A Week In San Francisco On A $255,000 Salary

Occupation: Airline pilot
Industry: Aviation
Age: 33
Location: San Francisco, California
Salary: $255,000
Assets: Checking: $48,500; savings (high yield): $17,500; Roth IRA: $60,000; 401(k): $164,500; various brokerage accounts/traditional IRAs/misc: $385,000.
Debt: $36,800 (new Tesla, 1.99% APR, made more sense to take out a car loan than pay with cash).
Paycheck amount (bimonthly): Varies, average: $5,500.
Pronouns: She/her

Monthly Expenses

Housing costs: $2,275 rent.
Loan payments: $541.49 (new car payment — first one due this month!).
Utilities & water: ~$120
Wi-fi: $50
Gym membership: $30
Spotify: $18 (I pay for my family).
Phone: $80 (T-Mobile is the best for global travelers IMO).
Streaming platforms: $0 (my sister covers the family. I tend to only use Hulu these days).

Was there an expectation for you to attend higher education? Did you participate in any form of higher education? If yes, how did you pay for it?
Yes, I believe there was always an expectation that I would attend higher education. But when I graduated high school, I found myself confused and uncertain about the future. I had no real sense of what the real world was like — in my mind, it seemed like an exhausting rat race of “living for the weekend” with no clear way out. Being risk averse, I was determined not to take on a lot of debt. I chose a local college and simultaneously studied/worked as a server. All 50ish of my high school AP credits transferred over, allowing me to complete a four-year undergraduate degree in just three years. My parents assisted me financially, since their parents had done the same for them. We split the bill 50/50. At the same time, I discovered a passion for flying, which sparked a new direction for me. Eventually, all my discretionary income would go to flight time.

Growing up, what kind of conversations did you have about money? Did your parent(s)/guardian(s) educate you about finances?
Growing up in a middle-class family, with my dad as the primary breadwinner, we were taught to be mindful of money. Frugality was a core value in our household but looking back, I think my siblings and I were raised well because we never seemed to ask for much. My parents did a great job making sure we had everything we needed. Additionally, as a kid, I spent most of my time reading (library books are freeeeeee).

What was your first job and why did you get it?
My first real job was at a pizza place when I turned 18, and it was terrible! I quickly learned everything not to do when running a restaurant. The owners who had bought the franchise were always watching us on the TV cameras from the comfort of their home (creepy), management was a mess, my hours were constantly getting cut and the drama among staff was nonstop. Eventually, even fate seemed to agree that the pizza place had to go. Just a few months into my time there, a rogue tornado tore through the shopping center and leveled the restaurant. I got the news when my poor friend and coworker, who had taken shelter in the walk-in, called to inform me not to come in for my shift that day.

Did you worry about money growing up?
I’ve always been the kind of person who’s generally content with what I have. As a kid, I never worried about money. But once I moved out and started paying rent, I began to realize just how essential money is to daily life. The bills seemed endless — I had no idea it was so expensive to live! That’s when I made up my mind: I wanted to earn more money so I could avoid the constant stress and uncertainty that come with financial strain.

Do you worry about money now?
No, because I keep a good amount of liquidity on hand. I try to spend more money on people/experiences than on material possessions. Also, I spend a TON of money on projects, investments and personal growth. People ask me if I’m ever going to buy a house, and my answer is always “not in California!”

At what age did you become financially responsible for yourself and do you have a financial safety net?
Once I turned 19, I moved out of my parents’ house and found an apartment with my best friend. It was a two-bedroom/two-bathroom and at any one time we’d have four or five women staying there to make the rent cheaper (I would pay $200-$300 a month, which was a lot at the time). I was going to school, working and (eventually) starting flight lessons, so I always had a lot on my plate. I would consider that the pivotal moment in which I became financially responsible for myself, but I did have the safety net of being able to move back into my parents’ house if I needed to. Additionally, I stayed on my parents’ health insurance plan for a couple more years.

Do you or have you ever received passive or inherited income? If yes, please explain.
No.

4:30 a.m. — I wake up in Beijing feeling like a million bucks. For the record, I am not an early riser. Usually, if I’m up at this hour, I’m sleep-deprived and in desperate need of caffeine. On this particular morning, my internal clock is still on San Francisco time. We landed in Beijing yesterday afternoon and despite my intention for a quick nap, I ended up passing out cold, another victim of the seductive comforts of a hotel room after a long flight.

