Living Rich, Thinking Different

How Wealth Changes the Way We Live

I used to think money would fix everything.

When I was growing up in a cramped one-bedroom apartment with my mother and two brothers, money was all we talked about—and never had enough of. Rent was always late, dinner was sometimes rice and butter, and birthdays were homemade cards with “I owe you one” scribbled in ink. Back then, I promised myself that one day, I’d be rich. Not just comfortable. Rich.

And I did it.

But nobody tells you that money, while solving many problems, quietly creates new ones.

It started with a tech startup. I was 26 when I pitched an idea to investors that got rejected three times before one person finally said yes. Within four years, that “yes” turned into a multimillion-dollar company. By 30, I was living in a downtown penthouse, driving a car that turned heads, and traveling to countries I couldn’t pronounce a few years earlier.

I had it all. Or so I thought.

My fridge was always full, but my dining table was always empty.

The silence in my luxury apartment was louder than the old heater back at mom’s place. The walls here were pristine and white, not a single scratch or dent—but they didn’t hold memories. No pencil marks measuring how tall my brothers had grown. No laughter bouncing off chipped paint and hand-me-down curtains.

I remember one night, I invited some old friends from my neighborhood to my place. I was excited—ready to show them how far I’d come, how success had finally arrived. They were impressed, of course. They congratulated me, toasted with my expensive champagne, and complimented the view.

But something was off.

We didn’t talk like we used to. The jokes didn’t land the same way. One of them kept checking their phone. Another smiled politely but kept looking around the room like they didn’t belong. And maybe, in a way, they didn’t.

Or maybe I didn’t.

I had spent so many years running toward wealth that I had run away from everything else—relationships, memories, the warmth of togetherness.

The people in my new circle were different. Conversations weren’t about life, they were about investments. Relationships weren’t built on trust, they were built on leverage. Everything had a price, even loyalty.

I started noticing it when I got sick once—nothing serious, just a bad flu. I was home alone for days. Not a single call from any of the people I regularly dined with. No one asked how I was. I had everything money could buy, except someone to bring me soup or sit beside me.

That’s when I realized: I was wealthy, but I wasn’t rich in what truly mattered.

A few months later, I went back to visit my mother. The apartment hadn’t changed. Still cramped. Still noisy. Still full of warmth. She was cooking her usual lentil stew, and it smelled like childhood. My younger brother, now a father himself, was playing with his daughter on the floor. There was laughter, chaos, spilled juice—and love.

I didn’t realize I was crying until my mom touched my shoulder and said, “You okay, beta?”

I nodded. But inside, I felt like I had been living on the wrong side of life.

That night, I stayed over in my old room. The bed was lumpy, the fan squeaked, and a stray cat meowed from the alley below. But I slept like a baby.

Wealth brought me choices, comfort, and respect. I won’t pretend it didn’t. But it also brought distance, disconnection, and a constant pressure to “have more.” Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking myself what “enough” looked like.

Today, I still live in a nice home. I still run my company. But I make time to visit my family every Sunday. I call my childhood friends regularly—even if the conversations are short. I stopped pretending I needed to prove my worth with cars or watches.

Because true wealth isn’t just about what’s in your bank account. It’s about who’s sitting around your table. It’s about having someone who cares if you’re sick. It’s about laughter that doesn’t cost a cent.

They say money changes everything. I disagree.

It doesn’t change everything.

It changes you—if you let it.

And now I know the real price of prosperity.

It’s not dollars.

It’s distance.

And I’m working every day to close that gap.