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.

I picked a bad time to have my most expensive month of the year.

The price of everything is soaring.

From gas and groceries to housing and healthcare, nothing costs what it used to. We’re all feeling the heat. It’s a safe bet to assume that everyone longs for more economical times.

When the price of gas approaches and, in some areas, rockets past $5 a gallon, it warps reality. The sight alone makes you question everything.

The U.S. inflation rate hit a three-year high in April, data that only confirms none of us are crazy. Sticker shock has bled into basic necessities. Even a modest life is hard to manage in this climate.

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For most of us, it’s the wrong time to have a high cost of living.

That’s why my April credit card balance stops me in my tracks.

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.

Last month’s total: $7,597.58.

May 2025 is the only month in which I’ve spent more. I could easily excuse that month’s spending, as the bulk went to a root canal.

I managed to land on something even worse last month: attorney’s fees.

Nearly 50 percent of my April balance went to the “professional services” category. That’s because for the second year in a row, I’m staring down another legal storm.

Divorce isn’t cheap, folks. And if you get caught in a web of court filings like me, the proceedings can drain your accounts dry.

A retainer cost me $3,500 — and that was just to get started. That doesn’t include other required court costs. I anticipate another drawn-out ordeal.

But I’m as prepared as I’ve ever been.

And what I’m fighting for — or rather whom — is worth every penny.

It’d just be nice to have some relief. I’m hopeful this will do the trick, and I wouldn’t have taken this step if I didn’t believe it would. I’ve been through more than you can imagine, but the update I hope to share soon will be sweeter than anything life can offer me.

It’ll bring the peace and joy that has eluded me for much of my fatherhood.

Meanwhile, I’m maintaining as best as I can through what has been a trying first half of 2026.

The good news is my spending on all other aspects is under control. Though I also paid $1,100 on furniture last month. I needed a new bed after my breakup. A nightstand too. And because I recently donated my seldom-used tools, I had to hire someone to assemble those items.

I also squeezed in a quick getaway for me and Parker to Niagara Falls on the final weekend of April. I vowed to not let money worries prevent us from having a great time — and I didn’t.

I even paid for a set of those overpriced souvenir photos.

We took in the sights, got soaked, enjoyed lunch at Rainforest Cafe, went shopping and caught a movie.

That weekend reminded me why any of this is worth enduring. I’m fighting for more days like that with Parker.

And for the first time in a long time, I believe they’re possible.

When I pick up Parker from school today, I’ll share a life-altering update.

I can’t wait to see her reaction. To hear her precious preteen responses — the cool and the cringe.

She never would have expected what I’m going to tell her, because this was never our plan. What we’re about to do couldn’t be further from the path I mapped out.

That’s how I know this plan is the right one for us. It was handcrafted by a superior architect.

It’s why I’m swallowing my pride and trusting that the return will exceed my wildest dreams.

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New information gathered while house hunting this week forced me to pivot.

It had nothing to do with sale prices or interest rates. The value runs much deeper.

I was introduced to an opportunity that could be a much better fit for me and Parker.

To see it, I had to shift my perspective. First, I needed to get comfortable letting go of the idea I’ve worked toward and talked about for more than two years.

It wasn’t easy.

But I didn’t hesitate.

That’s how much sense it made when I removed my emotions and thought it through. I decided in one day: This is our new plan.

On Wednesday, I applied for an apartment.

It had been almost nine years since I’d filled out an application, and I never expected to do it again. I was all in on buying a home, building equity and, for a time, collecting rent.

Getting in the game hasn’t been easy. That’s where prices, interest rates and inventory factor in.

And as it turns out, it wasn’t my time.

I was already cooling off on the idea of becoming a landlord. The more I weighed the reality, the more I felt ill-equipped to take on another very hands-on job. Besides, I’ve had enough excitement over the past three decades. I need my home to be a retreat, not another responsibility.

I just knew I’d own that home rather than rent it.

A small condo had become my focus. Nothing fancy. Something inexpensive, serviceable and, above all, below my means.

That day is coming. It will just have to wait a little longer.

Renting another apartment instead of finally planting roots through ownership feels like a setback.

It’s not.

We’ll be just as safe and snuggly, joyous and jovial, while paying rent. No shame in that.

Plus, I’m starting to see the bright side.

Renting gives me more options to move closer to Parker. I won’t have homeowner headaches. I can use my fixed housing costs to my advantage and continue to invest aggressively. And I maintain flexibility by not being married to a mortgage, interest rate or location.

