The Luxury Was Within You All of the Time

Let’s get this out of the way: yes, money can buy a yacht. Yes, it can rent a sense of superiority for about as long as your AMEX doesn’t max out. But the kind of luxury we’re talking about here—the real-deal, skin-glowing, eyes-soft, sleep-well-at-night kind—doesn’t come with a gift receipt. It’s called presence. And it’s quietly staging a hostile takeover of what we think it means to live well.

This article is your not-so-gentle reminder that luxury isn’t necessarily what you wear on your wrist—it’s what you carry in your soul. And if that sounds too poetic for a Tuesday, consider this: the ancients had it figured out way before Amancio Ortega decided you needed a cashmere capsule wardrobe.

Enter the Stoics. These weren’t toga-wrapped bores. They were the original minimalist influencers. Seneca, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius—they weren’t chasing marble bathtubs, gilded chariots, or golden state rooms. They were interested in one thing: how to stay sane in a mad world. Sound familiar?

Seneca, bless his broody heart, once wrote:

In other words: delete the shopping app, and maybe sit with your own thoughts for a change.

Epictetus took it a step further. He believed our peace isn’t stolen by the world—it’s given away when we hinge it on things outside our control. Soundbite translation? 

If your joy is tied to your Tesla’s resale value, you’re doing it wrong.

Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium (Latin for "Moral Letters to Lucilius"), also known as the Moral Epistles and Letters from a Stoic, is a letter collection of 124 letters that Seneca the Younger wrote at the end of his life, during his retirement, after he had worked for the Emperor Nero for more than ten years. They are addressed to Lucilius Junior, the then procurator of Sicily, who is known only through Seneca's writings. - Wiki

We live in an era of curated lifestyles. The dopamine hit of same-day delivery, the yoga retreat in Tulum with organic WiFi. It’s not that these pleasures are inherently bad. It’s just that they’re often confused with fulfillment.

Here’s where Eckhart Tolle, the unlikely spiritual rockstar of the early 2000s, drops in with his leather-bound truth bomb: The Power of Now. Tolle gently (and sometimes maddeningly) insists that happiness is not in some elusive future event. It’s right here. In the moment, you’re probably scrolling past to look for something shinier.

This isn’t just philosophy—it’s neuroscience. Research has consistently shown that mindfulness increases overall well-being, regardless of financial status. In fact, studies show that after a certain income threshold (roughly $75,000), happiness plateaus (Princeton, Kahneman & Deaton, 2010). 

What grows in your head instead? Stress, responsibility, and the sneaking suspicion that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t it.

This is where it gets basic and difficult. Yes, mindfulness, that trendy buzzword now plastered across meditation apps and oat milk cartons, was originally free. And it still is. You don’t need a Himalayan salt lamp to practice presence. You need breath. Awareness. The phone turned off.

Modern life—especially in the luxury bracket—is designed to seduce you out of the present. Notifications, bottomless brunches, "buzz, buzz, bing-bong, ding, beep" - the constant comparison carousel of endless irrelevant social media posts to like or ignore.

The Countercultural Move? Doing less. Wanting less. Being, instead of endlessly becoming.

Ironically, some of the wealthiest people are often the least free of their own predatory thoughts, their own debilitating "Pain Body" as described by Ekhart Tolle in The Power of Now. Bound by commitments and expectations, held hostage in board meetings, the deluge of calendar invites, and a suspicious dependence on imported matcha. 

Meanwhile, you've seen the free spirits, the artists, and waiters—people well below the luxury tax threshold—glow with the kind of peace you just can’t fake on Instagram.

Here’s the paradox: when you stop chasing luxury, you often stumble right into it. A quiet morning. A deep belly laugh. A sunset you actually noticed.

This isn’t spiritual fluff. It’s a reorientation of what you value. Luxury redefined not as excess, but as intentionality and perhaps charity. As the Stoics would put it, “wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants.”

And let’s be brutally honest—luxury as marketed today is too often exhausting (not here, of course). The eternal treadmill of upgrading, optimizing, branding your damn soul. Enough.

There’s power in presence. In slowness. In choosing depth over display.

The ultimate flex? Being unfazed in all situations, due to your character, and because of your bank account balance. That’s why the Stoics are trending on TikTok and Tolle’s sales haven’t dipped in two decades. People are exhausted from the hustle and spiritually bankrupt despite their bulging 401(k).

Dare say, this new definition of luxury democratizes well-being. Maybe I don’t need to own a villa in Capri to feel fulfilled—I just need to show up, with presence and intention, and for my own life. And in an age of curated systemic chaos, that’s rebellion. That’s cool.

In a world obsessed with net worth, presence is the ultimate portfolio. It compounds. It pays dividends in clarity, calm, and contentment. And the best part? You already have it. No subscription required.

Now that’s luxury.