ReyesLife.com

Two more workdays until I step away from my day job for a 12‑week break. On paper, it sounds incredible. If someone else told me they were doing this, I’d probably picture them waking up slowly with sunlight slipping through the blinds, sipping coffee with no alarms, maybe sitting on a beach or heading out for a quiet morning of fishing. Twelve weeks of freedom — who wouldn’t be jealous of that.

But my reality feels different. Yes, there will be moments to breathe, to decompress from the constant grind. Still, the real reason for this break carries a weight I never imagined I’d be holding. The chance to spend more time with my mom — to be present, really present — is something I wouldn’t trade for anything. It’s a kind of priceless that doesn’t show up on a spreadsheet.

In October 2025, everything shifted. My mother was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, and the news hit like a punch none of us saw coming. She had always been the strong one — the woman who never had major health issues, who ate clean, who moved through life with the energy of someone decades younger. She was one of those 80‑year‑olds who made people do a double take when they heard her age.

Even knowing that her parents, my grandparents, both passed from cancer at young ages, we convinced ourselves she had earned some kind of immunity through her lifestyle. She walked, she cooked healthy meals, she stayed active. We thought she had out‑run the family history. We were wrong — and accepting that has been its own kind of heartbreak.

Over the past several years, I’ve gone deep into the world of personal finance, real estate investing, and the FIRE movement. I’ve put money into the markets, built a couple of DADUs to rent out, and kept a close eye on our spending. I’ve absorbed hours of BiggerPockets, ChooseFI, and The Money Guy, trying to prepare myself for the possibility that one day I might walk away from my software engineering career — whether because AI makes my role obsolete or because burnout finally catches up after 28+ years without a real break.

I don’t know for sure if I’ve hit my FIRE number. I’ve run my own calculations, but I know I’ll need a financial advisor to help me see the blind spots I can’t see on my own. What I do know is this: I’m in a position to buy something most people never get the chance to buy — time with my mom when she needs me most. And even though that sounds like an obvious choice, it hasn’t been easy. Taking this break means going without a salary for the first time since I was a teenager. It means handing off responsibilities at work, which feels unnatural after decades of being the one people rely on. And it means facing the possibility that, after 12 weeks, I might not want to go back at all.

There’s a lot at stake. We’re a single‑income family, and I still have two kids depending on me. Making this one decision has given me a glimpse of what an early retirement decision might really feel like — and I’m learning that it’s so much more than hitting a number on a spreadsheet. The psychological weight is real. It’s heavy. And it’s filled with a kind of anxiousness that comes from knowing one wrong move could ripple through the rest of my life and the lives of the people I love.

I titled this post “The Ability to Buy Time,” but the truth is that time is the one resource we can’t buy, pause, or create more of. It’s strange — we all know we have an expiration date, yet none of us know when it is. And so, like most people, I’ve spent my life trading time for money because that’s the world we live in. Money keeps a roof over our heads. Money feeds our families. Money gives us options.

But once you’ve saved enough, once you’ve built a foundation sturdy enough to stand on, should you keep trading your time for more money? For me, the answer is becoming clearer. Time can’t be purchased, and the moments we lose don’t come back. Financial independence, at its core, is about putting yourself in a position where you can stop exchanging hours for dollars and start spending those hours with the people you love and on the passions that make you feel alive. That’s how I define it. And I’m grateful — deeply grateful — to be in a position where I can spend these next few months with my mother and my family.

If you’ve made it this far through my ramblings, thank you. Truly. I plan to share more of my life and my journey toward financial independence — the good, the bad, the lessons, and the messy parts in between. You’re welcome to follow along, and if my story helps even one person feel less alone or more empowered on their own path, then sharing it will have been worth it.

Stay well!