The rain sounds different from here.

I’m sitting on my balcony, my new stoop, listening to it fall through the trees surrounding our condo. With the windows open, the rain sounds almost like I’m camping in a rainforest. It’s peaceful. Serene. And every so often, I catch myself looking around and thinking, How did I get here?

I never planned to buy a home here. I never dreamed about it. I never even really considered it. But on June 26, I stood inside this place after closing and felt something I still have trouble putting into words: disbelief.

The two-bedroom condo sits just outside Chicago, in a neighborhood I never expected to call home.

But the more I pictured our life here, the more it started to make sense.

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Parker has gone to school just about across the street since third grade. She’ll attend the same junior high, located in the same complex, for seventh and eighth grade, too.

And she’s genuinely excited about it.

She’ll tell me some random fact about the neighborhood, point out something I didn’t know was there or fill me in on the history of a place we’ve driven past a hundred times.

She knows this area. She’s comfortable here. It’s part of her world already.

That matters. A lot.

Then I started noticing how much this place fit my life, too.

The balcony. The trees. The garage I always wanted. The views from our bedroom windows. The bathtub I waited nearly nine years to soak in.

I gave the place a 10/10. Parker gave it a 1,000/10.

My balcony has become my new stoop, which was easily my favorite place in Chicago. I don’t have to think about my surroundings the way I have for the past 8 1/2 years. I don’t have to circle the block looking for a parking space. I have an assigned spot in a garage.

Almost everything I need is within three miles: my new gym, my preferred grocery stores, the bowling alley where I joined a league. I’m spending far less time in traffic, and everyday errands have become remarkably simple.

Those little things have made life feel lighter.

Then it hit me.

I hadn’t simply found a home. I’d found a place that finally gave me the space to do what I’ve been trying to do all along: parent, write, think, create, invest and live intentionally — with a little more peace.

The more time I spend here, the more this place feels like a vacation home.

Except I get to come home to it.

And that might be what I love most about it. Not just the condo itself, but the way it fits into our lives. The way Parker gets to stay rooted in a neighborhood she already knows and loves. And the way I get to find a rhythm that feels more natural.

It’s not the plan I had.

It’s better.

Our new home has become a place where I can settle in, exhale and be more present for the life Parker and I are building together.

We love this place.

And that feels like a pretty good way to begin.

I was on the phone with my brother the first time I gave Aldi a shot.

Big mistake.

I had just walked into what felt like a foreign country.

For the past four years, Walmart had my loyalty. It was my one-stop shop for groceries, household supplies and just about everything else. For a while, it was even one of the stars of my investment portfolio.

But my loyalty to corporations has its limits. When shopping somewhere starts costing me more time, money or aggravation than it’s worth, I’m out.

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The unraveling started in 2022, when Walmart announced it was closing several Chicago stores, including the Neighborhood Walmart just blocks from our home. Suddenly, my closest Walmart was 6.3 miles away — about a 15-minute drive with no traffic but closer to 45 minutes when Chicago behaved like Chicago.

For nearly two years, I put up with the inconvenience.

Then, on Nov. 1, 2024, I hit my breaking point.

The culprit wasn’t prices.

It was the checkout lines.

Automation hasn’t made checking out any faster. Maybe this is where I officially become an old man, but grocery delivery doesn’t appeal to me. Neither does curbside pickup. I’d rather pick my own fruit, thank you.

Meanwhile, something else kept nagging at me.

Walmart has long been known as the low-price leader. But my receipts kept telling a different story. Parker would size up the cart and predict whether we’d top $100.

She wasn’t far off.

My last five Walmart trips totaled $93.47, $159.30, $180.84, $84.96 and $146.95.

By then, I was making fewer trips to Walmart anyway.

An Aldi sat just one mile from home — about a five-minute drive.

So I decided to give it a try.

That’s when everything went sideways.

First, I didn’t have a quarter for the shopping cart. Back to the car I went to rummage through the center console.

Then I needed lime juice.

I must have walked around that store five times and still couldn’t find it.

Then I reached the checkout.

No bags. Of course.

I’d left my reusable bags at home because it never occurred to me I’d need to bring my own.

This was a very different shopping experience.

But once I got over the learning curve, I noticed something else: I was spending a lot less money.

My last five Aldi trips were $64.75, $71.90, $10.53, $80.80 and $13.39.

That’s hardly a scientific study, but it lines up with broader research. Consumer Reports recently found that a comparable basket of groceries at Aldi averaged about 8.3% less than at Walmart.

The irony is that the place that initially left me completely disoriented has become my regular grocery store.

Aldi isn’t perfect. The produce can be hit or miss. The checkout lines aren’t always short. And I still head to Pete’s when I want the best fresh fruit.

But most nights, I don’t need specialty ingredients. I just need dinner. Aldi has become my default, and Pete’s fills in the gaps.

These days, there’s a quarter in my dashboard.

My reusable bags stay in the seat-back pocket.

And I’m still looking for the lime juice.

Tuesday has become my favorite day of the week.

Again.

Longtime Money Talks readers might remember I wrote those exact words in 2023. Back then, Tuesday nights belonged to Wallstreet Trapper. Unless duty called, I was locked in to “Trappin Tuesday’s” every week, soaking up lessons on earning, spending, saving, investing and building wealth.

Three years later, Tuesday is still my favorite day.

Only now, it’s because of a bowling league.

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Yeah, I didn’t see that one coming, either.

I’m officially old. Not because I joined a bowling league. Plenty of people bowl their entire lives. I’m officially old because of how excited I am about it.

Every Tuesday, I catch myself looking forward to league night. I’ve already turned down Tuesday invitations because I’m not giving up bowling.

I didn’t dip my toe in the water, either.

I paid $168 up front for the entire 12-week league instead of week by week.

Then I spent another $169.06 on a new bowling ball and another $42.78 on a two-ball bag, ball cleaner and a towel.

Let me translate that for anyone who knows me only as a guy who writes about investing:

I spent almost $400 to become slightly better at throwing a 13-pound ball at 10 pins.

The $168 also came with a few perks: two free games each week and discounts on bowling and concessions.

But the best part wasn’t a discount or a free game.

It was knowing that, for 12 weeks, I had a standing commitment to spend a few hours each Tuesday doing something I genuinely enjoyed.

That’s not something I’ve always made time for.

I searched the 363-column Money Talks archive and found only 10 columns that included the words “relax” or “relaxation.”

Five each.

One was about my root canal in 2025. Another was about turning off the TV.

Apparently, relaxation hasn’t been a recurring theme around here.

That’s part of why I didn’t mind putting money into this experience.

The ball upgrade had been a long time coming. My old ball had been with me since high school.

The league was the part I never expected.

