I Switched to LED Bulbs, Bought Energy-Efficient Appliances, and My Electric Bill Is STILL Sky-High!

At what point does saving energy starts saving us money?

Can somebody explain something to me?

We replaced every light bulb in the house with LED bulbs. We bought Energy Star appliances. We invested in energy-efficient technology, turned off lights when we left a room, lowered the thermostat, and did everything we were told would help reduce our electric bills.

Meanwhile, we're constantly hearing about massive solar farms, wind farms, and the future of renewable energy. We're told these advancements will make energy cleaner, more efficient, and eventually more affordable.

So, with all these improvements, why does my electric bill still feel like it's climbing?

Seriously, where are my savings?

I'm not against energy efficiency. I'm all for technology that makes our lives easier and reduces waste. If I can use less electricity and pay less money, sign me up.

But somewhere along the way, the promise of saving money seems to have gotten lost in the fine print.

Think about it. We've changed how we light our homes, how we heat and cool them, and even the appliances we use every day. Some people even allow their power companies to control their thermostats (not for me). 

We've embraced the idea that being more energy-conscious is not only good for the environment but also good for our wallets.

Yet, when that monthly bill arrives, it feels like the only thing getting more efficient is how quickly my money disappears. And that's the part that deserves an explanation.

If consumers are doing their part to reduce energy consumption, shouldn't we see some meaningful financial benefit? If technology is improving and energy production is evolving, why does the average household still feel like it's fighting an uphill battle just to keep the lights on?

Now, I understand that electricity prices depend on more than the amount of energy we use. Infrastructure, fuel costs, maintenance, and other factors all play a role. But that doesn't change the frustration of doing everything right and still feeling like you're getting nowhere.

Here's my question: Are these energy-saving advancements actually making life more affordable for everyday people, or are we simply being asked to spend more money to keep up with a system that never seems to get cheaper?

Now the cynical side of me knows that there's no such thing as "saving money" in America. Power companies will save money by you having these energy-efficient items putting less stress on their equipment. But God forbid if the people get relief, right?

This country isn't designed that way. America will put profit over people all day, every day.

The Life I Might Have Lived If I Had Never Attended an HBCU

I sometimes wonder what my life would look like if I had never attended an HBCU.

Not because I think attending an HBCU magically made me who I am. It didn't.

But I do believe it changed the direction I was headed.

And the funny thing is, I almost didn't go.

From kindergarten through high school graduation, I attended predominantly white schools. I grew up in a Black neighborhood, but most of the Black kids in my neighborhood went to the same schools I did. So while I was surrounded by Black people at home, my educational experience was predominantly white and it was the same for the kids in my neighborhood.

That was simply my normal.

When it came time for college, my plan was to attend a predominantly white institution.

It made sense. It was what I knew.

Then reality showed up with a financial aid package. The PWI offered me a partial academic scholarship. An HBCU offered me a full academic scholarship.

Now, I'm many things, but stupid isn't one of them. I went where the money was.

And that decision changed my life.

I Thought I Knew What It Meant To Be Black

I had already started becoming more conscious of my Black identity during my teenage years. My father played a major role in that. So did music.

Public Enemy. Boogie Down Productions. Artists who weren't exactly making songs designed to keep everybody comfortable at the dinner table. They were giving me information, perspectives and questions that weren't necessarily being handed to me in school.

I was beginning to understand that being Black in America wasn't simply about the color of my skin.

There was history behind it that wasn't being taught. There was culture behind it that I didn't always see. There were experiences behind it that I never really had.

There were things my parents understood because they had lived them that I hadn't yet experienced myself. I was beginning the journey.

But the HBCU solidified it.

Same Skin. Different Experiences.

One of the most eye-opening things about attending an HBCU wasn't simply being surrounded by Black people. I had been surrounded by Black people my entire life in my neighborhood. It was realizing that we hadn't all experienced America the same way.

I would meet somebody and we'd start talking about where we grew up, what school was like, how teachers treated them, what their neighborhoods were like, what their parents taught them, and what they thought about race.

And sometimes I'd think: Wow. We are both Black, but we came through two completely different worlds.

I had been educated in predominantly white schools. Some of my HBCU classmates had spent their entire educational careers surrounded primarily by Black teachers and Black students.