I can always re-evaluate things in 12 months. By then, things will look completely different for us. Blessings I can’t even fathom will be pouring in.

I believe it.

But it must start here — with this once-dreaded decision that Parker won’t believe.

We’ll find out soon whether we get approved and handed the keys to this new life.

Two days before my life got flipped upside down, I almost bought a condo.

Not just any condo, either. This one was dangerous.

The location was perfect. The floorplan made sense. The amenities felt luxurious without being over the top.

It checked nearly every box I had craved for more than a year.

Everything except the price.

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And yet, I made an offer anyway.

The monthly mortgage payment would have been roughly $800 more than my current rent. And that was before the HOA. Before utilities. Before furnishing the place. Before repairs and maintenance and all the little expenses homeownership quietly introduces into your life.

In other words, I was flirting with the top end of my budget.

Maybe even stepping over it.

For two days, I refreshed my email and checked my phone constantly for updates. I imagined what life would look like there. I started preparing myself emotionally to spend more money each month than I ever have on housing.

Then the sellers accepted a cash offer from someone else. It stung.

But somewhere underneath the disappointment was relief. Because while I loved the condo, I also knew I was playing with fire.

Sure, maybe I could’ve squeezed into that payment. But what would have been left afterward?

Housing is the No. 1 expense for most Americans. Your home can either create peace or become a monthly reminder of how aggressively you stretched to get it.

I’ve worked too hard building financial discipline to abandon it now simply because a garage and a dishwasher caught my attention.

That’s why I keep returning to the same principle: live below your means.

Not because it sounds responsible. Because it creates options.

Every dollar not tied up in a massive housing payment can go somewhere more productive: investing, savings, flexibility, freedom and peace of mind. The ability to absorb life when it inevitably punches through your plans like it just did with my apartment.

And apparently, the universe wanted to make sure I meant it.

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Exactly one month after losing the first condo, another one hit the market.

Different suburb. More remote location. Less trendy. Longer commute.

But the unit itself checked many of the same boxes.

And because location changes everything in real estate, this place was listed for nearly $60,000 less than the first condo.

Suddenly, the math looked different. The numbers felt a lot more manageable.

I saw it and immediately made another offer.

What stood out to me afterward was the gap between the two decisions. My offer on the second condo came in $57,500 lower than the first property I almost convinced myself to buy.

That’s not a small adjustment. That’s an entirely different financial life.

Again, I waited two anxious days for an answer. Again, someone with cash beat me to it.

But this loss felt different.

Less desperation. More clarity.

Because somewhere between these two failed offers, I realized this search isn’t actually about finding the perfect home. It’s about finding the right home at the right price.

A place that improves our lives without consuming them. A payment that still allows room to breathe. A future that doesn’t require everything going perfectly every month just to make the math work.

That matters more than in-unit laundry. More than a perfect location. More than finally “winning” the housing search.

Especially now.

Because after getting forced out of our apartment, the temptation to panic-buy something better is real.

That’s why I know I’ve got to be careful. Desperation is expensive.

And if this process has reminded me of anything, it’s that this is when my financial discipline matters most — when the math stops mattering as much as the feeling.

I was waiting for the text message from my landlord, Andre.

It comes like clockwork in May.

Usually, it’s about renewing my lease, along with the part where my rent goes up. Nothing outrageous. Just enough to remind me this isn’t 2020 anymore.

I dreaded it this year. Because I already knew my answer.

For the second straight year, I had to say yes.

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Only this year was different.

When the text came last Saturday, just after 4 p.m, it was different.

“Building’s owner would not renew the lease,” Andre wrote. “The apartment planned to be remodeled and used to accommodate the relative.”

That was it.

I’m being booted from the only home I’ve known since moving to Chicago in 2017.

Just like that.

All I could say was, “OK. Thank you.”

A friend asked if that’s even legal. I told them over the weekend that I had no idea, but it is. Score another one for homeownership. When it’s yours, you call the shots.

Technically, I’m not being evicted. My lease just won’t exist anymore, which feels like a distinction mainly designed to make everyone involved feel better.

But I know this: I’m over it.

A couple of weeks ago, I had finally made peace with staying in our shoebox apartment for one more year. I wasn’t excited or proud. Just practical.

I convinced myself to stay by embracing the benefits of continuing to live below my means. Every dollar not going toward a luxury apartment, or an oversized mortgage payment, can go somewhere more productive.