It didn’t take long to remember why I’d always loved bowling.

Some of my favorite memories with my grandfather were made in bowling alleys.

We weren’t chasing perfect games.

We were just chasing one more game.

I can still hear him.

“Just roll the ball.”

“Put it on the second arrow.”

I carried those moments — and those words — with me into my first night.

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The league was designed for beginners. It was a chance to learn, improve and spend a few hours each Tuesday night having fun.

Still, I had questions.

Would I be good enough?

Would I embarrass myself?

Would I be accepted?

Turns out, I was worried about the wrong things.

I joined a team with two brothers who have been in the league for years. They knew the lanes, the routine and everyone around them. I was the new guy, but they welcomed me immediately.

My bigger problem? They are both Packers fans.

The younger brother showed up in a Packers shirt in Week 2. So naturally, I responded by wearing a Vikings shirt last week.

“This is going to be a problem,” he said.

I called our unforeseen circumstance a “friendly rivalry.”

“There’s nothing friendly about it,” he said.

All right then. Game on. We’ll see about it in Week 1 of the NFL season when my Vikes host his Packers.

I wasn’t the only new person on the team. The third member of our team was learning bowling from scratch.

Watching him learn the game has been one of the best parts of this experience. Each week, he’s picking up something new and getting better. By Week 3, he broke 100 for the first time.

That same week, my new ball arrived.

I wasn’t learning how to bowl from scratch. I was learning how to bowl differently.

My old ball was beat up, covered in dents and scratches and had nowhere near the movement of a modern bowling ball.

But I knew that ball.

I knew where to stand. I knew how fast to throw it. I knew what it would do when it left my hand. I bowled a 180 with it while out with Parker on July 9.

The new ball was a different story.

It had more torque. More spin. More potential.

And for a while, none of that mattered because I had no idea how to control it. The first time I brought it out for league night, I felt like I had forgotten how to bowl.

I couldn’t figure out where to stand, how to release it or how much speed to use. The ball was sliding all over the lanes, and I was searching for answers.

Then one of the cheeseheads gave me a lesson I didn’t even know I needed.

He explained how the lanes are oiled: more oil in the middle, less on the outside. That changes how the ball reacts as it travels down the lane.

I made a few adjustments. I increased my ball speed and kept my placement on the right side of the lane a little longer, putting it on that second arrow just like Grandpa taught me.

And slowly, the ball started doing what I wanted it to do.

The strikes started coming.

After opening with a 144, I finished with a 160 and a 141 for a 148.3 average. Two days later, I returned to use my two free games that came with joining the league.

Then I didn’t want to leave.

So I paid $8.97 for another three games. Best eight bucks I’ve spent in a while.

In the second game of that extra set, I bowled a personal-best 232.

My cousin Stefan once bowled a 285 and made it look effortless.

I’ve got a long way to go.

But I’m coming for you, Stef!

On the way out last Thursday, I wanted to tell everyone within earshot about my 232.

The people next to me. The people behind the counter. Anyone who would listen.

Just like an old man would.

“I’m not the average girl from your video,
And I ain’t built like a supermodel,
But I learned to love myself unconditionally,
Because I am a queen,
I’m not the average girl from your video,
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes,
No matter what I’m wearing I will always be,
The India Arie.” — India Arie

I cried in front of Parker on the Fourth of July.

It was close to midnight, and she was lying in bed beside me, blurry-eyed and exhausted after a long day.

We had spent the evening talking about the messages that shape us and the voices we choose to let into our lives.

Then India Arie started singing.

And I lost it.

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India Arie has been a part of my life for a long time.

Long before Parker. Long before Money Talks. Long before I understood how powerful a message could be.

Her music always feels different. It doesn’t demand attention. It earns it.

It’s not built around telling people what to chase. It’s built around reminding people what they already have.

She isn’t just singing about love. She is singing about the kind of love that begins with knowing your worth.

That has always been the beauty of India Arie.

She has spent 30 years creating music that asks people to look deeper. Beyond appearance. Beyond approval. Beyond the expectations placed on us by a world that often rewards the surface over the substance.

Her catalog is filled with examples of that truth.

“Video” challenged the way women are often taught to measure their beauty. “I Am Not My Hair” pushed that message even further, reminding women and girls that their identity extends far beyond their appearance.

It was the first song I played for Parker that night.

Because before she ever worries about how the world sees her, I want her to understand that she is so much more than what people can see.

India Arie has always explored more than self-love. She has also celebrated the beauty, vulnerability and intention of Black love through songs like “Brown Skin,” “Purify Me” and “Ready for Love.”

Then there was “Steady Love.”

That one felt different.

That one felt personal.

Those words have stayed with me for years.

Because somehow, India Arie captured me in a single lyric.

That’s why her music has always felt so personal. She has spent her career reminding us who we are.

And that’s why I struggled so much with what happened next.

Just before the Fourth of July, India Arie found herself at the center of a cultural conversation after responding to a Threads post about rapper Yung Miami’s “Spend Dat.”

“I finally realized that not EVERYBODY wants to get free. And it was a very, very, very rude awakening. smh. because the mass acceptance of this song is a crystal clear sign of this much bigger truth.”

Her words sparked a debate.

Some people agreed. Others pushed back.

A few days later, I was lying in bed with Parker on the night of the Fourth of July, watching Dr. Boyce Watkins break down the conversation in a 65-minute video.

Watkins has built a platform around economic education and financial empowerment through his “Money in the Morning” daily class, which he describes as “the home for intelligent Black people.” His messages often challenge me to think differently about wealth, ownership and the choices we make.

This time, I was watching with Parker.

And as the conversation unfolded, I wanted her to understand who India Arie is and why her words matter.

So I paused the video.

And I played “I Am Not My Hair.”

I watched Parker listen, and I thought about the world she is growing up in.

The messages she will encounter. The voices she will have to learn to question. The things she will be told to value.

And then I thought about India Arie.

For three decades, she’s pushed back against those same pressures, which made this moment even harder for me to process.

She has spent her life trying to help people see themselves differently.

And somehow, when she challenged a mindset that deserved to be questioned, she became the target.

Because the message at the center of this conversation was not complicated.

“Spend Dat” is built around celebrating spending money quickly, displaying wealth and glorifying the lifestyle described in its lyrics.

The chorus says:

“Where all my scammin’-ass n**** at?,
Spendin’ that money fast,
Twenties, fifties, hundreds, cash,
Boy, go in that Goyard bag.”

And then repeats the message:

“Spend that shit.”

I read those words and sat with the reality of what was happening.

This was the song receiving that level of attention.

This was the message being defended.

The conversation was never about a song.

It was about what we value, what we celebrate and what we normalize.

I understand why some people pushed back.

