Frugal Disaster Preparedness for Chill People

Frugal Disaster Preparedness for Chill People

Disaster preparedness for chill people doesn’t really seem to exist. Like many personal finance nerds, I am a resource hoarder to my squirrelly little core. I finish every video game with a massive pile of money and top-tier supplies I worked feverishly to acquire, but never actually used.

It’s not a virtue… it’s an -itis. Don’t be like me, kids! Use those megalixers!

Given this facet of my personality, you’d think I’d be drawn to the survivalism (aka “prepping”) community. And I am—but I’ve never really gotten into it. Because most survivalist literature is too extreme for me. Exxxtreme, you could say. I swear I’ve read more than one “beginner’s guide” suggesting tools for your inevitable DIY dentistry. There is no Hint of Sea Salt prepping! FLAVOR-BLASTED ONLY!

But the coronavirus pandemic gave everyone fresh, realistic insights into what a modern large-scale disaster really looks like. Additionally, mine and Piggy’s homes have recently taken a pounding from unusual weather events caused by climate change (floods and storms for me, wildfires and droughts for Piggy). So I spent a lot of time this year thinking about this question:

What have I done—or owned—that made me actually safer or happier during a disaster?

It was hard to articulate… but it definitely wasn’t iodine tablets and camp stoves! See? I was right! As usual, I always find retrospective validation for my laziness, unpreparedness, and/or procrastination.

After a lot of deep thinking, I finally feel prepared (PREPPED?!) to define my own brand of survivalism. This is disaster preparedness for chill people!

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Like anyone optimizing your finances, the minimalist's ultimate goal is freedom.

Everything I Know About Minimalism I Learned from the Zombie Apocalypse

Dear readers, it’s time I made a confession. You need to know The Real Me™. I’ve been hiding myself for too long.

Guys… I fucking love zombies.

It’s true. Every year around Halloween I go watch a live theatrical performance of George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. I’ve met Max Brooks twice and both times he declined my marriage proposal. Same goes for Mila Jovovich. I finished The Last of Us in forty-eight hours. Zombieland is my favorite family-friendly, feel-good buddy comedy. I attend my city’s annual Zombie Crawl religiously.

I pride myself on having read the entire canon of zombie literature. Yes, even the one about zombies on the Titanic. Even the one where a zombie gets elected president. Even the one where a high school football team is reanimated as zombies just in time to win the state championship. Even the one where zombies played a pivotal role in the formation of ancient Israel. And yes, even the YA romance trilogy (no, the other one). I read Warm Bodies before it was published.

Having lived for years with this unhealthy obsession with zombies, you would naturally think that I would’ve learned something by now (besides the double-tap rule and how to steel yourself for mercy-killing a loved one, of course).

Turns out I did. I’ve learned a helluva lot about minimalism from the zombie apocalypse.

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