That’s the blueprint. I’m sticking to it.

I had even started buying small things to make our place feel better. Furniture. A rug. Kitchen upgrades. Tiny investments in a temporary life.

I was settling in. Again.

And now, I’m not.

This changes everything.

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Housing is the biggest expense most of us have, and now mine is staring me down like it’s been waiting for this moment.

I’m trying not to flinch.

What will I do?

Fortunately, I have a cushion.

Even though my lease is up at the end of this month, I’ve been told I have 120 days. A grace period, courtesy of local rules. That helps, but the clock is ticking. No more delaying. No more trying to find the perfect option while time slowly disappears.

What also helps is that I’ve been house hunting for more than a year. Casually at first. Then seriously. Then obsessively, like it’s a hobby I didn’t mean to pick up.

I know the listings. The neighborhoods. My budget. More importantly, I know what I refuse to pretend I can afford.

Finally, I’m ready. More ready than I’ve ever been.

Emotionally is another story.

It’s hard saying goodbye. I’ve grown comfortable here over the past 8 1/2 years, even if we lack convenience. The location is hard to beat. So is the rent.

But change was coming eventually.

This search has already been a roller coaster. High hopes, quick disappointments, the occasional “maybe this is the one” followed by a very clear “it is not.” I thought the ride was ending. Instead, it’s going into overtime.

I’ve got four months to find a home. Not just another lease. Not just another temporary fix. Something that feels like a step forward, not a step up solely because of a few more amenities.

I didn’t expect the decision to be made for me. Especially not via the annual May text I’d been waiting on.

But here we are.

Not evicted. Just redirected.

Same difference, depending on how you look at it.

Parker was getting pissed at me.

Every few minutes — if I even made it that long — I kept checking my phone. Our daddy-daughter weekend getaway to Niagara Falls had just started, and we hadn’t even exited the rental car lot when she started giving me that look.

“You were driiiving doing stock options,” Parker said on Episode 24 of the Money Talks podcast. “I’m like, ‘Daddy, you don’t even know where you are. You need to chill out.’”

I traveled to Niagara Falls on the final weekend of April intent on making memories and not stressing about money or prices. For the most part, I succeeded.

There were three moments, though, when I couldn’t shake my old money mindset. I shared them on the podcast. They’re worth sharing in writing.

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📸 Souvenir photos

The souvenir photos at Cave of the Winds cost more than the attraction itself.

That’s why I never even think about purchasing them anymore.

I paid $24 for admission, one adult and one youth ticket, and $54 for the doctored shots we took at the booth stationed just outside the entrance.

It’s absurd when you think about it.

Only this time, I didn’t blink. I bought them.

I even surprised myself when Parker suggested we get the digital-only option for $10 less. I reasoned that saving time was worth the extra cost. I’d still have to search for and pay for the right printing paper and print them, hopefully without messing it up.

It’s the first time since date night with Parker last February that I splurged for souvenir pics.

I’m noticing a pattern.

🅿️ Pay to park

We got hungry after Cave of the Winds and decided to grab lunch before boarding the Maid of the Mist.

Despite my hunger pangs, I felt pretty good pulling out of the Niagara Falls State Park parking lot, where $10 covers your vehicle all day, with in-and-out privileges. We could return for the Maid of the Mist without having to pay again. I was happy.

Until the next paid parking lot made me instantly agitated.

Parker spotted the perfect place for lunch — Rainforest Cafe. It served two purposes: kid-friendly and veggie-friendly. Only it sits inside the Sheraton Hotel, which charges for parking by the hour.

Suddenly disgusted, I drove off. I made it a good five miles, headed out of Niagara Falls, before realizing I was being ridiculous. I busted a U-turn, went back to the paid parking lot and pressed the button for a ticket.

Parker had mac and cheese, apple slices and raspberry lemonade, while I had a Philly cheesesteak, fries and a piña colada.

After our $62.60 lunch, I almost paid $20 for parking.

Then it finally hit me that Rainforest Cafe, or the hotel, might validate parking for restaurant patrons.

They did, and I had spent all that time worrying for nothing.

We had an excellent lunch.

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💸 Printing options money

Trading and driving is worse than texting and driving, and I shouldn’t do it. I don’t recommend it.

I also don’t recommend booking a flight that departs during market open.