Music is personal.

People connect with different sounds, different stories and different experiences.

But I have always believed repetition matters.

What we say. What we hear. What we celebrate. What we normalize.

They shape us, whether we realize it or not.

That’s why India Arie had me wiping away tears in front of Parker on the Fourth of July.

Because for 30 years, she has been intentional.

Her message has not changed.

Her voice has not changed.

Her heart has not changed.

At 11:56 p.m., with Parker barely keeping her eyes open, I played one more India Arie song.

“There’s Hope.”

I wiped away my tears.

Parker was quiet.

Then she looked up at me.

“I like it,” she said.

I hadn’t planned on seeing Ella Mai this summer.

Truthfully, I hadn’t planned on seeing much of anybody.

I’ve written before that I’m not much of a concertgoer anymore. Somewhere along the way, live music became one of those things I figured I’d get back to eventually. There was always something else to do. Something else to handle. Something else that felt more important in the moment.

Then, sometime in May, a woman I’m dating made a suggestion.

“We should go see Ella Mai.”

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She had some nerve.

We hadn’t been dating very long, but she shot her shot.

And she swished it.

I bought the tickets on June 3.

The funny thing is, I didn’t buy them because she asked. I bought them because I wanted to go. She just happened to be in position to benefit.

Ella Mai has been in my rotation for years. The Grammy-winning R&B singer broke through with 2018 hits like “Boo’d Up,” “Trip” and “Shot Clock,” followed by “DFMU” and “Little Things.” After a three-year hiatus, she returned to the road with her “Do You Still Love Me?” tour.

Her Chicago stop was at The Salt Shed, a venue I had never visited.

By the time Friday arrived, I had no idea what kind of night it would become.

The weeks leading up to it had been a lot: car trouble and an emergency situation at home — the kinds of things that have a way of rearranging even the best-laid plans.

Friday was no different.

I had to facilitate Parker’s transition in the suburbs, which was scheduled for 6 p.m. The show started at 7. After that, I still had to pick up my date on the South Side before making the drive to the North Side.

There was no chance we were getting there on time.

We walked into The Salt Shed around 8:30.

Ella Mai had already taken the stage, but she couldn’t have been more than a few songs into her set. She was already locked in. So was the crowd.

The place was packed.

The night was beautiful.

And with the Chicago skyline behind the stage, it was easy to understand why people had shown up.

Ella Mai has always stood out to me because of the way she carries herself. Her music has always centered on love, but so has the energy she brings with it. There’s a gentleness there that feels rare in an industry that often rewards the opposite.

She showed that late in the set when she stopped the show for roughly 10 minutes after noticing attendees who needed medical attention. There was no rushing through it. No trying to get back to the next song. She waited until people were taken care of.

That moment stayed with me.

Maybe part of it is because she’s a Scorpio like me, born one day after me — although she’s more than a decade younger.

But mostly, I appreciate that she has remained herself. She hasn’t needed to lean into stereotypes to sell music.

As a girl dad, I notice those things.

I appreciate artists who can show young women that strength and confidence don’t have to come at the expense of kindness, humility or authenticity.

When I walked out of The Salt Shed on Friday night, I wasn’t thinking about the tickets I bought on June 3.

I was thinking about the fact that, despite everything that happened between buying those tickets and walking through the gates, I still ended up having the night I hoped I would have.

A night filled with music, good company and a rare moment where I wasn’t thinking about the next thing on my list.

There’s a difference between taking profits and touching the stove.

I spent Q1 doing the former, trimming positions that had run higher than I expected and teaching myself how to take what the market had given me. It wasn’t comfortable, but it felt measured.

Q2 was different.

I kept taking profits where I thought they made sense. But one decision stood above everything else I did between April and June.

I sold part of my buy-and-hold portfolio.

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It wasn’t an emergency.

It wasn’t panic.

It was intentional.

And I’m still not sure whether it was discipline or rationalization.

I’ve spent nearly four years building routines that remove emotion from investing.

Buy every month. Stay invested. Trust compounding. Ignore the noise.

Those rules exist for a reason.

The moment you start making exceptions, each one becomes a little easier to justify.

That’s what made the quarter so uncomfortable.

Was I being opportunistic?

Or was I convincing myself I was smarter than the process that got me here?

The answer still isn’t as obvious as I’d like it to be.

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June marked my fourth straight month of spending more than $4,000.

I keep waiting for this stretch to let up, but instead it feels like every time I look up, another expense is headed my way.

It feels like everything is hitting me at once. And the biggest bugaboo is a familiar one.

Since April, my professional services category has accounted for 49%, 23% and now 35% of my monthly spending. It has completely reshaped my budget, and at times, it feels like a bomb has been dropped on my finances.

Then, over the holiday weekend, road debris left my vehicle with minor body damage. Now I’m staring at yet another bill that needs immediate attention, whether I decide to file an insurance claim or pay out of pocket.

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It’s amazing how quickly financial pressure can cloud your thinking.

Vision gets blurred. The goal gets distorted.

Fatigue flew out the window a long time ago. I’m nearing exhaustion as setback after setback keeps arriving.

I’m feeling the weight of constantly having to adjust.

What’s worse is watching so much money leave your accounts after spending years being intentional with every dollar.

Because I invest as aggressively as I do, there isn’t much room in my budget for superfluous spending. So when the money that remains has to go toward expenses I’d much rather avoid — and those expenses are large enough to force me to tap my freedom fund while threatening my investing strategy — the situation can’t help but feel like a storm.

Most of my purchases go on a credit card so I can rack up airline points. A few essentials — including rent, gas for my vehicle and apartment, electricity and my $10 monthly gym membership — are paid separately. Tracking my expenses this way lets me monitor my spending in real time, and each month I share the numbers, for better or worse.

I’ve had to bite the bullet and pull from my freedom fund, the safety net I worked so hard to build.

This is where things become uncomfortable.

My freedom fund exists for seasons like this, but that doesn’t make using it feel any better. When this passes, rebuilding it moves to the top of my priority list.

This season has also exposed a habit I hadn’t fully acknowledged before. The more my bills pile up, the more tempted I am to splurge.

My only explanation is that I abhor watching so much money leave my accounts without enjoying at least a little of it myself. It’s not the healthiest financial instinct, and June reflected it.

I spent $629.19 on food and drink — the third straight month I’ve eclipsed $600 and the second consecutive month it ranked as my second-largest spending category. If there were ever a time to tighten that up, it’s now.

As overwhelming as this season feels, perspective still matters.

Despite the string of setbacks, my average monthly spending through the first six months of 2026 is only $89 higher than it was during the first half of 2025.

Considering everything that’s happened, that number surprised me.

