Testing the Waters: The Carrots We Chase in Work, Love, and Life

A boss promises you a raise once the project succeeds. A partner hints that if you stay patient a little longer, the relationship might “finally move forward.” Politicians campaign on the promise of jobs, better healthcare, or free education—but only after you elect them, again.

We live in a society of endless carrots dangled before us, and we, like donkeys, keep moving forward—hoping this time, the promise will be delivered. But is this way of living sustainable, or are we caught in a cycle where we are always testing the waters and rarely diving in?

At Work: The Corporate Carrot

In Kenya, this practice is almost institutionalized. Employers dangle promotions, salaries, and opportunities with the familiar line: “Just give it time, prove yourself, then we’ll see.”

Internships and probationary contracts are prime examples. Some companies keep interns for years, paying a pittance under the guise of “exposure” or “experience.” A graduate earning KSh 15,000 is promised a salary bump “once business picks up.” Years later, they are still waiting, still chasing.

This isn’t always manipulation; sometimes businesses genuinely struggle. But the reality is stark: many organizations thrive on employees’ hope, while workers spend years investing in promises that never materialize.

In Relationships: The Emotional Carrot

It doesn’t just happen in offices. Relationships often mirror the same game.
One partner “tests the waters” by withholding commitment:

“Let’s see how loyal you are before I take you seriously.”
“If you do this for me, maybe I’ll consider marrying you.”

This subtle manipulation keeps the other invested, anxious, and constantly proving themselves. Love becomes transactional, with the carrot of “forever” dangling just ahead.

But here’s the question: are these “tests” signs of wisdom, or are they signs of mistrust? Do they build stronger bonds—or create resentful partners who feel strung along?

Society: A Nation of Dangling Promises

If workplaces and relationships are mirrors, then politics is the magnifying glass. Every election cycle, Kenyans are told about jobs, housing projects, cheaper food, better healthcare. Yet, after decades of these promises, very little changes.

The citizen becomes conditioned to hope: “Maybe this time.” Just as an employee stays in a dead-end job or a lover waits for commitment, the voter waits for a better Kenya that never arrives.

Even consumer culture thrives on dangling carrots: “limited-time offers,” “discounts,” “the last seat left at this price.” Entire marketing industries survive by keeping us chasing urgency instead of asking hard questions.

Why We Fall for It

Psychologists call it variable reinforcement. If you’re rewarded sometimes but not always, you’ll keep playing the game longer than if you never got rewarded at all. The promise of “maybe tomorrow” is more powerful than an outright “no.”

That’s why employees wait for raises that never come. Why partners tolerate endless “tests.” Why voters keep returning to the ballot with hope. The carrot is never guaranteed, but the possibility is enough to keep us moving.

So What Do We Do?

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: sometimes the water never warms up, and sometimes the carrot was never meant for you.

At work, clarity matters more than blind loyalty. Ask: What is the timeline for this promotion? What metrics will determine it? If the answers are vague, maybe it’s time to look elsewhere.
In relationships, tests only go so far. If you are constantly proving your worth, perhaps the other person isn’t ready—or never intended—to commit.
As citizens, maybe the question isn’t “what are we promised?” but “what accountability do we demand?”

Closing Reflection

Testing the waters can be wise. But drowning in the waiting is not. Chasing carrots can keep you motivated, but living your whole life on promises means never tasting the meal.

What if instead of being the ones tested, we became the testers? What if instead of chasing, we started demanding? Because here’s the hardest truth: if you don’t, the water will stay cold, and the carrot will keep swinging—just out of reach.

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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 ...

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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

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