I didn’t sweat missing the open two Fridays ago, but before we even landed — I mean, the second my phone snagged a signal on descent — I had my brokerage pulled up.

The wheels had just touched down when I entered a call option on Hims. By the time we stepped off the plane minutes later, my position had hit 100 percent. I stopped in the middle of the airport to have the Money Talk with Parker before taking profits — a quick $44.01 I told her could have paid for our lunch.

Even though Parker was annoyed, I kept preaching, showing her the power of options and the thinking behind each trade.

We had just stepped off a plane. I missed the open. I was operating on little sleep. And it was my day off. But we were still making money — while doing what we wanted.

When I finally closed my brokerage for the day, my realized gain was $145.39. I made four day trades and turned a profit on them all. Parker didn’t like it, but just two hours of sporadic attention got us paid.

The biggest lesson I could give her came just before we left Rainforest Cafe.

As I plopped down on a couch waiting for Parker to go to the restroom, I spotted an advertisement for a hot air balloon ride sitting on a coffee table. It was one of the main things we wanted to do in Niagara Falls. And there was a QR code staring me in the face.

I scanned it, entered our info and couldn’t believe the total.

Our highly anticipated balloon ride came to $144 — almost the exact amount I had just pulled from the market that day.

The weather on Saturday unfortunately didn’t allow us to get in the air, but I had all the proof I needed to give Parker a clearer understanding of why I kept checking my phone.

In just a few hours, she saw us graduate from the market paying for our lunch to funding our desired lifestyle.

We’re not waiting for the perfect time to make memories.

Because there is no perfect time.

And so I pulled Parker out of school last Friday for a planned absence. Adventure couldn’t — and shouldn’t — wait.

Last weekend, we traveled to Buffalo and Niagara Falls, just the two of us. We spent three days and two nights exploring, playing, shopping, swimming, eating, laughing and bonding.

We’ve promised each other we’ll travel together to more new locations — but I’m questioning where Parker wants to go next.

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In Episode 24, we’re recording from our hotel room in Buffalo, fresh off a jam-packed weekend in one of the country’s most scenic locations.

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 24:

🎙️ Episode 24 — Timestamps:

0:01: Backstage
0:15: The Money Talks jingle
0:45: Parker can’t hold anything in
2:25: How close we came to missing our flight
4:08: The details of our Niagara trip
5:35: Parker’s favorite moment from Niagara Falls
9:00: Parker’s embarrassing shopping experience
14:25: Parker thinks she’s cursed
18:40: Other memorable moments
19:45: An old man goes on a rant about movies
22:05: Our food review from Buffalo/Niagara Falls
23:39: Parker wants to go … WHERE(!) next?
25:30: Three sneaky money moves during our trip
33:38: Outro

Every few days, Parker will say something that stops me in my tracks.

I first noticed the shift a few years ago and didn’t think much of it. Kids experiment with language.

But over time, the pattern sharpened. The frequency increased. And now it’s hard to ignore.

It happened again this past weekend.

“Boys are weird.”

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It lands harder each time.

Other variations have popped up too — “crazy,” “chaotic,” even “psychopaths.”

At first, it sounds like harmless shorthand, the kind of blunt observation kids make as they try to understand the world. But repeated enough, silly sayings have a way of settling into lifelong beliefs.

That’s where my concern begins.

This isn’t about policing a phrase or overreacting to a moment but about recognizing how language, especially repeated language, quietly shapes perception.

What starts as “boys are weird” can, over time, become a default lens that filters new experiences. The brain is efficient like that. It notices what confirms the pattern and overlooks what doesn’t.

Left unchecked, that kind of thinking doesn’t just describe reality — it distorts it.

I’ve seen the progression up close. There was a time when Parker just wanted to play … with anyone. Then, somewhere around first or second grade, the separation began.

Boys over here. Girls over there.

It’s a typical transition, but it’s also when kids start sorting people into groups instead of seeing individuals. Tribes form. Lines get drawn in the sandbox.

Now, as sixth grade winds down, Parker says things like: “You guys crash out too much.”

Some boys do act in ways that are confusing, loud or immature — just as some girls do. The issue is the leap from behavior to identity. From “that was weird” to “they are weird.” A small linguistic jump with outsized consequences.

Because once identity gets attached, curiosity often disappears.

That’s the habit I want to interrupt. Not her voice, but the shortcut her thinking is starting to take. The goal isn’t to correct her into silence but to guide her toward seeing people as individuals first, patterns second.