I expected this year’s spending to be much higher at the halfway point, but the close numbers reminded me I went through something very similar last year too.

I’m disappointed to see the pattern repeat itself another year — and likely more consecutively than that.

The storm is real, and so is the preparation that came before it.

My freedom fund is doing exactly what it was built to do, even if I don’t know when this stretch will pass.

I’ll get through it.

Earlier this year, I opened three free six-month coaching spots for mid-career professionals looking for clarity and structure with their money.

The response was thoughtful, and I appreciated everyone who took the time to apply.

In the end, the first round of coaching never fully got off the ground. Timing and capacity shifted, and it didn’t unfold the way it was originally structured. That happens sometimes.

What I’ve been sitting with since then is how much of this work depends less on interest in the idea and more on what life actually allows space for in real time.

I expected I’d be working closely with people through the first half of the year — not in a guaranteed-outcome way, but in simply showing up, doing the work and being part of someone’s financial turning point. That didn’t happen. The time passed, and neither of us really had the experience I thought we would.

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It hasn’t changed my belief in the work. It’s changed how I’m offering it.

So I’m reopening Money Talks Coaching for one-on-one relationships.

Think of it like a personal trainer for your finances. Most people already know what they should be doing. The challenge is doing it consistently — and not having to figure it out alone.

This isn’t financial advice. It’s hands-on coaching — building structure, awareness and habits that support better decision-making over time.

These are working relationships. We meet regularly, talk through what’s actually happening with your money and work through decisions together.

Together, we’ll build practical systems, reduce financial stress and strengthen habits that create lasting stability and peace of mind.

If you’ve been telling yourself you’ll get serious about your money when things finally settle down, consider this your reminder: they usually don’t.

A better financial life rarely begins with perfect timing. It begins with the first step.

If you’re ready for that first Money Talk, I’m ready to meet you where you are.

Email: darnell@moneytalksmatter.com

The older Parker gets, the more I find myself paying attention to the little ways we interact — not the big moments, but the everyday ones.

When I send her a text and wonder if she’ll respond. When I hear her bedroom door open in the morning and hope the first thing she’ll say is, “Good morning, Daddy,” before disappearing into her iPad. When I wonder if she’ll ask me how my day was the same way I ask about hers.

None of those things are earth-shattering, but to me, they matter.

For a long time, I caught myself feeling disappointed in some of those moments. Then I had to ask myself a difficult question: Had I ever told Parker why those things mattered to me?

The answer was... no.

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In my mind, those little gestures communicate connection. They say, “I see you. We’re sharing life together.” But Parker can’t be expected to know what’s in my head. She isn’t a mind reader. She’s a 12-year-old girl who’s learning how to navigate relationships, just like the rest of us.

That realization changed the way I think about this season of parenting. It reminded me that expectations without definitions almost always lead to frustration.

We assume the people we love know what we’re thinking, what we value and what we need, when, in reality, we’ve never taken the time to tell them.

That’s what Episode 26 is really about.

It’s about taking the time to define the values that shape our relationships. Because words like love, respect and fear mean different things to different people.

If we never explain what those words mean to us, we shouldn’t be surprised when the people we love fall short of expectations they never knew existed.

Click the play button below to listen now, or find the Money Talks podcast on Spotify. For your convenience, here is a timestamp for Episode 26:

🎙️ Episode 26 — Timestamps:

0:01: Backstage
0:22: The Money Talks jingle
0:37: The pink rug returns!
1:20: Parker wraps up her sixth grade year
3:05: Biggest lesson from sixth grade
4:17: Parker’s learning… WHAT???
6:12: Parker’s biggest area of improvement
7:28: Parker starts her summer with a visit to the Barack Obama Presidential Center
11:50: Who you calling a chicken, chicken?
14:19: What y’all reading?
19:05: R-E-S-P-E-C-T … Find out what it means to me
25:30: Defining love, respect and fear
27:20: Outro

Today is Day 2 of an 11-day vacation, my first of the year.

It’s overdue.

The first half of 2026 has been full. Between my day job, publishing Money Talks, expanding my pursuits, house hunting, stock market trading and investing, family court, a breakup and everything else life has thrown my way, I’ve had plenty on my plate.

I’ve been running at a relentless pace for nearly four straight years.

Last year, I took a two-week vacation — the longest vacation of my life. It opened my eyes to something I had spent years overlooking: the importance of unplugging.

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That realization wasn’t easy for me.

I’m wired to work. I always have been. Pursuing purpose, building something meaningful and chasing goals don’t leave much room for idleness.

I’ve spent much of my adult life avoiding the “B” word: balance.

But balance requires something many ambitious people struggle to embrace.

Rest.

So for the next 10 days, that’s exactly what I’m choosing.

No exotic destination. No packed itinerary. No constant updates from the road.

In fact, I’m not going anywhere.

I’ll be right here at home, resting, relaxing, rejuvenating and replenishing.

I’ll sleep in. I’ll meal prep and cook and bake with Parker. I’ll take walks and read books, bowl a few games and hit the gym and the beach, scarf down pizza and ice cream, get a massage and finally tackle organizing projects that got lost in the shuffle during the first half of the year.

None of it sounds particularly remarkable.

That’s the point.

For years, I treated rest as something to squeeze in, if at all. Something I earned only after the work was done.

But the work is never done.

There will always be another deadline, another opportunity, another challenge, another goal.

At some point, you have to make room for yourself.

I’ve decided that means two vacations a year moving forward — one during the first half of the year and another around my birthday in the second half.

It’s no longer negotiable. It’s as mandatory as dollar-cost averaging.

To be the best version of myself. To show up in the world how I need to and deserve to. To protect my physical, mental and emotional well-being. To create space for peace, clarity and joy.

This isn’t time away from my purpose.

It’s time invested in it.

And if you’re someone who’s been grinding nonstop, carrying the weight of work, family and life without coming up for air, consider this your reminder.

The world will keep spinning. The emails will still be there. The to-do list will survive.

Take the vacation. Use the personal day. Schedule the long weekend.

Rest is productive, too.

For the next 10 days, I’m choosing to pour into myself.

I hope you’ll do the same.

I used to be spontaneous.

If I wanted to do something, I did it. Road trip? Sure. Last-minute concert? Why not? Random dinner on a Tuesday night? Let’s go.

The old version of me flew by the seat of his pants. He was down for whatever, whenever. No real direction, goal or five-year plan. He wore a lack of structure like a badge of honor — proudly. He loved the flexibility he thought it gave him.

Every day felt open-ended. Possibility existed everywhere because nothing was predetermined. There were no guardrails. Just freedom.

At least that’s how I saw it at the time.

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But slowly, things began to change.

Some of it was age. Some of it was responsibility. And some of it was the realization that freedom without direction isn’t always freedom at all.

