KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

In a world—and a country—that rewards cunning over character, silence over conscience, and convenience over conviction, what does it mean to choose virtue? Why does it matter? Confucius once wrote: “Virtue uncultivated, learning undiscussed, the inability to move toward righteousness after hearing it, and the inability to correct my imperfections—these are my anxieties.” That this kept him up at night—and yet barely stirs us—says everything. We live in a society where it's easier to laugh at corruption than to challenge it, to scroll past suffering than to feel it, and to forget than to change. And yet, everything Confucius feared lives among us today. If we are to reclaim our nation’s soul, we must start by cultivating our own. 1. Virtue Uncultivated: What It Looks Like and How to Grow It Virtue is not innate; it is built. It is the repeated, conscious practice of aligning our actions with what is good, even when inconvenient. Uncultivated virtue shows up in our everyday shortcuts...

We often talk about what makes relationships work: love, communication, trust, compatibility. But we rarely talk about what holds them up behind the scenes—the invisible forces that shape their rhythm, power dynamics, and emotional texture. These forces don’t show up on Instagram captions or wedding vows. They don’t get celebrated or posted. But they are there. This is what we call invisible infrastructure — the quiet, often-unspoken systems that carry the emotional, logistical, and psychological weight of a relationship. When they are healthy, they hold a relationship up. When they are imbalanced, they silently pull it down. What Is Invisible Infrastructure in Relationships? Just like cities rely on hidden systems like drainage, wiring, or internet cables, relationships also rely on behind-the-scenes labor: Emotional labor – Who checks in more? Who remembers important dates? Who notices mood shifts? Mental load – Who keeps track of plans, birthdays, family obligations? Social effor...

Imagine you’ve been dating someone for four years. Things haven’t been good for a long time. You’re constantly stressed, arguing, and deep down, you know you’re not happy. But every time you think of leaving, a voice in your head says: “But I’ve already put so much into this relationship…” That, right there, is the sunk cost fallacy . Now imagine if, instead of hanging on, you stopped and asked yourself one simple question: “Would I choose this again today, with a clear mind and a full heart?” If your answer isn’t a resounding "Hell Yes," then maybe — just maybe — it’s time to let go. What is the Sunk Cost Fallacy? The sunk cost fallacy is when we continue to invest in something — time, money, energy, even emotion — not because it still makes sense , but because we’ve already invested so much. It shows up in our lives like this: “I can’t quit this degree now — I’m already in third year.” “We’ve already spent so much on this business; let’s keep pushing.” “I...

“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...

"The limits of my language mean the limits of my world." — Ludwig Wittgenstein In Kenya, we speak English and Kiswahili. Many of us have additional languages in our pockets — Sheng, mother tongues, workplace lingo, church expressions. But for all our speaking, many of us remain language-poor in the most crucial sense: we lack the words to describe our own lives. We grow up learning to speak but not always to name. And when you cannot name something, you cannot confront it. You live it, but you cannot explain it—not to yourself, not to others. This is not just a linguistic failure. It is a social, emotional, and even political danger. We do not lack opinions. We lack precision . We don’t lack feelings. We lack language to name them accurately. And when we don’t know the right word for what is happening, we misinterpret it, mislabel it, or worst of all — normalize it. Why Having the Right Word Matters Language is not just about grammar or vocabulary. It is about being seen a...

  “The longer you stay where you don’t belong, the harder it is to find where you do.”  — James Clear We often hear people say “I’m not sure this is for me anymore,” but they rarely say it out loud. It’s a quiet knowing. It creeps in during a group trip that costs too much, a conversation where you don’t feel heard, or a day where joy feels more like performance. But letting go is hard—especially when the thing you’re questioning once brought you meaning, pride, or community. This article is a meditation on the courage to let go. Not because we must — but because something within us whispers that it may be time. Through real-world examples, we reflect on how to notice when something once beautiful now weighs us down, and how to transition with both dignity and grace. Here are five deeply familiar experiences, told through the lens of real, Kenyan life. Each is a reflection on the moment you realize: something has shifted. The lifestyle may still look good—but it no longer fi...

"Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits of the world." — Arthur Schopenhauer Every few months, a new listicle goes viral: "30 things I wish I knew at 20," "What every 40-year-old should do before it’s too late," or "Advice from 80-year-olds on how to live a meaningful life." These pieces are often earnest, even well-meaning. But they carry a hidden danger: the illusion that there is one way to live well, if only we follow the right script, take the right risks, or apply the distilled wisdom of others to our own lives. The problem is, life doesn’t unfold in copy-paste format. Each of us is living a different season. And not all advice is timeless. In fact, some of it can derail you entirely. Life Comes in Seasons. Your Choices Should Too. There is no universal roadmap. Each decade of life asks different questions of us — and demands different answers. Your 20s: Exploration, Curiosity, Failure This is often the seas...

The Quiet Votes We Cast Each Day You say you hate your job, but you never apply elsewhere. You say you want a partner who respects you, but you keep going back to the one who breaks you. You say the government is corrupt, but you don’t vote—and if you do, it’s for the familiar thief who gave you a branded leso. You say you want change, but you’re still here, in this same place, in this same story, just older. There’s a popular saying that goes, “What you allow, is what will continue.” But what if we pushed it further—what you don’t change, you choose. Not passively. Not accidentally. But willfully. Repeatedly. In Kenya, we are a nation built on the art of waiting: waiting for government reforms, waiting for better leadership, waiting for our bodies to stop hurting, for relationships to fix themselves, for that magical promotion, for change to come and tap us gently on the shoulder. But the harsh truth is this: every time you choose to not change something, you have chosen what exis...