We’re living in a time where broad generalizations between men and women are getting louder, sharper and less forgiving. In some corners, the divide is framed as inevitable, even justified.

That’s not a mindset I want Parker to inherit unexamined.

The way she learns to talk about people now will shape how she relates to them later. And reducing people to categories rarely leads anywhere constructive.

If she learns to reach for labels first, those labels will start doing more of the work than she does. If she learns to slow down and look at what actually happened, she’ll carry that habit with her into friendships, into conflict, into everything that involves another person.

That’s what this really is for me. Not correcting every phrase, but paying attention to her thinking while it’s still forming.

Because it becomes habit long before it ever looks like one.

A funny Reel made the rounds on Instagram earlier this year.

The headline alone was handmade for Money Talks: “It will cost you $15,000 a year to have a girlfriend,” it read.

In the 2 1/2-minute clip, a young man describes what he calls “the bare minimum boyfriend.” He breaks down what guys must do as a boyfriend — and how much it will cost monthly and annually.

It’s a comical rundown, only I don’t think the guy is joking.

Check it out, and judge for yourself.

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If ever there was a Money Talk that I didn’t belong at the table, this is it.

The man in the video breaks down a woman’s routine maintenance and needs like they’re monthly bills.

💸 $250 a month for hair

💸 $150 twice a month for nails (manicures and pedicures)

💸 $80 for lashes once a month

💸 $150 for dates once a week

The rundown probably sounds ridiculously inflated to most people reading this, but the Reel received 100,000 likes. The man must have struck a chord.

I had no idea and never subscribed to such behavior, which is probably why I’m single. But plenty of men do, and there’s a new sucker born every day.

More power to them.

But in what world is it a man’s job to pay for a woman’s upkeep, especially his girlfriend’s? That’s not among the things I was taught about money, and it’s not what I’m teaching Parker.

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Near the end of my last relationship, I stumbled across a phrase that said, “Men save money being single; Women save money being in relationships.”

Only then did I even give the gender roles much thought. I had grown tired of paying for dates with strangers. I never considered — or cared about — the financial undertaking when in a relationship.

Those societal norms and expectations make me think twice about jumping back into these dating streets.

There’s a real cost attached — and it’s far greater than financial.

There’s time, which is the No. 1 resource I no longer squander. Energy, both mental and emotional. Effort, which could go toward other productive things. And attention, which is always finite.

It all adds up.

There’s more.

A different Reel that I saw recently isn’t as humorous, but it hits the nail on the head. It gets to the heart of what a real relationship is all about, and you won’t hear the words “mani” or “pedi” anywhere in this 53-second clip.

In the video, a man shares that a great relationship isn’t free and will always cost you something. He started with his pride and ego, saying it only works if both are equal and on the same team.

“It cost me my arrogance and self-centeredness,” the man said. “Don’t tell me you want a passionate and connected relationship with low conflict, but you aren’t willing to pay the price for it by learning how to listen and validate each other’s pain.”

Whew.

“Don’t tell me you want intimacy inside of the bedroom,” he said, “but you aren’t willing to fill their emotional bank account outside of the bedroom.”

Bars!

This is a Money Talk that is so much bigger than money.

Always has been. Always will be.

So before you tally up what dating or a relationship is “costing” you, ask yourself what you’re actually investing — and what kind of return you’re creating.

If you’re single, maybe the question isn’t what it’s going to cost you to date, but what habits you’re bringing with you that make connection expensive in the first place.

If you’re in a relationship — happy or not — take inventory. Not of what you’re spending, but of what you’re withholding. Time. Attention. Patience. Accountability.

Because most relationships don’t fall apart over $150 dinners or $80 lashes. They fall apart over missed calls, short replies, half-listening, ego and effort that quietly fades.

And if there’s a real price to love, it’s not on your credit card statement. It shows up in the moments you don’t think to count — the text you don’t send, the apology you delay, the conversation you avoid.

That’s the bill most people keep running up.

At some point, it lands in your hands.

The question is whether you’re finally ready to pay it — or keep pretending it’s not yours.

I used to think about turning my old dating adventures into columns — but never seriously.

It always felt a little off, like I’d be turning private moments into superficial click-bait. So I left it alone, and for much of the past four years I wasn’t in that world at all.

Then I got out of a long-term relationship and found myself back in these dating streets.

Now there are things the new me can’t unsee: how quickly time gets allocated, how expectations form almost immediately, how money starts moving in ways you don’t notice until you add them up later.