As life became more complex, I found myself craving certainty.

The carefree guy who used to make decisions based on what sounded fun began making decisions based on what created stability.

The spontaneous version of me slowly gave way to a version who planned and prepared.

The change wasn’t dramatic. It happened gradually, one tradeoff at a time.

Fewer nights at the bar. Fewer concerts. Less time watching sports. Cutting out video games entirely.

Movies, television, spontaneous restaurant outings, aimless weekends — all of it slowly got replaced with spreadsheets, books, budgets, business ideas, financial planning and long-term strategy.

Even music changed.

There was a time I’d spend hours discovering new artists, getting lost in albums and appreciating the craft behind them. A great song could stop me in my tracks. Now I often drive in silence, thinking through what needs to be solved next.

And it’s not just music.

Somewhere along the way, I became so focused on creating that I stopped enjoying what others create. Books became research. Podcasts became education. Social media shifted from doom scrolling to only seeking useful ideas.

I didn’t consciously choose that mindset. It came from years of living in pursuit mode.

When you’re obsessed with building, it’s easy to lose your appreciation for simply experiencing things.

Conversations don’t even land the same way.

Old topics don’t hold me. New subjects do.

So even when I’m present, something in me isn’t fully there.

That dichotomy plays tricks on me.

I became obsessed with purpose.

The mission: buy back my time and establish a sturdy financial foundation for Parker.

Everything started flowing through that lens.

Every extra hour worked. Every dollar invested. Every system built. Every lesson learned.

And it’s working.

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My finances are stable. I’m investing consistently. I’ve taken real steps toward securing Parker’s future.

My life is rounding into the shape I’ve spent years carefully molding it to become.

The structure I used to lack is now just…my life.

The irony is that now that structure is in place, I feel something else missing — presence.

Because while my purpose is focused on tomorrow, my presence is required today.

It’s required with Parker, with family and in the little moments that make up a life: A conversation that doesn’t need to be rushed. A walk without checking my phone. A Saturday afternoon that isn’t optimized for productivity.

But turning off the pursuit has become surprisingly difficult.

For so long, there was always another problem to solve, another leak to plug, another goal to chase. Forward motion became my default setting.

Now every moment my foot isn’t on the gas feels like stagnation. And stagnation somehow feels like regression.

So the cycle continues: Build. Learn. Improve. Repeat.

Maybe that’s just me now. I don’t really know.

Maybe there isn’t a switch that can be flipped to make ambition disappear.

And truthfully, I don’t think I’d want it to.

The ambition that sometimes robs me of presence is also the ambition that created the life I’m grateful for today.

Abandoning purpose isn’t the goal. Coexisting with it is.

Trusting that the systems are working. Believing that not every minute needs to be optimized. Building for tomorrow while remaining available for today.

I needed structure.

Now I have it.

The future feels more secure than it ever has.

Still, every now and then, I miss the guy who was down for whatever.

To the father lying awake at night worrying about money, custody, your children or the future — I see you because I’ve been you.

I’ve stared at the ceiling at 2 a.m. with more questions than answers.

I’ve carried fears I didn’t talk about and burdens I wasn’t sure anyone else could understand.

I’ve felt the weight of trying to be strong when I was exhausted, trying to stay hopeful when everything felt uncertain and trying to hold everything together when it seemed like life was coming apart.

If that’s where you are right now, this message is for you.

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In August, I’ll mark 10 years as a single father.

Ten years of learning as I go. Ten years of making mistakes, figuring things out, getting back up and continuing forward.

Ten years of challenges I never expected and blessings I never could have imagined.

There were seasons when I wondered how everything would work out. Seasons when I questioned whether I was doing enough, providing enough or simply being enough.

There were days when the future felt overwhelming and nights when the pressure felt heavier than I wanted to admit.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned along the way, it’s that you don’t have to have all the answers to keep moving forward.

You just have to keep going.

I don’t write these words as someone who has life figured out. I don’t have a perfect story or a secret formula.

What I do have is perspective.

I can look back at moments I wasn’t sure I’d make it through and realize that I did.

I’ve seen prayers answered in ways I couldn’t have imagined at the time.

And I have the privilege of knowing that some of life’s greatest blessings arrived long after I thought I had reached my limit.

So if you’re carrying a burden today, hear me clearly.

You are not alone.

If you’re worried about finances, family, court dates, relationships, your future or whether you’re making the right decisions, you’re not alone.

If you’re trying to be everything for everyone while quietly struggling yourself, you’re not alone.

If you’re doing your absolute best and still wondering if it’s enough, you’re not alone.

Many fathers are fighting battles nobody sees.

But don’t quit.

Your children don’t need a perfect father. They need a present one. They need your love, your consistency, your example and your willingness to keep showing up — even on the days when you don’t feel strong.

Especially on those days.

The struggles you’re facing right now are not the end of your story. The pressure won’t last forever. Neither will the uncertainty. The season you’re in today will not define every season that follows.

Things can get better.

The burden can become lighter. The situation can become sweeter.

Stay focused on what matters most.

Love your children well. Protect your peace. Keep showing up.

Separate what deserves your attention from what doesn’t. Not every distraction deserves your energy. Don’t let temporary setbacks become permanent surrender.

And when life feels overwhelming, remember that you’ve already survived days you thought you wouldn’t make it through.

You are stronger than you know.

You are making a difference, even when you can’t see it.

So keep going, Dad.

One day at a time. One step at a time.

You’ve got this.

Your greatest blessings are still ahead.

I have been eagerly waiting to start my YouTube career, and Tuesday marks six months until my 13th birthday, a milestone I have been looking forward to for more than two years.

Just six months until my 13 birthday!

For more than two years, my dad has promised me that I would be able to start my YouTube channel when I turned 13. This promise has given me a lot of motivation to create and plan content, guiding me through countless hours of daydreaming about the kind of channel I want build.

Although I am very excited, I don’t expect to start immediately, even though I’ve been waiting and wanting this for years.

First, I will share three steps I must do before becoming a YouTuber. And at the end, I will share my promise to myself. ✌🏾

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1. Collect info

I will have to explore and collect information on what to do because I don’t know all there is to being a YouTuber. For the record, all I know is I want to do this. So I will have to change some habits. Instead of watching mindless content about my favorite shows and space stuff, I need to pivot and watch videos on how to start a YouTube channel, how to make content and content ideas, just to say a few.

2. Schedule a balance

There is a lot in my life already, so I need to have a balance between school, extracurricular activities and chores.

To help you understand better, here is an example. There are 168 hours in a week. I go to school for 7 1/2 hours, but let’s say eight for the purposes of this discussion. So 8x5 is 40. That’s already only 128 hours left in the week, and on average, I spend 10 hours on homework per week — 118 hours left. Then we have chores, which are hard to calculate, but on average I spend 15 hours a week doing chores (cleaning, folding laundry, etc.).

