The Sacred Nature of Capital: What Most People Miss About Wealth, Grants, and Discipline

The Invisible Cost of Every Grant

There’s something people don’t often consider when they apply for a grant, ask for a loan, or swipe a card that doesn’t yet have the money behind it: someone else gave something up so that money could be available.

When you receive a grant to pursue your art, education, or nonprofit dream, that money didn’t just appear from the sky. It came from someone who could have spent it on themselves, a trip, a remodel, a luxury, a moment of indulgence, and instead chose to reinvest it into the future of someone else. Someone they don’t even know.

And that’s something I don’t think a lot of people really stop and appreciate.

This year, I graduated with my associate’s degree in psychology from Tacoma Community College. I also got accepted into the University of Washington Tacoma and finished my first quarter. I live under the poverty line, and I don’t have earned income yet. And even still, I’ve been able to build a little bit of financial stability for myself and for my son. Not because I’m lucky. But because I make hard choices. Over and over.

So when I see people getting grants to create their art or traveling for projects with no real financial foundation beneath them, I don’t judge, but I do understand what made those grants and that freedom possible. It came from someone like me. Someone who didn’t buy the flights. Someone who didn’t spend the money on themselves. Someone who said, “I want this money to move through the world differently.”

That is sacred.

Not in a religious sense, but in the quiet, profound, almost invisible way that discipline is sacred. That legacy is sacred. That saying no to yourself so you can say yes to someone else is sacred.

And that’s the part that gets overlooked. Because I want things too.

Why I Still Say No (Even When I Want to Say Yes)

You don’t think I want to spend $3,000 to go see Andrea Bocelli live? That’s one of my favorite opera singers. You don’t think I want to go to Rome right now? Or to France? Of course I do. It’s not that I don’t want to experience joy, beauty, or art. I do. But I’m not trying to escape my life. I still have to live when I get back.

I still have to pay rent. I still have to make sure there’s food. I still have to keep the lights on and take care of my son. And if something happens to my income? I need to know I’m not one bill away from everything falling apart.

So no, I’m not saying people shouldn’t enjoy their lives. I’m saying: every time you receive, someone else had to choose not to.

And even if it was a trust fund baby, even then it came from someone making a decision. Because whoever set up that trust, or foundation, or fund, didn’t have to. They could’ve kept that money and spent it on themselves. But they chose not to. They chose to use the fruit of someone else’s labor, not to consume, but to contribute.

That’s the part people miss. When you get a grant, or a scholarship, or even ask your family for money, that’s someone else’s freedom getting tied up in your future.

And if you’re not careful, if you don’t think long-term, you might spend the gift without honoring the cost.

And I think that’s why I live the way I do. I know people think I’m uptight. That I’m too cautious. That I’m living life backwards. But I’m not. I’m just aware of how hard it is to build stability. How quickly you can lose it. And how rare it is to have peace in this economy.

The Loneliness of Living Differently

Because money is tight right now. Even my son’s tutor, who works in high-end furniture sales, says that business has slowed down. People who look well-off are quietly struggling. They’re not spending the way they used to. Things cost too much. Inflation is hitting everyone.

So when people say “you only live once,” I get it. But they don’t see the full picture. Most of the people I know who say that are deep in debt. They blow through their student grant money or take out loans just to live. They’re having fun, sure, but they’re not building anything. And the truth is? They’d rather be in my position.

Maybe I don’t go out as much. Maybe I miss some concerts or events. But I’m not buried in debt. I’m not reliant on someone else to fix my future. I’m building it myself, brick by brick, with intention.

So yeah, maybe it’s lonely. Maybe I do wonder what it would feel like to just go. Just spend the money, fly across the ocean, buy the ticket, forget about the consequences.

But I’m not here to forget. I’m here to remember.

To remember that freedom isn’t always found in the moment. Sometimes, it’s built slowly. Quietly. In the background. While everyone else is performing joy, I’m planting peace.

One Day, I’ll Go. But It’ll Be With Peace.

And one day? When I go to Rome? When I sit in the audience at Andrea Bocelli with tears in my eyes?

It won’t be on a credit card.

It won’t be borrowed.

It will be mine.

Because capital isn’t a toy. It’s a tool. And when you really understand that? You realize the deepest kind of wealth isn’t about what you can buy. It’s about what you’re willing to build.