What do you do when life feels like one long, endless hustle—and you look around and it seems like everyone else is thriving?

There’s a strange ache that creeps in when you’re doing your best, struggling to make ends meet, yet everywhere you look, people are going on weekend getaways, attending international concerts, upgrading their cars, and living what appears to be their best life.

You’re not jealous. You’re just tired.
You’re not bitter. You’re just exhausted from constantly feeling like you’re playing catch-up.
You’re not ungrateful. You’re just wondering when your turn will come—and if it ever will.

We’re in a season where “everyone is struggling” is the common language, yet the matatus are still full, the roads are still jammed with cars, and even midweek concerts are packed. The malls aren’t empty, and data bundles are still being bought. So what gives?

The truth is, Kenya is a country of multiple realities.

Some people have always had money. Some people finally got lucky. Some people are in debt. Some people are silently drowning. Some people genuinely don’t have responsibilities right now and can enjoy life freely. Others are sacrificing in ways you may never see just to put on a brave face.

And then there are people like you—doing your best. Living within your means. Carrying quiet responsibilities. Cutting back. Saving slowly. Dreaming quietly.

To the One Who Feels Left Behind

You’re not lazy. You’re not cursed. You’re not forgotten. You are simply walking a different path—one that requires more patience, more discipline, and more self-awareness.

And no, this is not one of those “you’ll make it one day” articles.

This is a gentle reminder that:

Life isn’t a race.
Progress can be quiet.
Social media isn’t real life.
And your value is not defined by what you can or can’t afford.

Yes, it’s frustrating.
Yes, sometimes you’ll want to throw your budgeting book out the window.
Yes, it stings when you see others living a life you’ve worked hard for but still can’t touch.

But don’t lose yourself trying to keep up with stories you don’t know the full truth about.

How to Navigate This Season Without Losing Yourself

1. Practice Micro-Joy.
You may not be able to fly out for a concert, but you can plan a solo coffee date, walk in Karura, or read a book in silence. Joy doesn’t always come in big, loud packages.

2. Choose Presence Over Performance.
You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. You are enough, even in your in-between season.

3. Stay Financially Real.
It's okay to sit some things out. You don't need to attend every event, buy every outfit, or say yes to every plan. Let your finances align with your reality, not your fears or FOMO.

4. Avoid Comparison Triggers.
Take breaks from content that makes you feel “less than.” Curate your digital space the same way you would your home—make it somewhere you feel safe and seen.

5. Build a Ritual of Gratitude.
Before the day ends, find one thing—no matter how small—that made you feel human and alive. It’s the small joys that carry us.

In the End

It’s easy to feel left behind. But you are still becoming.

You’re still allowed to dream, even if you’re not living that dream yet.
You’re still allowed to smile, even if there’s sadness in your heart.
You’re still allowed to rest, even if your problems haven’t been solved.

Your story is not boring. It’s just not loud.
But it’s yours—and it’s still unfolding.

Daniel Arap Moi — The Shadow and the Shepherd: A Deep Dive into Kenya’s Second President

If Jomo Kenyatta was the founding father, Daniel Toroitich Arap Moi was the long-reigning stepfather — sometimes protective, often punitive, and almost always enigmatic. He ruled Kenya for 24 years, the longest of any president to date. To some, he was the gentle teacher, Mwalimu , who kept the nation from tearing apart. To others, he was the architect of a surveillance state, a master of patronage and fear, the man who perfected repression through calm. This is a portrait of Daniel Arap Moi — not just as a ruler, but as a man shaped by modest beginnings, colonial violence, and the hunger for order in a chaotic time. Early Life: The Boy from Sacho Daniel Arap Moi was born on September 2, 1924, in Kurieng’wo, Baringo, in Kenya’s Rift Valley. He came from the Tugen sub-group of the Kalenjin community. His father died when he was just four. Raised by his uncle, Moi’s early life was marked by hardship, discipline, and deep Christian missionary influence. He trained as a teacher at Tambach ...

Not All Disabilities Are Visible

Some pain does not leave a mark. Some exhaustion does not show in the face. Some people are carrying weights that have no name, no diagnosis, and no outward sign. We are used to recognizing suffering only when it can be pointed to — a bandage, a crutch, a cast, a wound. Something we can see. But the human interior is its own world, and often, the heaviest struggles live there. The Quiet Work of Holding Yourself Together There are those who walk into a room smiling, contributing, present — and yet they are holding themselves together one breath at a time. Not because they are pretending, but because they have learned to live with what would overwhelm another person. Some battles are fought inside the mind: The slow grey of depression The relentless hum of anxiety The sudden, unbidden memory that takes the body back to a place it never wants to return The deep fatigue that sleep does not cure And yet, life continues. The world moves. The dishes still need to be wa...

Know Thyself: The Quiet Power of Naming Your Nature

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” — Carl Jung We live in a culture that equates good intentions with goodness, and ambition with ability. But very few people in Kenya—or anywhere—truly know what they are made of. We can name our qualifications and our dreams. But ask someone their vices or virtues, and they hesitate. Worse, they lie. The Danger of Self-Unawareness In Kenya today, many of us are wandering through life making choices—big, small, and irreversible—without truly understanding who we are. We end up in jobs we despise, relationships we shouldn’t be in, or positions of influence we aren’t emotionally or ethically equipped for. And at the root of this dysfunction is a simple truth: we don’t know ourselves. This is not a spiritual or abstract dilemma. It’s a deeply practical one. To know oneself is to understand your vices, your virtues, your weaknesses, and your strengths—not in a vague sense, but in detail. Let’s ge...

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