5 a.m. — I check my phone and decide to call my best friend, S. As we chat, I glance out the window and see rain coming down hard — good thing I postponed my Great Wall of China adventure. August is still monsoon season and the rain hasn’t let up since we arrived. I head down to the enormous hotel gym that has me, a workout enthusiast, feeling like a kid in a candy store. I hop on the treadmill for a 5k run. The screen is all in Mandarin but thankfully treadmills are pretty universal — I can easily figure out the basics: calories (卡路里), distance (距离), heart rate (心率).

7 a.m. — Post-workout, I’m ready to devour breakfast. For $20 (¥150), it’s basically an all-you-can-eat passport to breads, congee, sushi and Western staples like eggs, waffles and pastries. The currency here is RMB (renminbi), which translates to “people’s currency” in Mandarin. I was confused at first because I thought the currency was the yuan (CNY). Apparently “yuan” refers specifically to the unit but most people just refer to it as renminbi. The exchange rate is roughly 7:1 (7.11 CNY = 1 USD). $20

9:30 a.m. — I hear that the Pearl Market is a must-see, and it’s indoors, so one of my colleagues and I grab a taxi — a quick 20-minute ride costs just $4.92 (¥35). This market has a rich history as one of the go-to places for both locals and tourists seeking high-quality pearls, jewelry, various electronics, clothing and souvenirs. You don’t have to say much for the vendor to take you aside and shuffle you into a backroom full of bags, shoes and clothing bearing a striking resemblance to high-end luxury brands. This is the real thrill of the Pearl Market. Although I’m not much of a shopper, I can’t resist a lululemon jacket ($16.88/ ¥120), earrings ($28.14/ ¥200), and a pair of black Loro Piana suede mules ($49.24/ ¥350) which retail in the States for $950. I walk away feeling like I got a good deal, even though I know the quality can be dubious to say the least. $99.18

2 p.m. — The taxi ride back to the hotel costs $4.01 (¥28.48) and we quickly change, repack and meet downstairs with the rest of the crew for the van ride back to the airport. Time to go to work! I snag some Chinese pastries to bring back to the US ($15.55/ ¥110.50). $19.56

5:30 p.m. — The 11.5-hour return flight is notably quieter and less dramatic than our trip to China, where one passenger downed over 800ml of duty-free whiskey in three hours, putting us nearly at risk of a diversion. (As far as I know, he is doing alright.)

2 p.m. — Modern aviation is, in a sense, a time machine. We take off from Beijing at 5:30 p.m. on a Monday and land in San Francisco three and a half hours earlier. Whenever I touch down in a place earlier than when I took off, it creates the illusion that we have somehow cheated time and reversed the clock. It’s a bit of a mind-bender.

3 p.m. — After clearing customs and doing the quick stroll to my car, I am home in no time. I am ecstatic to see that a package is waiting for me by my door — a mobile charger for my new Tesla! After four years in the Bay Area, I joke that the transformation is now complete.

4 p.m. — It doesn’t take long to install the 110V mobile charger and by that time, I am ready for bed. Usually, I try to be productive in my post-flight zombie state — cleaning the bathrooms or going for a light jog — but today, even that feels ambitious. Instead, I pass out to an episode of Bob’s Burgers and sleep straight through the alarm I’d set for a salsa class. Clearly, rest was what I needed most.

7:30 p.m. — When I finally wake up, there are just 20 minutes of daylight left, so I take a quick walk through the neighborhood. I chat with my good friend B. along the way. Back home, I prep mocha overnight oats, unwind with some chess puzzles, and listen to a podcast before drifting off to sleep once again.

7 a.m. — I wake to my alarm blaring, signaling the start of a big day: It’s the day I sell my beloved 2012 Toyota Corolla. I purchased the vehicle five years ago in Texas, for $8,500 cash. While it’s difficult to part with, I must admit the wear and tear has finally taken its toll. Years of being parked under the scorching Texas sun, followed by the salty air of San Francisco Bay, have left the bright Barcelona red paint job peeling and faded. Despite my affection for the car, ongoing engine misfires coupled with the shoddy paint finally convinced me that it was time to move on and purchase my dream car. A week ago, I took delivery of a red Tesla Model 3.