After that, there’s 103 hours left. We can’t forget sleeping! I sleep around 56 hours a week, so that is 47 hours left in the week. I do confirmation at my church for about one hour a week (I go once a week), so 46 hours left. Then I have Girl Scouts for two hours (I also have this once a week).

I end up being left with 44 hours in a week. That may seem like a lot, but I did not add in hygiene, unexpected events, transportation, transitions, eating and sitting on the couch. As you can see, there is not a lot of time left in the day for YouTube.

A girl’s got decisions to make.

3. Know what I’m doing

Once I acquire the knowledge to create a channel, I need to know what I’m doing and plan it. With no schedule, they’re going to be the WORST videos anyone has ever seen.

Once I know what I’m doing and what to do, I will succeed.

Currently, I have some videos planned, some I have mentioned and others that I haven’t, but it won’t be long before you see them.

💸

Now that you see that I have work to do, here’s my promise.

The promise I’ve made to myself is that no matter what happens or who says what, I will never try to “compete” with other YouTubers. I will never post without a purpose. I’ll always have a meaning for every post.

Sure, I can still get a bit upset if there is a mean comment, but I shouldn’t dwell on it. I should live life knowing that my image and likeness is on the web and not be worried about who does what. That is probably why my dad has me waiting; so I could plan, schedule and be ready for the world.

There are still things I need to learn, lessons that only life can teach.

Some of them will come through YouTube. Through saying the wrong thing maybe. Or by not loving how I look. Or what people say about me — or what they don’t say at all.

Or maybe I view my worth in my channel instead of my life and who I am, what I’m about and where I’m going.

These are all reasons my dad had me wait until I was 13. Until I was more mature and ready to handle these high-level realities.

So what am I going to do about it?

How am I going to make sure that all of those challenges don’t overwhelm me and threaten to change who I am?

This is my pledge…

I am committed to preparing myself thoroughly and to quality creating content.

I look forward to sharing my experiences and insights with you on my future channel.

The accounts are running. The compound effect is rolling. On paper, everything is working.

So what am I worried about?

That’s the part I never anticipated.

I expected the pressure while I was trying to build something. I expected the uncertainty when funds were low and the future felt unclear.

What I didn’t expect was the mental weight that would show up after things started working.

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I thought reaching this point would create more peace of mind. Instead, it’s introduced a completely different set of questions — ones I wasn’t prepared for.

As I’ve taught Parker, our job with money is to make it, keep it, and build it.

I’ve spent most of my life focused on the first one. I’m just now learning how to make it more efficiently. But lately, my attention has shifted to the other two: keeping it and building it.

And that’s where the anxiety lives.

The more I learn, the more I realize how much more there is to learn. Every answer seems to uncover three new questions. Every strategy reveals a potential blind spot. Every plan exposes another hole, another leak, another variable I hadn’t considered.

Should more capital be deployed into the market or held in reserve? Is my insurance coverage actually sufficient? Am I being tax-efficient, or am I leaving money on the table every year? What happens if I’m not here tomorrow?

It’s a never-ending loop.

I have a hard time turning it off. My mind is constantly running scenarios, evaluating risks, thinking about next steps.

What am I missing? What could be done better? What’s the smartest move from here?

The strange thing is that the stakes feel higher now than they did when I had less. I’ve become increasingly aware of the responsibility that comes with building something worth protecting.

The larger challenge isn’t making money anymore. It’s being a good steward of it. It’s understanding how to keep it, grow it, protect it, and eventually pass it on wisely.

Stewardship sounds noble in theory. In practice, it looks like reading policy documents, reviewing beneficiaries, questioning assumptions and trying to make decisions that your future self — and your family — won’t regret.

Every decision comes with consequences, and stewardship requires a different kind of attention than earning ever did.

That responsibility occupies more mental real estate than I ever expected.

A lot of people are drawn to the idea of generational wealth. I certainly was. It sounds great in conversation. It looks great on a list of goals.

What gets talked about less is what it demands of you.

I’ve realized there’s a significant difference between wanting generational wealth and accepting what it takes to create it.

One is a compelling idea. The other is a daily commitment.

The irony is that the money itself isn’t what’s occupying my mind. The responsibility is.

Maybe this is just another stage of the journey. Maybe this is the price of caring deeply about stewardship. Maybe it’s a reminder that every level comes with its own challenges.

Either way, it’s a form of financial anxiety I never saw coming.

The money is doing exactly what it’s supposed to do.

I’m the one who’s still learning how to live with it.

On the final Friday in May, I planned a last-minute date that couldn’t have gone much better.

But before the evening truly began, I found myself distracted by something else entirely.

Driving to the hotel rooftop where we had reservations, I passed one crowded scene after another. Restaurant patios were overflowing. Rooftop bars were packed shoulder to shoulder. Groups wandered the streets looking for the next place to go, the next drink, the next experience.

For a moment, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

With everything so expensive these days, I found myself wondering where people get all this money. How can they afford it? And, in some cases, I know the answer is that they can’t — but that doesn’t necessarily stop them.

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If you judged the economy solely by what I saw that night, you’d never guess the country or its citizens were under any financial pressure at all. There were no visible signs of restraint. No indication that inflation, housing costs, student loans or credit card balances were weighing on people’s minds.

Then again, that’s what happens when you don’t go outside.

It’s easy to develop a distorted view of reality when most of your time is spent at home, working, reading, or scrolling through headlines that paint a picture of economic anxiety. The real world often looks very different from the one described in surveys and statistics.

Judging by my own credit card statement, though, you’d think I was right there among the big spenders.

Most of my purchases go on a credit card so I can rack up airline points. A few essentials — like rent, gas for my vehicle and apartment, electricity and my $10 monthly gym membership — are paid separately. Tracking expenses this way lets me monitor spending in real time, and each month I share my progress, for better or worse.

May marked the third consecutive month that I spent more than $4,000.

I can’t remember another stretch when that has happened. Tracking expenses month over month has become one of my favorite financial habits because it helps provide context. Numbers by themselves can be alarming until you compare them against prior periods.

Looking back at last May, for example, reminds me that this year’s spending isn’t nearly as dramatic as it first appears. Last year featured a root canal and the kind of dental bill that makes almost every other expense seem reasonable by comparison.

The biggest category in May was professional services, which accounted for 23 percent of my spending, or $1,001. That figure comes after professional services made up nearly half of my April balance. May’s total included a $35 apartment application fee, along with attorney’s fees that are starting to pile up.

The category that stood out most, however, was food and drink.

