The Real Reason Some People Stay Broke and Heartbroken (Hint: It’s Not Luck)

There are a lot of bullet points here but stay with me. There’s a certain species of adult who is permanently confused about why life keeps “happening” to them.

Bad luck with money.
Bad luck with dating.
Bad luck with bosses.

At some point, if everywhere you go smells like smoke, it might be worth checking your own pockets for a fire.

And I'm not mocking struggle. Life can be brutal. I get that. The economy is weird. Dating apps are a a joke. People absolutely face real obstacles. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: Most people who claim chronic bad luck aren’t unlucky. They’re resistant to knowledge.

Advice Feels Like an Attack

When someone is stuck financially or romantically, advice doesn’t feel helpful. It feels accusatory.

“Budget better.”
“Work on your communication.”
“Stop chasing people who don’t want you.”

Translation in their head: “You’re the problem.”

That stings. So instead of evaluating the advice, they evaluate the messenger.

“Oh, he got lucky.”
“She had advantages I didn't have.”
“That only works for certain people.”

Pride preserved. Nothing changes.

People Protect Their Story More Than Their Future

If someone has built their identity around being unlucky, overlooked, or misunderstood, changing means admitting something painful: “I’ve been participating in my own stagnation.”

That’s heavy.

It’s easier to believe that the system is rigged, finding love is impossible, yadda, yadda, yadda. There’s comfort in a narrative that removes responsibility. Responsibility requires action. Action requires discomfort. And discomfort is not trending.

Success Advice Is Boring

Financial progress is rarely dramatic. It’s discipline. It’s delayed gratification that involves saying "no" to yourself repeatedly.

Romantic success isn’t mystical either. It’s standards, emotional regulation, self-awareness, presentation, accountability, and consistency.

That's not sexy though. Nobody goes viral saying, “I fixed my spending habits and stopped pursuing dating chaos.”

But post “Nobody values loyalty anymore,” and you’ll get a standing ovation because validation pays faster than transformation.

Some Successful People Do Give Bad Advice Though

Let’s be fair. There are out-of-touch millionaires who think everyone can “just grind harder.” There are married people who forgot what modern dating looks like. There are privileged voices who mistake advantage for wisdom.

Not all advice is good advice. But here’s the test:

If multiple financially stable people tell you some version of:

• Increase your value.

• Spend less than you earn.

• Build leverage.

• Be consistent.

And multiple emotionally stable couples say:

• Choose better.

• Communicate clearly.

• Work on yourself.

• Stop chasing chaos.

At some point, the pattern isn’t coincidence. It's the real deal. We need to stop trying to protect our ego all while suffering the consequences of it. It's okay to admit "I don't know everything". I've said many times in this blog before that I'm "forever under construction". I'll never be a finished product because there is still room for me to grow (hopefully not physically - LOL).

Common sense isn’t cruel. It’s corrective.

And sometimes the most compassionate thing you can tell someone is this: "You’re not cursed. You’re just resisting."

Stop Calling It Peace When It’s Just Avoidance

 We’ve gotten really good at dressing up dysfunction in affirmations and aromatherapy. These days, “protecting my peace” often looks a lot like dodging accountability. We ghost instead of grow. We block instead of build. We call it healing, but really—we’re just hiding.

Let’s be honest: comfort is the new hustle. We chase it like it’s the prize, when really not. Comfort is easy. It’s soft and it’s seductive. But that rascal is also sneaky! It’ll have you thinking you’re okay while your soul is screaming for a reset.

We’ve confused peace with pampering. But peace isn’t a bubble bath and blackout curtains. It’s not a personal playlist or a weekend getaway. Real peace is alignment. It’s knowing your choices match your values—even when those choices cost you convenience, applause, or the company of people who liked the old you better.

Comfort says, “Stay here because it’s safe.” Peace says, “Go there because it’s right.”

We can't ghost our problems and think that they won't be there on Monday morning. Don't spend money on a day spa when you have a power bill to pay. Don't spend an evening at the bar when car insurance is due.

It's not "protecting your peace" when all you are doing is avoiding responsibility for the time being.

