nice, friendly and drove a Porsche. I remember asking my wife, “Why does she need that?” It wasn’t judgment—it was genuine confusion. To me, a car like that is excessive. It’s flashy. It screams “look at me.” I couldn’t understand the motivation behind buying it.
My wife explained that her friend came from money. Her entire family was wealthy. To them, a Porsche wasn’t a big deal—it was normal. In their world, that was the minimum standard, not a luxury.
And that’s when it hit me: lifestyle standards are shaped early. If you grow up surrounded by luxury, you’ll crave it. If you grow up surrounded by frugality, you’ll appreciate simplicity. It’s not about being right or wrong—it’s about perspective. And that perspective is largely shaped by what you’re exposed to in childhood.
The Value of Low Standards (In the Best Way)
“Low standards” might sound like a negative thing, but in the context of lifestyle and spending, it’s a superpower. It means you don’t need a $5 coffee to start your day. It means you can make dinner from scratch instead of ordering DoorDash. It means you don’t feel deprived when you shop at discount stores or drive a used car.
It doesn’t mean you lack ambition. It means you have control. You’re not chasing status. You’re not falling for marketing hype. You’re living life on your own terms—and more importantly, within your own budget.
I don’t feel like I’m missing out by not owning a luxury watch or eating at five-star restaurants. I feel free. Because I know that financial freedom isn’t about how much you earn—it’s about how little you need to be happy.
Teaching the Next Generation
Now that I’m a parent myself, I think a lot about what lessons I want to pass on to my kids. I don’t want them to grow up feeling like they’re missing out. But I also don’t want them to believe that happiness comes from things. I want them to understand the value of money—not just how to earn it, but how to respect it.
That starts with how we live. We don’t drive new cars. We don’t buy the newest iPhones every year. We cook at home and occasionally do take out. We take modest vacations. And we talk openly about money—how much things cost, how to save, how to prioritize needs over wants.
Because I know that one day, they’ll be on their own. They’ll be making their own financial decisions. And I want their default setting to be one of discipline, not indulgence.
Final Thoughts
There’s a quiet strength in living below your means. It doesn’t make headlines. It doesn’t generate likes or followers. But it builds something much more valuable—stability, resilience, and long-term freedom.
My parents never had a lot, but they gave me something priceless: the ability to thrive with less. That mindset has shaped my financial life and allowed me to make choices based on values, not vanity.
If you weren’t born into wealth, you’re not doomed. In fact, you might just be blessed. Because when you learn to live on little, everything extra becomes a bonus—not a necessity.
Teach yourself to live below your means. And if you’re a parent, teach your kids too. Not because it’s trendy. Not because it’s a sacrifice. But because it’s one of the most powerful life skills you can pass on—for generations to come.
