The Tesla Lesson
When Comfort Becomes a Cage
In 2023, I bought a Tesla. I had a lot of money saved up and I wanted something that went fast. I told myself it was an investment in my happiness—and at the time, I could afford it.
This post isn’t about Tesla or cars. It’s about a demon named lifestyle creep.
The Justification Phase
When I bought the Tesla, I was making great money travel nursing. I’d been driving a piece of junk car for years and wanted my first grown-up car. I wanted a reward—and heck, I could afford it. In fact, it’d even save me money with the tax credit and not having to buy gas.
I’d earned this car.
The payment was (and still is) $714 per month—not bad compared to my income then. But I’d crossed a line: I wasn’t buying for need; I was buying for identity. I wanted to be the cool 20-something guy with a sports car.
And what a car it is. 0–60 mph in 3.1 seconds feels like the quickest rollercoaster in the theme park.
Let me make a brief aside here: don’t do the 0–60 in 3.1 seconds too often—it’ll tear your tires up. After a year of driving it, you’ll need all new ones. Pricey ones. Don’t ask how I know.
People acted like I was successful when they asked what kind of car I drove, and I got to say, “A Tesla.” I felt validated.
Validation, it turns out, is a terrible ROI.
Despite this, all was well. I could easily afford it—and that wouldn’t change.
“It Changed” Phase
Like I said in my first post, I ended up quitting nursing when I bought a business with OPM—other people’s money. During due diligence, I made sure the business could cover my car payment.
I just didn’t make sure well enough.
After the music stopped, I had no income, and the bank still wanted $714 every month. I felt foolish driving my trophy car. What once symbolized success now screamed mediocrity.
My life was collapsing around me, my bank accounts in ruin—but hey, at least I had a shiny toy to drive through the wreckage.
What I Learned
Buy in cash.
Treat comfort as a reward, not a requirement.
If it doesn’t move you closer to your God-ordained calling, it’s not worth the payment.
Cars lose much of their value once you drive off the lot—which makes selling difficult. (It’s worth less than $18,000 now, but I owe $26,000 on the loan.)
Teslas are really freaking fun.
I’m keeping the car for now. I’ll be working on a payoff plan so I can get rid of that monthly payment and put it toward paying the business lease and getting my parents paid back.
The car’s no longer a trophy—it’s a reminder. Every month when I make that payment, I think about what freedom really costs.
If you’ve ever realized your comfort became a cage, you’re not alone.
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