We’re Valuing The Wrong Things!

Let me start with a blunt question.

If someone stripped your life right back — took the money, the stuff, the comfort, the padding — what would actually be left?

Not your house.

Not your car.

Not the nice things you’ve convinced yourself you deserve.

You.

Your body. Your mind. Your temperament. Your ability to cope when things go sideways.

And here’s the uncomfortable bit:

Most of us spend astonishingly little time investing in the parts of ourselves that would still matter if everything else vanished.

We’ve Got Our Priorities Backwards

We live in a strange world.

People drive expensive cars but insist they “can’t afford the gym.”

They fill their houses with ornaments, gadgets, and decorative clutter — yet can’t touch their toes, can’t run a mile, can’t kick a football around with their kids without needing a sit down.

We think nothing of a £70 meal, a weekend blowout, or another round of drinks.

But £40 a month to maintain the one body you’ll ever own?

Outrageous.

Apparently.

This isn’t a money problem.

It’s a value problem.

We Worship What Can Be Taken From Us

Here’s a rule that clears a lot of fog:

If it can be taken from you, be very careful making it central to who you are.

Money disappears.

Jobs end.

Houses burn.

Status evaporates the moment the room changes.

But strength?

Skill?

Discipline?

The ability to stay calm when everything’s on fire?

Those things come with you.

You don’t leave them at the door.

They compound quietly in the background, like interest no one notices until it really matters.

Where I Can Personally Attest

Over the years, I’ve deliberately collected things that can’t be taken from me.

Not trophies. Not titles. (Well, I’ve turned challenges into trophies and titles but that’s another story entirely 🤫)

Traits.

I’ve slept cold. I’ve endured silence. I’ve built fires from sticks. I’ve walked hundreds of miles with weight on my back over the course of a month.

Not because it looks good on social media — it doesn’t — but because hardship teaches lessons comfort never will.

Those experiences carved something into me.

Determination. Adaptability. A refusal to panic.

I don’t walk around displaying those traits like medals. I drift. I mess up. I’m human.

But when life goes to shit — and it does — they’re there.

They snap into place.

If I’m short on money, I smile.

If everything familiar was taken away, I could still write. Still think. Still adapt. Still rebuild.

I know how to fast. I know how to live simply. Eggs, milk, bread, vegetables. Cheap. Nutritious. Sufficient.

I can’t really be homeless in the way people fear it. And even if I was, it wouldn’t break me.

I’d find a quiet spot. Make camp. Reassess. Then claw my way forward through grit and work.

Crisis doesn’t scatter me.

It sharpens me.

We Keep Confusing Cost With Value

We’ve been taught that spending equals living.

Consumption is the reward.

Self-investment is the chore.

So we chase nights out that leave us foggy and flat for days, then complain we’re tired all the time.

We scroll, snack, sip, and shop — and wonder why nothing feels solid.

Meanwhile, the things that would actually stabilise us — movement, learning, discipline, skill — get endlessly postponed.

Not because they’re inaccessible.

But because they don’t come wrapped in dopamine and fairy lights.

Pleasure Has a Place — Just Not the Throne

Let’s be clear.

This isn’t a sermon against joy.

Good food is good.

Celebration matters.

Comfort has its moments.

But when shallow pleasures become priorities, something deeper starts to starve.

Endless nights out, impulse purchases, and status chasing don’t move you closer to yourself.

They distract you from yourself.

Compare that to investing in:

• A body that works
• A mind that can think under pressure
• Skills that create independence
• Experiences that test you
• Traits like patience, courage, and self-respect

These don’t just feel good.

They change who you are.

Capability Is Real Freedom

Strength is freedom.

Endurance is freedom.

Knowing you can handle discomfort is freedom.

Knowing you can cook, move, learn, write, build, and endure is freedom.

These aren’t aesthetic goals.

They’re insurance policies.

And unlike most insurance, you actually get to use them.

A Question Worth Taking Seriously

Instead of asking:

“What do I want next?”

Try asking:

“What would still matter if everything else was stripped away?”

That question has a habit of rearranging your life.

Because when you reduce things to their essence, the answer is never another object.

It’s always a capability.

A trait.

A piece of hard-won understanding.

Your Turn

Here’s the challenge.

Take a hard look at where your time, money, and energy are actually going.

Not where you say they’re going.

Where they’re really going.

Ask yourself:

• What am I funding that won’t matter in five years?
• What am I neglecting that would still serve me if everything collapsed?

If this struck a nerve, let me know.

Like it. Comment. Subscribe if you want more writing like this.

Better yet — write your own piece answering the question:

What can’t be taken from me?

Because the goal isn’t to own more.

It’s to be harder to break.

And no one can take that from you.

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