It’s the kind of job you’ve been eyeing for months. You finally muster the confidence to apply. The role lights you up. You know you could do it—you just haven’t technically done it… yet.
Remote work has rewritten a lot of the rules about how we live, work, and plan our futures. For so many of us, it’s no longer about living in one of the “big” cities because that’s where the job is. The job comes to you now—or more specifically, to your laptop.
Some seasons of work are loud. You land the promotion, wrap the project, get the recognition, update your LinkedIn. Other seasons? They’re quieter. You’re showing up, putting in the effort, growing behind the scenes—but nothing feels particularly “milestone-worthy.”
Opening your first credit card can feel like stepping into a new chapter of adulthood. It’s exciting, sure—but also a bit intimidating. You're not just getting a plastic card with a magnetic strip; you’re gaining access to financial tools that, if used wisely, could open doors for your future. But here’s the truth that often gets lost in the noise: credit cards aren’t just about buying things. They're about building trust—with banks, with lenders, and ultimately, with your future self.
Budgeting advice online tends to fall into two categories: wildly oversimplified (“just stop buying coffee!”) or aggressively complicated (hello, color-coded spreadsheets that take longer to manage than your actual job). So when I heard about the 70/20/10 budget, I was skeptical—but curious.
We’ve all had those “Is this really it?” moments at work. The endless to-do list, the energy drain, the creeping sense that your job isn’t using your strengths—or worse, it’s nudging you toward burnout. And yet… you stay. Not because you’re settling, but because the leap to a new role, new company, or entirely new industry? It feels huge. Not always realistic. Sometimes, not even what you truly want.
People love to romanticize career changes. They imagine dramatic exits, bold LinkedIn posts, maybe even applause. My pivot looked far less cinematic. It looked like quiet restlessness, long walks where I argued with myself, and a growing suspicion that I had outgrown a version of success I once worked very hard to achieve.
Money and love live in complicated territory. You can share your deepest feelings with someone, but the moment you start splitting bills, deciding how much to save, or figuring out who pays for what, you quickly realize: love doesn’t erase financial dynamics. In fact, money brings its own kind of intimacy—and tension—into the relationship.
A few years ago, I realized something unsettling about the way I spent money. It wasn’t that I was overspending or racking up debt—in fact, I prided myself on being pretty responsible. But somehow, even with a budget that “worked,” I never felt like I had anything to show for it. My bank account was stable, but I didn’t feel satisfied. I wasn’t sure where my money was going, and worse, I wasn’t sure what I wanted it to do for me.
A side hustle has a funny way of holding up a mirror to your main career. You start it for extra income, creative expression, or curiosity—and somewhere along the way, it begins teaching you things your 9-to-5 never quite did. That’s what happened to me. What began as a small, scrappy project after work hours slowly turned into one of the most honest professional classrooms I’ve ever had.
Few things feel heavier than the quiet anxiety of feeling behind financially. You’re doing your best, but somehow the math just isn’t mathing. A surprise bill throws everything off, the savings account isn’t where you thought it would be, or spending crept up in tiny ways that now feel impossible to undo. It’s not failure. It’s life. And it’s more common than most people admit out loud.