I Hate TV Now

Dallas. The Wire. Parks & Recreation. X-Files.

I used to love television. Not “it’s on in the background while I scroll through my phone” love. I mean real love. 

Appointment viewing. Microwave your food during commercials so you don’t miss a scene. Debate the episode the next day like it was a Supreme Court case. It was a huge deal!

Now? TV feels like it was designed by an algorithm that hates me personally.

Streaming was supposed to save us. 

• Freedom from commercials. 
• Entire seasons at our fingertips. 
• Prestige television. 

What we got instead is eight-episode “seasons” that feel like extended trailers. Just when you’re settling in, learning the characters, getting emotionally invested… boom. Season over. See you in 18-to-24 months.

Two years? For eight episodes?

By the time the next season drops, I need a "previously-on" recap, a YouTube explainer, and a support group just to remember who betrayed who. And let’s be honest, sometimes I’ve moved on. There’s a new show, a new app, a new mystery with moody lighting and a troubled detective staring out a rainy window.

Speaking of mysteries… when did every new show become a "whodunnit?"

There was a time when TV trends had range. Not these days. We survived the detective era. We endured the hospital drama invasion. Even the missing person(s) trend. Now, every trailer is ominous music, a dead body, and a cast of suspects who all look like they own at least three turtlenecks. I promise you, not every town in America is hiding a ritualistic murder conspiracy where everyone thinks the other person did it.

And can we talk about cancellations? I know that I'm jumping around a bit, but that's what you do in a rant. And I didn't want to forget this one.

Streamers and networks alike have the patience of a toddler in a checkout line. If a show doesn’t explode in the ratings or trend for 48 straight hours, it’s gone. No time to find its footing. No slow burn. No growth.

You fall in love with a show and the next thing you know, the network/streaming service gives you the old "It's not you. It's me." And just like a failed a relationship, you've wasted months of your life on something that was never seriously going to be seen through to the end.

That’s why I’ve developed trust issues with new shows. I sometimes won’t even commit until season two or three. I need proof of life. I’m not getting attached to characters who might disappear mid-cliffhanger because some network exec decided they weren’t profitable enough.

That’s not how great TV used to work.

Some of the best shows in history had rocky starts. They were allowed to breathe. Writers had time to get into a groove. Characters evolved. Stakes built gradually. Now plotlines sprint from twist to twist like they’re trying to impress someone in a pitch meeting.

And maybe that’s the real problem. Shows feel written for distraction instead of immersion.

You can tell when a series expects you to be half-paying attention. Dialogue gets repetitive. Plot points get spoon-fed. Scenes stretch just long enough for you to glance down at your phone and still know what’s happening when you look back up.

Here’s a wild idea: what if you created something compelling enough to make me put the phone down?

What if you gave a reason for your audience to focus? 

Okay, one more thing and then I'll stop rambling... (for today)

Sitcoms are another casualty. Network TV used to deliver jokes every 20-to-30 seconds. Rapid fire. Setup. Punchline. Tag. Repeat. The 70s and 80s sitcoms had timing like a metronome. Today, many so-called comedies are dramedies with one polite chuckle and a meaningful stare into the distance. Are comedians even writing sitcoms anymore?

Abbott Elementary is the exception though! That show understands the assignment. It’s funny on purpose. It respects rhythm. It remembers that comedy should actually make you laugh and continue to chuckle as you anticipate the next bit of humor.

Most others? If I laugh more than twice in 22 minutes, it’s a miracle. The bar has been lowered (almost to the floor).

Somewhere along the line, the focus shifted. It’s less about crafting the best possible show and more about maximizing subscriber growth, engagement metrics, and shareholder happiness. Profit first. Art second.

And listen, I get it. Television is a business. It always has been. But the golden eras happened when the people making the shows were obsessed with making something great, not just something that would spike a quarterly earnings call.

Now we have shorter seasons, longer waits, quicker cancellations, repetitive trends, and background-friendly storytelling. TV isn’t an experience anymore. It’s content. It fills silence. It autoplays.

I don’t hate television because I’ve outgrown it. I hate it because I know how good it once was.

We’ve seen better. We deserve better.