Living on 35 Kilograms: What a Nomad CEO Actually Carries

Everything I own fits in 35 kilograms. One checked bag, one carry-on, one backpack. That’s the whole life: the clothes, the work, the small pile of things I’ve decided are worth carrying across borders. People hear that and assume it’s about discipline, or sacrifice. It isn’t. Living on 35kg turned out to be the clearest decision-making tool I’ve ever owned.

I didn’t arrive here on purpose. I left Japan, spent time building in Taiwan, and kept moving from there. Each move quietly taught me the same lesson: the stuff I dragged along “just in case” almost never earned its place, and the weight I carried was mostly weight I never questioned. At some point I stopped optimizing how to pack more efficiently and started asking a better question. Not “how do I fit this in,” but “does this deserve to come at all.”

Every object you own is a small ongoing decision. Living light just makes you make those decisions on purpose.

What 35kg actually looks like

People expect a secret. There isn’t one. The bag is boring, and boring is the point.

Roughly half of it is work: a laptop, a spare drive, chargers, a battery, the two or three cables that actually get used. A little over a week of clothes, chosen so everything matches everything, because a wardrobe that all works together is lighter than a bigger one that doesn’t. A tiny kit of the things that are annoying to rebuy in a new country. And then a very short list of things that aren’t useful at all, just mine, that make a rented room feel like somewhere I live rather than somewhere I’m passing through.

That last category matters more than the packing guides admit. Living light isn’t about owning as little as possible. It’s about being honest that a handful of things carry real weight for you, and letting almost everything else go.

Why less baggage means more freedom

The obvious benefit is logistics. When you own little, moving cities is an afternoon, not a project. You say yes to things faster. A last-minute month somewhere is a decision, not a relocation.

But the deeper benefit is quieter. When everything you own has to justify its place, you stop confusing “having options” with “being free.” A closet full of clothes you don’t wear isn’t freedom, it’s a decision you keep postponing. Thirty-five kilograms forces the decision, once, and then hands you back the attention you were spending on all of it.

That attention is the actual prize. Owning less didn’t make my life smaller. It made room for the parts I care about: the work, the moving, the people, the next place. Most of what I gave up, I’ve never once missed.

Freedom isn’t having every option open. It’s knowing which few things you’d actually carry, and not apologizing for leaving the rest.

Why Tokyo rewards traveling light

This is where Tokyo comes in, because few cities are as kind to someone living on 35kg. The rooms are small, but everything is built around that: smart storage, a konbini on every corner for the thing you didn’t pack, coin lockers when you don’t want to carry your bag around, a phone that doubles as your train pass and your wallet. You can land, drop your bag, and function within an hour.

A city that assumes you own a lot punishes you for owning little. Tokyo assumes the opposite. It’s designed for people moving through tight spaces with what they need and not much more, which is exactly the life I’m already living. For a light-traveling nomad, that fit is a genuine reason to make it a base, not just a stop.

The real reason I keep the bag small

I could own more now. The 35kg isn’t a budget anymore, it’s a choice, and I keep choosing it. Because the bag is really a filter for everything else. If a new thing doesn’t clearly earn its weight, it’s a small preview of every “yes” I give too easily elsewhere: the meeting, the commitment, the project that sounds fine and quietly costs more than it returns.

Keeping the bag light keeps me honest about the rest. That’s the whole philosophy I try to live by, packed into a luggage scale: you’re allowed to choose your life, on purpose, and own it. Thirty-five kilograms is just where I practice.