8:30 a.m. — I have an appointment today at a car dealership in San Jose. After a few bites of overnight oats, I head outside, determined to make my car shine. Though I already vacuumed the car last week, I spend a good hour washing the windows, spot-cleaning the interior and checking all the hidden compartments to ensure I don’t leave anything behind. The paint may be far from perfect but I want the car to reflect the care I’ve put into it over the years. 

By 11 a.m. the sale is done. (I don’t waste time shopping the car around different dealerships, having already received several quotes last week.) After some negotiation, we agree on $4,800 and an Uber ride to the nearest Caltrain station. As my car heads to auction, I make my way back home, content with the outcome.

12 p.m. — It is my first time riding the Caltrain ($8.25) and while I’m not exactly a train enthusiast, I thoroughly enjoy the ride. Driving up and down the peninsula is my norm, so it is refreshing to see familiar landmarks from a different perspective. Since I am alone in the train car, I take the opportunity to cancel my Corolla’s insurance, saving me some money. I arrive at my neighborhood station and, with the sun shining and a sense of accomplishment, I walk the remaining mile home. $8.25

1:30 p.m. — After a profitable morning, I am starving. With the fridge empty from my recent trip, I head out to Guerrero’s Taquería in Pacifica for a breakfast burrito ($17.09) — a massive meal that usually lasts me two sittings. Once home, I spend the afternoon focused on work stuff. $17.09

3:30 p.m. — Catch up with my bestie, S., again. We make plans for me to visit her later this week during a Paris layover. Once the call is over, I dive back into work and lose track of time.

6:45 p.m. — I decide to break free and get some fresh air with a run outside. Much like yesterday, daylight is fading quickly, so I plug in my earbuds, queue up my salsa/bachata playlist and hit the trail. Occasionally, when the path is empty, I find myself singing aloud when I run. As the sun sets, it casts a golden glow over the hills and I have one of those classic “pinch me” moments. The beauty of California is almost worth the high cost of living — almost.

7:45 p.m. — I manage to complete a four-mile run before it gets too dark. On the way home, I call my mom to share the good news about selling the Corolla. I spend the rest of the evening winding down with some light chores — dishes, oatmeal prep for tomorrow morning, etc.

10:30 p.m. — I get into bed and start scrolling through dog training videos (though I don’t own a dog) and playing chess, finally dozing off around midnight.

5 a.m. — I spend a solid two hours snoozing my alarm before finally dragging myself out of bed. I am hoping for another productive day like yesterday, though I only have half a day to knock out errands. This afternoon I am scheduled to operate a flight to Paris, France (Charles de Gaulle).

7 a.m. — I grab my oatmeal from the fridge and brew a cup of Persian tea. I have a Zoom call with A., my business partner, which lasts a good 45 minutes. We discuss an upcoming conference, product details, contract manufacturers and other miscellaneous items. [Clarification: As yet, there’s no income to report from this venture.]

10:30 a.m. — Time to run errands. I make stops at the dry cleaners, Salvation Army, Daiso ($51.34) and 85 Degrees Bakery ($16.94). After all that, I head home and prepare for the trip to Paris. I repack my bag (which, in all reality, I never unpack) and head out to the airport. $68.28

1 p.m. — Once at SFO airport, I swing by Klein’s Deli and order a mission sandwich ($18.58) — roast turkey, Pepper Jack cheese, avocado, red onion, lettuce, tomato and special sauce on ciabatta, toasted, as per usual. In hindsight, I’m not sure why I got it toasted, since I plan to eat it in flight and it will have cooled down by then. $18.58

2:40 p.m. — Off to Paris! With three pilots, we rotate breaks. Unfortunately, as the “bunkie,” I have the first break and, as often happens, I can’t sleep at 3 in the afternoon. Instead, I stay up working on my computer and listening to Dan Carlin’s Hardcore History podcast. Eventually I lie down to rest, setting an alarm just in case I doze off, but sleep never comes.

5:40 p.m. — Once my break ends, I return to the flight deck and the other first officer goes back for his rest. Nine hours later, we shoot the approach into Paris CDG airport with 500’ ceilings (this is an aviation term: it means the cloud bases were 500 feet), decent visibility and light rain — a not-too-uncommon welcome to the City of Light.