At $976.60, it was my highest total of the year.

Truthfully, the explanation is simple: I’ve been dating more.

Meals, drinks, coffee shops, rooftop bars — those costs add up quickly. While it’s not exactly a budget-friendly development, I’m surprisingly at peace with it.

One of my goals has been to spend less time sitting at home and more time engaging with the world around me. Dating has accomplished that, even if it comes with a larger restaurant tab.

Not every increase was intentional. Subscriptions have started creeping back up as well. I added The Wall Street Journal for $8 per month and Netflix for $9.91 per month. The Journal is staying. Netflix, however, lasted only a month before I canceled it. It didn’t take long to realize that I simply don’t have enough time to Netflix or chill.

Otherwise, everything continues to run smoothly.

Still, the first half of the year has followed a familiar pattern. Just when my budget seems settled, I get hit with more large and unexpected bills that force an adjustment.

It’s a reminder that personal finance is never perfect.

And judging by the crowds I saw that Friday night, we’re all figuring it out in real time.

I write about investing every week, and yet I’m constantly reminded — through emails, conversations and blank stares — that many people still aren’t quite sure what investing even means.

Is it the stock market? Buying a house? Starting a business? And perhaps more importantly: how do you actually begin?

The truth is, investing is much broader than most people think. At its core, it’s simply the act of putting your time, money or energy into something today with the expectation of a future return.

That return doesn’t always come in dollars. It can show up as opportunity, stability or even happiness.

If you’re not sure where to start, here are five fundamental ways to think about investing.

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1. Invest in yourself

This is the most overlooked and arguably the most powerful form of investing. Putting resources into your education, health and skills often yields the highest long-term return.

That might mean a degree or certification, but it also includes practical skills, stronger communication or simply taking better care of your physical and mental health. A course that sharpens your expertise, a gym routine you stick to or time spent building a valuable skill all compound over time.

The better you are, the more opportunities you create.

2. Real estate

Real estate has long been a traditional path to building wealth. It involves purchasing property, whether residential or commercial, to generate income through rent or appreciation (rising property values).

A home can be both shelter and an asset. Rental properties can produce steady cash flow. Commercial real estate, while more complex, can offer higher returns. It also can require significant upfront capital and ongoing management, but for many, it becomes a cornerstone of financial stability.

3. The stock market

When people hear “investing,” this is usually what comes to mind. And for beginners, the next thought is often: “That sounds like gambling.”

It’s not — unless you treat it that way.

The stock market allows you to buy small pieces of companies and participate in their growth. You can invest for the long term through index funds, focus on dividends for income or take a more active approach.

For most people, simple is best: broad, low-cost funds that track the market. They offer diversification without constant attention. The real advantage comes from consistency and patience, not from trying to get rich overnight.

4. Community

Not all investments show up on a balance sheet.

Investing in your community — relationships, local organizations or charitable efforts — can produce meaningful, if less tangible, returns.

Strong networks lead to job opportunities, partnerships and support during difficult times. Being engaged in your community builds social capital, which is often just as valuable as financial capital. More often than not, the people around you are the bridge to your next opportunity.

5. Business and ownership

Another powerful path is building or owning a business. This could mean starting your own company, buying into an existing one or growing a side hustle.

Unlike stocks, where you’re a passive owner, a business gives you direct control over outcomes. It also comes with more risk and more work, but the upside can be significant.

Many of the largest fortunes aren’t just invested. They’re built.

💸

The key is understanding that investing isn’t a single path.

You don’t have to choose just one. In fact, the most resilient financial lives are built by combining several of them.

If you’re just getting started, don’t overcomplicate it.

Begin with yourself. Build knowledge, develop skills and create a strong foundation.

From there, you can expand into financial assets, real estate or even business ownership.

Investing doesn’t start with the perfect strategy.

It starts with the first step.

On the first day of every month, I post the same message.

Good morning. Happy (new month). Let’s build.

The month in the parenthesis changes. The challenge doesn’t.

I don’t know how it’s received. I don’t know if it motivates anyone. I don’t know if people scroll past it without a second thought.

What I do know is that every month, I’m making a commitment to myself: to build.

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Because whether we realize it or not, we’re all building something.

Some are building careers. Others are building families. Some are building businesses. Others are building a life with more freedom, more purpose or more peace.

Every decision, every habit and every day spent on one thing instead of another is laying a brick somewhere.

The question is whether you’re building what you actually want.

Today’s dispatch is the 350th post of Money Talks. Reaching that milestone didn’t happen because of one inspired day. It happened because of hundreds of ordinary days.

Sit down. Write. Publish. Repeat.

Some days the words came easily. Some days they didn’t. Some days I wondered whether anyone was reading.

But the habit became bigger than the outcome. The work itself became the reward.

Along the way, I learned something that applies far beyond writing: consistency compounds. Not just in what you produce, but in who you become.

Three hundred and fifty posts later, I’m a better writer. A clearer thinker. More disciplined. More committed to showing up whether I feel like it or not.

That’s how most worthwhile things get built.

Not through grand gestures. Through consistency.

When Parker is wasting time, I often ask her a simple question: Are you making yourself proud, or are you making yourself feel good?

It’s a question that puts the responsibility back on her. It forces honesty.

Feeling good and making yourself proud can be vastly different things.

One delivers immediate gratification. The other often requires patience, discipline and sacrifice.

The same question applies to all of us.

If you’re not sure which path you’re on, consider these questions:

💸 Am I giving my energy to things that truly matter, or am I reacting to life every day?

💸 Does my daily routine reflect the future I say I want?

💸 What habit or skill could change my life if I remained consistent with it?

💸 Am I building a life that feels good to me or one that simply looks good to others?

Whatever you’re building, make sure it’s something you’ll be proud to look back on.

June is here. Five months are gone. Seven remain.

Let’s build.

Some of the best moments happen when nobody’s trying to make one.

That’s exactly what Episode 25 of the Money Talks podcast captures: me and Parker completely unscripted, bouncing from random debates about pizza and pasta sauce to heartfelt conversations about worries, happiness and someday traveling the world together.

This special “best of backstage” episode pulls back the curtain on the moments that usually live between the segments — the preaching, the teaching, the laughs, the chaos, the accidental comedy and the occasional crash out that will become a memory we’ll laugh about forever.

At its core, this episode is just a father and daughter enjoying each other. Nothing was scripted. Nothing was rehearsed. Nothing was polished.

And that’s what makes it special.

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What you’ll hear is the playful banter, patience, curiosity and unbreakable bond that exists long after the microphones stop rolling. One minute Parker is explaining her “Sweet Golden 16.” The next, she’s delivering an aggressive plot twist or saying something so unexpected it leaves me speechless.