Seen in that light, talking about dating openly stops feeling like sleazy storytelling and starts looking like what it’s always been: another Money Talk.

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And it’s rarely dramatic in real time.

One drink turns into another. A conversation runs longer than it needs to.

The downside is it adds up. Time, mostly. But money and energy too.

But the reality is I’ve got more of all three now than I used to. More time, more space and more resources. At some point, you’ve got to do something with it. I’ve still got to live.

So I’m back out here.

Not with any big plan or reinvention of how I do things. Just back in it, figuring it out as it goes, like most people do.

I don’t want Parker to make the same mistakes, so maybe keeping romantic lessons to myself isn’t the best idea.

Although she did fall over in her bed and play dead when I asked her thoughts about me dating again.

Still, think about how much money gets wrapped up in courtship, dating, engagements, marriages and divorces.

And how much of the fallout, emotional and financial, could be softened if people were just a little more honest early on.

I owe Parker that, in an age-appropriate way, whether she’s enthusiastic about it or not.

And I don’t mind dating. Not when it’s respectful and reciprocal. I learn people, I learn myself. I end up doing things I wouldn’t normally do, and I usually walk away with a story worth keeping, one way or another.

But dating has never been cheap, and it’s only getting more expensive.

Recent data from the BMO Real Financial Progress Index revealed that Americans spend $189 on an average date, including pre-date grooming and gas money, up 12.5% from $168 in 2025.

Forty-seven percent of singles say dating is not financially worth it.

We’ll see. This will be my first time truly dating in my 40s, so I’m interested in seeing what that looks like from here.

There’s a drawback to stepping out as this version of me, though, and it has nothing to do with my age.

It’s simply that I don’t move like most people anymore.

I’ve committed to doing things most people won’t, which naturally narrows the field. So the question becomes less about who’s out there and more about who actually fits the way I move.

That’s a much smaller number than it used to be.

And I feel it — in what it means for the wife and life I want.

But there’s only one way to find that person and build that life. So I’m back in these dating streets, embracing experiences.

Maybe I’ll write about a few of them along the way.

“If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.”

Triest is gone.

She left.

And I … I …

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It already feels like a distant memory.

Between one geopolitical headline after another, it’s easy to forget how strong the market actually was to start the year. But Q1 ran hot, especially in January and February, and that forced me into a decision I don’t naturally make.

I took profits.

I trimmed my position in VTI, the Vanguard Total Stock Market Index Fund ETF.

Not a full exit. Just enough to skim some off the top while the market was sitting near all-time highs.

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That decision carried more weight than it probably should have.

Because I’ve been on the other side of it before, holding too long, watching gains disappear and wishing I had secured profits when I had the chance. So this time, I told myself I would.

And I did.

But it didn’t feel clean.

Frankly, it felt like I was trying to time the market.

What if the market kept rallying? What if I stepped out too early and had to buy back in higher? Would I even know when to get back in? And more than anything, could I trust myself not to take that money and chase something worse?

That was the tone for most of the quarter: conflicted.

Not unsure of what I should do — but uncomfortable actually doing it.

There were some clear wins mixed in there too. On Feb. 12, I deposited the final $1,635 to fully fund my Roth IRA for 2025 — the second year in a row I’ve done it. This money move now feels less like a stretch of the imagination and more like a standard. And the consistency is quietly doing its job in the background.

That part felt right.

The rest of this quarter wasn’t nearly as clean, but I was more intentional than I’ve ever been.

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I didn’t expect the best money move I made in March to show up in a small Amazon box.

But on March 25, it did.

Two days earlier, I finally bought a smartwatch, something I’d been considering for at least six years. I’d always come to the same conclusion: “nah, I’m good.”

I’d gone this long without it, so why start now?

But I was tired of carrying my phone everywhere just to track steps. Tired of guessing how well I slept. And tired of having no real system for something I keep saying matters most: my health.

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So I kept it simple. I found one on Amazon, hit “Buy now” and two days later it was on my wrist.

Setup took 10 minutes. No stress. No overthinking.

And honestly? This thing is amazing. It’s exactly what I needed.

It’s the Amazfit Bip 6 Smart Watch (14mm). It has a 14-day battery life, and at $79.99, it didn’t require much internal debate — or a payment plan.

The battery life alone feels like a win. I charge it and forget about it for days. In an age where everything can feel like a drain, that’s a small miracle.