9:15 a.m. — We arrive in Paris. Next challenge is getting to the hotel. Our company-arranged transportation takes us counter-clockwise along the périph from CDG airport to Montparnasse (14ème arrondissement). I’ve had the ride take anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours. Today, we are lucky. Only one and a half hours.

12 p.m. to 7 p.m. — I catch up on some much-needed rest, sleeping for about seven hours. Around the time I wake up, my bestie, S., arrives. Every time I’m in Paris, we try to meet up. On this occasion, she has arranged a little meetup with friends. I get dressed, slipping into the Loro Piana shoes I got from the Pearl Market in Beijing. I notice that the soles are already starting to look worn. How could they be falling apart so soon? I’m reminded of the saying, “Fast, good, and cheap: Pick two.”

7:50 p.m. — We start getting ready. Just before heading out, I remember I am on a mission — I need to pick up sunscreen for my business partner back in the U.S. I rush to a nearby pharmacy ($71.87/ €64.78) and make it just in time, about 10 minutes before they close. Thankfully, I know exactly what I need to buy. $71.87

8 p.m. — We run back to the hotel to meet up with S.’ friends and start exploring the area for dinner. We find a food hall, called Food Society Paris, which has a variety of options: sushi, empanadas, fried food and more. The setup is modern and efficient — order on your phone, pay and get notified when your food is ready. Quite a nice concept ($22.19/ €20). I opt for a flight of empanadas (onion, beef, and chicken) and a four-cheese pizza, though I quickly realize my eyes were bigger than my stomach. We spend the next couple of hours eating, laughing and enjoying great conversation. $22.19

9 p.m. — The sun has set and Paris’ vibrant nightlife is in full swing. The four of us stroll through the city, talking and taking in the atmosphere. Then something unexpected happens. Someone gasps, and we look down to see a thick leather wallet lying on the ground. S. reaches down and picks up the wallet. Inside, we find an ID card, a Carte Vitale (health insurance card), credit cards and more. The name on the ID is “A.” We can’t find a phone number; however, the address on her ID is only a five-minute walk away, according to Google maps. Determined to return the wallet, we head to the address. When we get there, the building resembles a classic Parisian apartment — a discreet entrance, code-protected, on a quiet street. We knock on the door but get no response. Not that surprising. Generally, le rez-de-chaussée (the ground floor/reception area of a building) has an area for mail and an elevator (or staircase) and that’s about it. We gaze up, trying to see if anyone is home. Only one unit has lights on. We call out “A.! A.!” to no avail. We wait for a neighbor to come out or go in, but no such luck. It is so aggravating to be so close and yet so far from solving the puzzle. At this point, we are all invested in the mystery of this lady and her missing wallet. Just as S. suggests we give up and turn the wallet into the police, the light on the ground floor flickers on. Someone is there. We pound on the door again and this time a man appears, looking quite surprised to see us. In a flurry of French conversation, we realize he is talking to someone on speakerphone, and when we glance down at the phone in his hand, we see the name “A.” on the screen. We found her. Great success! “A.,” he says, “Come back! These four young people have found your wallet!” We wait outside the apartment and within minutes we see her coming down the road towards us. She is wearing glasses, her brown hair longer now, but she is clearly the person on the ID card. She explains that she must have lost her wallet earlier that evening on her way to a book signing. She thinks it slipped out as she reached into her purse for cigarettes. Her husband mutters that it might be a sign to quit smoking. With the mystery solved, we say goodbye and head back to our respective places. There’s something satisfying about returning a lost item and closing the loop on a small adventure. Plus, it never hurts to get some good karma.

5 a.m. — Five hours of sleep and I’m woken up by my alarm once again. I always find myself wishing these layovers were longer; 22 hours is not nearly enough time in Paris.

6:20 a.m. — The captain, the other first officer and I meet downstairs in the hotel lobby so we can head to a nearby patisserie. We are second in line when the shop opens at 6:30 a.m. I buy croissants, pains au chocolat and other assorted viennoiseries ($27.80/ €25). Not only are the pastries exponentially better in France than back home, they’re also cheaper. $27.80

7 a.m. — The drive to the airport only takes about 30 minutes since it is so early in the morning. After enduring a particularly tedious security check (both my colleagues have their bags scanned by the machine twice), we find that we have plenty of time to review the flight plan, indulge in a second breakfast at Paul ($23.91/ €21.50) and engage in some duty-free shopping. I board the plane with two huge shopping bags full of chocolates and gifts for friends ($62.83/ €56.50). We are delayed getting off the gate due to some convective activity over the UK. Fortunately, we are able to make up some of that time in the air. $86.74