Whether you’ve been listening from the beginning or you’re just joining us for the first time, this episode feels less like a podcast and more like being invited into our living room for a front-row seat to the beautiful unpredictability of family.

Click the play button below to listen now, or find the Money Talks podcast on Spotify. For your convenience, here is a timestamp of Episode 25:

🎙️ Episode 25 — Timestamps:

0:01: Backstage
0:03: The Money Talks jingle
0:21: Introducing a special episode
0:59: What’s the motto?
2:20: Parker’s “Sweet Golden 16”
3:58: Cantaloupe and apples
5:20: Plot twist!
10:10: “Toppings, not sauces”
11:03: “Let me cook”
12:04: If you could make one thing disappear from your worries…?
13:45: Something you wish grown-ups knew about being a kid…?
19:07: Crust or middle piece?
21:03: What makes you feel happiest and safest?
23:04: “It makes sense … if you think about it.”
26:45: Someday we’ll travel the world together
27:45: This is going to go down in flames
30:53: Bad news/good news
32:10: Parker’s final crash out
33:20: Outro

Before we get into this, let me be clear about something.

I’m not a financial expert. Never claimed to be.

I’m still learning. A lot.

There are entire areas of money and wealth-building I’m still trying to better understand — taxes, real estate, insurance, estate planning, trusts, business structures, generational wealth strategies and more. The deeper I go, the more I realize how much I still don’t know.

But that’s also the point.

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My progress didn’t come from knowing everything. It came from doing a few simple things long enough for them to work.

For years, I thought financial success belonged to people who were naturally good with money, had insider knowledge or were already making six figures straight out of college. What I’ve learned instead is that progress usually starts with curiosity, discipline and consistency.

I became a sponge for information.

I started asking better questions.

I stopped ignoring money.

And slowly, step by step, my financial picture began to change — to the point where I finally feel like I’m building something instead of just trying to survive financially.

And if you’ve ever felt behind, overwhelmed or unsure where to even begin, some of these steps might help create that kind of shift for you too.

I’m still evolving financially, but these are the habits and decisions that completely changed the trajectory of my finances — and my peace of mind.

Some were small changes.

Some were uncomfortable.

All of them mattered.

These are the exact steps I took to build a stronger financial foundation — and why each one changed the game for me.

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I had an interesting week.

Money Talks kept finding me.

No matter where I was or what I was doing, a Money Talk surfaced. They started during a phone conversation with a friend that became heavier than normal. Then one showed up on a date. Another arrived at my front door with a neighbor holding a tallboy at 2:30 in the afternoon.

Different people. Different circumstances. Same underlying truth: money is never just about money. All three were thought-provoking Money Talks that revealed something deeper about the human experience.

And as a bonus, I got one more exchange this week — the kind that reminds you why Money Talks matter.

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🪺 A friend in his 50s without a nest egg

My friend Greg opened up to me unexpectedly.

He had mentioned his money problems before, but not with this much transparency.

“I’ve got nothing,” Greg said, referring to his retirement accounts.

This time wasn’t just a passing mention. This time, Greg sounded helpless.

Times are tough, he explained. Everything costs more. To stay afloat, Greg has had to tap into his retirement funds. He said it was a hard decision but the only option he felt he had.

Greg is in his early 50s. He is married with children.

We talked about getting him back on track and even kicked around a few opportunities. Greg told me it was important for him to have something to contribute when his children need money for college, a down payment for a home or assistance buying a car.

It felt like Greg stopped talking to me and started dreaming out loud.

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🤨 A money question my date never saw coming

My dinner date was going great.

Stimulating conversation. Jokes. Laughs. Compliments. Flirting.

Then I popped the question.

“Are you good with money?“

Michelle smiled as she shifted her weight in her chair.

“I’ve never been asked that question,” she said.

The answer was a drawn-out, “No.”

Michelle likes the finer things. Also navigating life after a divorce, she candidly told me she misses the lifestyle that two incomes provided. Parting with the cleaning company and the personal chef is a difficult downshift. Michelle, a mother of two, left cooking in the rearview mirror, a duty she’s vowed to never do again out of obligation.

I didn’t belabor the issue or let my inner money nerd run wild. On the walk to the car, however, Michelle surprised me by returning the question. She asked if I’m good with money.

“I am now,” I said.

“What made you become good with money?” she asked.

“Divorce,” I said.

🧾 A neighbor gambles for dough

It was power hour in the stock market, and I sat under the sunshine on my front stoop as I monitored my positions.

I was green on the day and looking to lock in more profits when my neighbor Rueben stepped out of a car dropping him off and saddled up to me. He carried two tallboy Miller Lites, one already opened.

Again, it was 2:30 in the afternoon.

Rueben has the worst timing, he likes to ramble about himself, and he never talks about anything productive.

On this day, Rueben settled on his squares. The gambling kind.

While I was busy banking on Netflix and Nokia options, Rueben excitedly told me about his numbers.

“I put up $200 for $6,000,” Rueben said, gleefully.

I wanted to mention the stock market to him, turn my phone around and show him another possibility.

But I knew better.

It doesn’t work that way.

🗣️ A Money Talk with my princess

Parker almost never texts me.

It’s not entirely her fault, even though I tell her every day that she can call and text me whenever she wants.

As it turns out, email is her thing.

She sent me an email for the first time last Friday. It felt strange, almost supernatural, seeing my daughter’s name staring at me digitally like that.

Three nights later, during our 8 o’clock call Monday, I told Parker I was going to put an option on McDonald’s.

Here’s what she said to me, y’all.

“Can you email me McDonald’s chart so I can see if it’s a good buy?”

I sure did — screen grabs of the five-year, one-year, year-to-date and three-month charts.

On Tuesday morning at 8:46 — 16 minutes into the market open — I emailed Parker with the subject line: “McDonald’s lunch money.”

The body of the email read: “Ba-da-ba-ba-bah! I’m loving it 🥳,” along with a screenshot of an $11.34 unrealized profit on a McDonald’s call option.

I emailed Parker one minute later. The unrealized profit had risen to $40.84.

Then again five minutes later. With a screenshot showing a $73.34 unrealized profit and the subject line, “I’m out!”

“50 percent profit in 10 minutes. Not bad! 💸,” I wrote. “Whether you believe you can or you can’t, you’re right!”

Unlike my text messages, Parker actually responded.

Just a quartet of emojis in response to my first email showing “lunch money.”

“It’s gonna go up,” she wrote in reply to my $40.84 screenshot.

And finally: “Love it!!” she replied to my last email. “P.S. Sell it.”

For whatever reason, emailed screenshots of stock charts and profits worked where texts didn’t.

We finally found our rhythm in a way I didn’t see coming.

And I believe we’ve found our language.