Slackerology - noun

1. A countercultural, modern, minimalist lifestyle choice built around sensible consumption, judicious work habits, increased personal time and reduced stress.

In spring 2003, I began to realize that my previous nine years of arduous work, blind ambition and manic accumulation of possessions had done precious little to improve my life. This, by my lifelong understanding, was not how things were supposed to go. Indeed, having clawed my way into an idiot-proof senior analyst position at the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis, acquired a needlessly large house, banked modest disposable income and secured four weeks of annual vacation time, I should have been nothing less than giddy.

Fearing the possibility of frittering away the remainder of my life as an overworked, media-programmed, mindless consumer, in a frenzied six-week period, I implemented a critical mass of rash and irreversible decisions: quitting my job; selling my house, car and all earthly possessions; buying a laptop and flying to Europe with the intention of breaking and entering into the travel-writing industry.

Though nearly everyone believed I'd gone insane and ruined my life, everything worked out fine. Splendid, in fact. While I lived and traveled abroad for 4 1/2 years, I became fascinated by the people I encountered in dozens of countries who were happier, healthier and living more fulfilling lives than most Americans I knew. I returned to Minneapolis determined to mirror their lifestyles, coining the somewhat linguistically imprecise term "Slackerology" to describe my globally influenced, modern minimalist lifestyle that ensued.

In the alarmingly efficient 65 years since the conclusion of World War II, most Americans' centuries-old goals of survival, freedom and companionship have been twisted into unchecked, rabid consumerism. What began as an effective way to bait our newly flourishing nation into buying unnecessary crap has evolved into an inherently destructive, largely unfulfilling way of life. We live in an era where our belief systems are relentlessly hammered with false necessities and unrealistic expectations. Priority is placed on becoming more successful at a younger age. (Every time I hear a 25-year-old describe him or herself as a "guru," I have to suppress a nose-flicking rampage.) Most troubling of all, materialism and money hoarding now outweigh strict happiness, strong relationships and even the need to get a full night's sleep.

In a UPI interview, Richard Layard of the London School of Economics had this to say: "In an economy where people are constantly forced to compete with each other, life and work become a rat race. As people get used to higher income levels, their idea of a sufficient income grows with their income and if this is not anticipated, they will invest more time for work than is good for their happiness."

Reining in thoughtless spending and consumption is the first and easiest step to downsizing one's life, freeing up cash and reducing stress. All kinds of extra moolah will appear after eliminating even just a couple of avoidable monthly expenditures and defeating the urge to buy unnecessary crap. Cancel memberships you rarely if ever use, start bringing your lunch to work, disconnect your landline phone service, quit your Starbucks habit, stop that Vanity Fair subscription, cease shopping as a hobby and so on.

Every single item we own, from a glass figurine to a cabin, incrementally eats away at rejuvenating downtime and increases overall stress levels. Whether it simply be dusting the figurine once a month or the annual expenses and laborious upkeep for the cabin, the cumulative time, energy and money required to maintain all that stuff has to come from somewhere. Having tamed the urge to spend and accumulate, mercilessly disposing of your current encumbrances is the next step. For some, this step will undeniably cause a bit of short-term panic -- soon replaced by relief.

Anything not routinely used/appreciated must go. Dispense with boxes of crap you've been moving and storing in every home since college. (Substitute the words "clothes," "books," "CDs," "shoes," "Beanie Babies," "10 years of Playboys" and/or "cry-for-help plastic bag collection" for "crap" as your situation warrants.) Then move to the never-used crap in plain sight, like those old MacBooks, extra furniture, that broken air conditioner, the bicycle that hasn't been ridden since 1998. This step would best be done with your most ruthless, non-nostalgic, minimalist friend on hand for consulting and hand-holding.

Every superfluous square foot of one's home requires more time, effort and money for maintaining/heating/cooling/cleaning that could be better spent, well, chilling out. Once you've mercilessly de-crapified your life and see the subsequent vast spaces that open up in your home, the thought of moving into a smaller space becomes amazingly logical -- never mind the resulting spike in spare time and money. Barring exceptional circumstance, people really don't need much space to maintain a comfortable lifestyle.

Also, when you move to a smaller home, you can kill two birds with one stone by moving closer to work, into a more walkable neighborhood and/or near a public transport hub.

Visions of time wasted whiling away at bus stops and trundling around on buses are what frighten most people into keeping their cars. But, counterintuitively, you stand to reclaim up to 350 hours of annual free time by dispensing with your car.

I don't have the space to break out the calculations here, so simply ponder this: assuming, generously, you take four bus trips per day, each involving (on average!) five minutes of waiting for the bus and an estimated seven extra minutes of in-transit time vs. the average car trip, a person could potentially lose as many as 292 hours of their lives annually by solely relying on public transport. That's indisputably a lot of toe-tapping, unthrilling time.

However, depending on your income and annual car expenses (loan payments, gas, insurance, maintenance, parking, tickets, repairs, tabs), you need to work anywhere from 450 to 650 hours to keep your car physically and legally running. Subtract the 292 hours spent on public transport from that work time and you could drop to a four-day workweek, if not less. If your job doesn't allow for flexible work schedules, instead imagine banking an extra $6,000 to $8,000 of disposable income each year. When was the last time you got a raise like that for doing no additional work?

Now think about your reduced carbon footprint.

Now think about being freed from the interminable stress of navigating traffic and coping with car maintenance and accident/breakdown misfortune.

Tempting, isn't it?

Once you've wrestled your expenses under control, de-crapified your life, moved into a practical home and unloaded the car, your new monthly budget will provide the opportunity to work less. This can be a delicate step, being that we Americans live with the noose of health insurance around our necks and not all employers provide insurance to part-time employees. Alternatively, if a shorter workweek isn't an option, consider taking a less demanding job. The internal deliberation of whether to intentionally demote yourself and forfeit income in order to reduce stress may cause outward speculation among co-workers about the number of first-cousin pregnancies in your recent ancestry, but your mind and body will thank you down the road.

Ultimately, Slackerology is a design-it-yourself solution. Each step is not required -- though it worked out pretty well for me. The purging of excess belongings will blow your mind. Moving into a smaller, low-maintenance, affordable space will free up tons of time and money. Getting rid of your car will be the greatest stress reliever you've ever known. And, it goes without saying, working less will quite literally be a life-changing experience.