It tracks my steps, which has turned into a quiet competition with myself. I’ve absolutely paced around the house at night just to hit my number. No shame.

It tracks workouts, too — whether I’m at the gym or convincing myself a long walk counts as cardio.

It tracks my sleep, which has been… humbling. There’s nothing like thinking you slept well and then checking your watch and seeing five measly hours. Still, it’s made me more aware, and that alone has helped.

My favorite feature? The hourly reminder to get up and move.

At first, I was offended. Now I respect it.

There’s also the alarm — a gentle vibration on my wrist instead of a loud phone. It’s a much better way to wake up.

But then there are the notifications.

Calls come through, although I haven’t quite figured out how to answer them yet. Social media alerts show up too — which was fine in small doses on my phone but a nuisance on my arm. Those, I’ll probably turn off.

There’s also a little cheat code. If you swing your arms — even sitting down — it counts as steps. I’m not saying I’ve used it… I’m just saying I know it exists.

Here’s the real point.

This wasn’t a flashy purchase. Nobody cares what watch I’m wearing.

But it’s useful. Every single day.

It reminds me to move more. It shows me how I’m actually sleeping. It keeps my health top of mind without requiring much effort.

That’s the return.

March was about learning to say yes — not recklessly, but intentionally. Out of everything I spent money on, including an uncharacteristic $1,000 month of shopping, this was the best decision I made.

It wasn’t exciting. It was quietly brilliant.

We talk a lot about spending on experiences, comfort and joy. And we should. But sometimes the smartest money move is the one that makes the small, ordinary moments of life noticeably better.

This watch does that for me.

Because wealth means nothing if you’re not healthy enough to enjoy it.

Last month, I did something that doesn’t come naturally to me.

I spent more money than I usually allow myself to — and I did it on purpose. Not because I lost control. Not because circumstances forced me.

I did it because I said I would.

Before writing about learning to spend a little, I knew there was only one way to make that message honest: I had to live it. I had to step out of the comfort zone that discipline has built for me over the years and actually practice the mindset I’ve been talking about.

So in March, I walked it like I talked it.

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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.

If you compare my March 2026 spending to March 2025, the difference is clear. I spent more this year. Not dramatically or irresponsibly, but enough that the old version of me would’ve paused or talked himself out of some of these decisions. This version didn’t.

Instead, I leaned into something unfamiliar: permission.

I bought new pillows — the kind you don’t think twice about until you finally upgrade and realize what you’ve been missing every single night. I replaced towels that were perfectly functional but far from enjoyable.

For years, “good enough” has been my standard. March was about raising it, even in the smallest areas of my life.

I added in things that serve no purpose other than making life feel better in the moment — scented candles, scented lotion, a new fragrance. These purchases won’t change my financial future, but they improve my daily experience.

I can’t remember the last time I spent this much in one month on shopping.

I also booked two getaways for April. Nothing over the top, nothing designed to impress anyone. Just intentional breaks from the rat race — something to anticipate, something to experience fully.

That’s what March gave me: small, tangible reminders of what the money is for in the first place.

Because I’m realizing the purchase matters less than the practice behind it.

March wasn’t about pillows or candles or even booking trips. It was about shifting a mindset that defaulted to “nah, I’m good” for most of my life.

No has served me well. It helped me build. It kept me disciplined. It protected me from many of the financial traps that catch people off guard.

But “no,” over time, can also become a limitation.

So March became an exercise in learning how to say yes — carefully and intentionally but consistently.

Yes to comfort. Yes to enjoyment. Yes to choosing what I actually want instead of settling for what simply works.

Yes to myself.

And maybe the timing of that lesson wasn’t a coincidence.

While I was loosening up in March, a financial storm was brewing in the background. By April, it arrived, but that’s for another day. What matters is that I’m prepared.

The years I’ve spent being disciplined — the long stretches of saying no — already positioned me to handle what’s on the horizon. I’m not scrambling. I’m relying on what I’ve built.

I still have the discipline. I still know how to go without. That hasn’t changed — and it’s still my greatest advantage.

But now it’s balanced by the understanding that life can’t only be about restraint. It also has to include allowance.

March didn’t change my finances in any dramatic way. It did, however, change my relationship with spending.

I didn’t go overboard. I simply gave myself permission.

After years of saving, stacking and saying no, March reminded me that the whole point of this journey is having the freedom to say yes.