The selfish wealth builder

The hidden trade-offs of staying all-in.

Photo by Khamkéo on Unsplash

Here’s something else I didn’t know when I started writing about money.

The journey doesn’t deliver one lesson at a time. They stack. Last week was about readiness. This week is about what sustained focus and discipline begins to do to you.

My mission to build wealth and help others do the same is turning me inward in ways I did not anticipate. I’m becoming selfish. Or at least I’m behaving in ways that look and feel like selfishness. I’m still deciding what to do with that reality.

Purpose and discipline have changed me. That part is undeniable. They’ve made me focused, consistent and effective. They’ve also made me more rigid. Shorter. More distant. Less patient. Less emotionally available.

What’s uncomfortable is not just noticing the change. It’s seeing it reflected back in real time. In conversations that feel strained. In the quiet resentment that creeps in when others don’t move with my same urgency.

I am building momentum and distance at the same time.

This is the part of wealth building that rarely gets airtime. We talk about sacrifice in abstract terms. Fewer nights out. More spreadsheets tracking dollars. Longer timelines that stretch far beyond the present.

We don’t talk as much about how discipline can harden you if you are not paying attention.

Every serious builder enters a season where life narrows. That season isn’t wrong. But pretending it doesn’t cost anything is.

What I am grappling with is the identity shift itself.

Last week’s column was about not being ready. About how knowledge alone cannot move someone forward until their behavior catches up. What I’m describing now feels like the other side of that coin: being so ready, so committed, so all-in that the mission can start to consume more than it should.

Even if this phase is not selfish by definition, I cannot pretend my actions don’t impact the people around me.

Here’s the distinction I’m learning to make. There’s a difference between protecting your future and withdrawing from your present.

I believe some withdrawal is necessary. You cannot build something meaningful without boundaries. You cannot stay endlessly available and expect compounding results. Permission to be misunderstood is part of the price. So is discomfort.

I am giving myself that permission.

At the same time, I don’t want discipline to turn me into someone I don’t recognize — or worse, someone I don’t like. I don’t want efficiency to replace empathy. I don’t want progress to become an excuse.

So I’m experimenting with a centering question: Where do I need to practice intentional generosity so discipline doesn’t harden me?

Not generous with money. That part is easy to rationalize and outsource. I mean generosity that costs something. Time. Attention. Presence. Service.

One simple exercise I am trying is naming a non-negotiable generosity ritual. Something small but deliberate. A standing check-in. Uninterrupted time. Showing up even when it is inconvenient.

This is my attempt to humanize the mission without abandoning it.

Because I won’t abandon it. I still believe deeply in building wealth and in helping others do the same — when they are ready. I still believe discipline is the engine. I just no longer believe discipline alone is enough.

There is a season for narrowing. There is also a responsibility to notice who gets pushed to the edges while you do it.

Maybe this phase will still look selfish from the outside. I am making peace with that.

What I am no longer willing to do is pretend the trade-offs are invisible or harmless.