The More I Earn, The Less I Have
Unpacking the paradox of financial growth, the ambiguity tax, and the hidden costs of visible wealth
In my last post, I shared that my main goal for 2026 is simple: Financial Stability. I talked about building a safety net where getting fired doesn’t ruin my life, and making home a place I actually want to be.
But that plan didn’t just appear out of nowhere. It came from a frustration that has been bothering me for a while now. I had to ask myself a hard question: Why don’t I have that safety net already?
The math doesn’t seem to add up. I can go from earning X amount of shillings per month to 3X, 5X, or even 10X, and still feel the same financial pressure. I look back at my university days and realize I could make a small amount of money last two months. Today, holding that same amount feels like holding zero.
How did I go from “this money is plenty” to “I need to tighten my budget lest things go haywire”?
The easy answer is inflation or “lifestyle creep,” but that’s not the whole truth. I haven’t suddenly developed a taste for luxury yachts. The truth is, I haven’t been losing money to a lifestyle; I’ve been losing it to a lack of structure.
The “Ambiguity Tax”
I’ve realized a huge chunk of my spending stems from a personality trait: I hate awkwardness.
You know that specific silence during a phone call where you feel the urge to speak just to fill the void? I do the same thing with money in social situations. When I sense ambiguity, I pay to fix it.
A perfect example is being invited to an event or a “Sunday Plan.” You are told, “Entry is free,” or “It’s just 1,000 bob at the gate.” You budget for that.
But you arrive, and the setup is chaotic. There are no seats. The group is standing around awkwardly in the sun or crowded near the bar, looking lost. I hate that aimless, “stranded” feeling. I hate the lack of a home base.
So, I step in to fix the vibe. I ask the waiter for a table. He says, “Tables are reserved for bottle service.”
Without thinking, I say, “Okay, give us a bottle.”
I swipe my card. Suddenly, a “free” event has cost me KES 5,000. I didn’t even want the whiskey; I just wanted a place to sit and a controlled environment. I paid a premium to manufacture order out of chaos, simply because the plan didn’t account for comfort.
The “Visible Wealth” Trap
Then there is the biggest source of my financial headache: The Car.
This explains perfectly why the money that served me for months in university now vanishes in days. I bought my car for the love of machines—a calculated purchase of a reliable Toyota, intended strictly for weekends. Theoretically, it was well within budget.
But I underestimated the Privilege Gap.
When I meet a friend in town, and it’s time to leave, there is this awkward moment. I have a car; they don’t. The silence hangs there. I feel a sudden guilt. To bridge that gap, to avoid being the guy who drives off comfortably while they walk to the bus stop, I say, “I’ll drop you.”
A quick goodbye turns into a 10km detour to drop them home, burning fuel I hadn’t budgeted for. I realized I was using my fuel tank to manage my social anxiety.
Death by a Thousand Cuts
Finally, there are the costs that are so small they bypass my brain’s alarm system.
First, the car “opened up Nairobi.” Before, if I wanted to go somewhere far, I’d check Uber: “KES 1,500? No way, that’s too far.” I would stay home and save 100%. Now, I do the math differently: “It’s just 500 bob fuel.” It feels cheap. So instead of staying home, I go. And I go again. I end up making five trips that cost me KES 2,500 in fuel (plus the money I spend at the destination), all because the “entry fee” felt low.
Then come the casual conversations:
“Remove those watermarks from your car, it makes it look cleaner. It’s just 1k.“
“Those jeans look good on you, just buy them. It’s just 1k.“
“Bro, send me 1k urgent, I’ll pay you in the evening.”
One “1k” is fine. But when five different people ask for soft loans (that never get refunded), and I justify frequent “cheap” trips across Nairobi, I’m suddenly down 15,000 shillings.
I look at my M-Pesa statement at the end of the month, wondering where the money went because I didn’t make any big purchases. I simply died by a thousand cuts.
The Goal for 2026
The goal for 2026 is simple: reduce these loopholes as much as possible and see how that affects our financial progress.
I am eager to find out if fixing the psychology fixes the math. If you want to follow me on this journey, consider subscribing so you get notified on your email as soon as I write these thought-provoking thoughts.
See you in the next.