12 p.m. — Back in the States, I breeze through customs once again and head home. Usually, after a flight like this, I’d crash immediately from exhaustion. But today is different — I have an appointment downtown San Francisco (parking $5) for a Dexa scan ($49). I first heard about Dexa scans when I was doing a lot of Olympic weightlifting during the pandemic. Since switching to the 777 fleet, the long trips have made it difficult to stay consistent at the gym. I figure I have lost a fair amount of muscle mass, so I want to establish a baseline for when I get back into regular lifting. $54

2:20 p.m. — The scan is quick! I am told to expect the results later that day. Afterwards I stop by a nearby coffee shop for an espresso and a quinoa salad. Typical San Francisco — $25 for a salad. I take out my well-worn copy of The Almanack of Naval Ravikant, a book I turn to when I need a little perspective. It’s already heavily marked but today I reread the section on happiness, pen in hand, underlining new insights. $32.77

3:30 p.m. — S. calls. I finish my salad and head back to my car. Even though we’ve just seen each other in Paris, we always have a lot to talk about!

4 p.m. — Finally back home, I collapse on my bed. My head hits the pillow and I am out in an instant.

11:30 p.m. — Strangely, I wake up feeling hungry. I break my fast, raiding the pantry for Pringles and the fridge for string cheese. That does the trick and I drift back to sleep.

10 a.m. — After hitting snooze more times than I care to admit, I finally drag myself out of bed. Outside, the day is perfect — clear blue skies with just a faint breeze. I can feel the excitement bubbling up inside me. I love being back in the Bay Area, and even more, I love having a day with no plans. A day to catch up on my to-do list, dive into a book or just recover. For breakfast, I whip up a feast: scrambled eggs on avocado toast, a bowl of cottage cheese, part of a burrito from earlier in the week, and banana slices dipped in chocolate hummus. As I eat, I play a few rounds of chess on my phone.

11:30 a.m. — I swing by Kohl’s to return some Amazon items. Of course they hand me one of those “you might as well buy something” coupons, so I select some picture frames ($19.58) to decorate my place. Gotta hand it to their marketing team. Sixty percent of the time, it works every time… $19.58

12:30 p.m. — Next, I decide to cruise on down to San Francisco. After stopping by a local coffee shop for a quick dose of caffeine ($3.16), I arrive at Crissy Field, a scenic promenade along San Francisco’s northern waterfront with stunning views of the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz. I pay $6 for parking and spend the afternoon reading The Count of Monte Cristo and sipping my black coffee. $9.16

5 p.m. — I finally make it to mass at Saints Peter and Paul in North Beach, a vibrant and historic neighborhood in San Francisco referred to as “Little Italy.” I’ve walked past the church countless times and always vowed to make it back on a weekend. The iconic landmark, with its Romanesque architectural style, beautiful stained glass and intricate carvings, was also the site of Joe DiMaggio’s wedding photos with Marilyn Monroe in 1954. San Francisco is full of so much fascinating history.

6 p.m. — On the way home, I realize that I have not prepared any dinner, so I stop by Fairuz Eatery for a falafel sandwich ($23.52). Despite being in the heart of the Italian district, I wasn’t in the mood to wait 30+ minutes for a pizza at Tony’s Pizza Napoletana (one of the best in the nation). As I wait for my food, I find myself serenaded by the music of Fairuz. Her voice strong and ethereal, each note full of emotion. A huge mural of her stares down at me from the wall with a warmth that mirrors the richness of her melodies. Oh, and the falafel sandwich? Phenomenal. Fresh pita, perfectly cooked falafel, and spices that dance in my mouth. I’m surprised. Quite possibly the best Middle Eastern food on the peninsula. $23.52

9 p.m. — Despite being late, my body is craving a workout. I throw on a BODi Max Out Sweat session (33 minutes of pure HIIT madness) and wrap up by 9:45 p.m. I’m a huge fan of high-intensity interval training, especially when it’s late and I can’t run outside. Plus, a good evening cardio workout helps me to relax and unwind. I finish off the night with an episode of Futurama. Before the theme song even finishes, my eyelids are heavy and I’m out like a light.