Their reference points were different. Their experiences were different. Their understanding of certain racial dynamics was different.

And instead of making me think one group was right and the other was wrong, it made me realize something much more important: Context matters.

I Learned To Pay Attention

Before college, I knew how to interact with people. The diversity of my upbringing gave me that. But the HBCU taught me to pay attention to something else: how people were interacting with me.

I started noticing the difference between being accepted and being tolerated. Those two things can look remarkably similar if you aren't careful.

That didn't mean every uncomfortable interaction was racism. It didn't mean every white person secretly disliked Black people. And it certainly didn't mean every Black person automatically had my best interests at heart.

It meant I became more observant.

The HBCU taught me to look beyond the surface of an interaction and consider the circumstances surrounding it.

• Look at the history.
• Look at the behavior.
• Look at the pattern.
• Look at the context.
• Then make your judgment.

That was discernment.

My HBCU Didn't Teach Me To Hate White People

This is where I think the conversation about HBCUs sometimes gets unnecessarily stupid. There are people who hear "HBCU" and immediately assume that students are being taught some kind of anti-white ideology. 

That wasn't my experience at all. My HBCU didn't teach me to hate white people. It taught me to love Black people.

There's a difference. A pretty important one.

Loving your own people doesn't require hating somebody else's. Understanding Black history doesn't require rewriting everybody else's history.

Being proud of Black accomplishments doesn't require pretending other people haven't accomplished anything.

And learning about racism doesn't mean believing every white person is racist. That's kindergarten-level thinking.

My HBCU gave me something I hadn't fully received before: A concentrated education in Black history, culture and experience.

Not because Black history is the only history that matters. But because it was the history I had the least opportunity to learn about in the educational environments I came through.

What I Didn't Know I Didn't Know

That's probably the biggest gift the HBCU gave me. It showed me how much I didn't know. Not just about Black history. About myself.

Growing up in a predominantly white school system, I became accustomed to an environment that didn't always center my culture or my history. I didn't necessarily recognize what was missing because I didn't know what I was missing.

The HBCU started filling in some of those blanks.

I encountered stories, perspectives and pieces of Black history that weren't part of the education I had received growing up.

And suddenly, some things I had heard from my father while growing up made more sense.

Some of the music I'd been listening to made more sense.

Some of the things I had observed but couldn't quite articulate finally had context.

It was like somebody handed me several missing pages from a book I'd been reading my entire life.

What If I Had Gone To The PWI?

This is the question I keep coming back to :What if I had received that partial scholarship and gone to the PWI?

I probably would have done fine. That's the strange part. 

I already knew that environment. I probably would have graduated, gotten a job, built relationships and continued living my life.

Maybe I would have eventually discovered more about Black history.

Maybe I would have become more conscious of racial dynamics through work, relationships, travel, books, music or simply getting older.

Maybe.

But I don't know.

What I do know is that I wouldn't have had the exact experience that changed me.

I wouldn't have sat across from people whose Black experiences were completely different from mine and had those conversations.

I wouldn't have heard their stories.

I wouldn't have had those moments where I realized that two people could share the same skin color while having completely different understandings of what that skin color meant in America.

And I wouldn't have had the same environment in which to explore my own identity.

That's the part people sometimes miss about education.

Education isn't only about what somebody puts on a chalkboard.

Sometimes it's about who you meet.

Sometimes it's about the conversations you have in a dorm room at 2 AM.

Sometimes it's about realizing that something you thought was universal was actually just your personal experience.

Sometimes the most important lesson isn't: "Here's the answer."

It's: "You need to ask a better question."

The HBCU Expanded My World

My HBCU didn't shrink my world. It expanded it. I went into college with a broad understanding of how to interact with people from different backgrounds. I came out with a much deeper understanding of my own.

That may sound like a small distinction. It wasn't. It gave me another lens.

It taught me that Black history isn't simply a collection of dates, famous names and February school projects.

• It is connected to American history.
• It is connected to economics.
• It's connected to education.
• It's connected to neighborhoods.
• It's connected to music.
• It's connected to politics.
• It's connected to family.
• It's connected to how people see themselves and how other people see them.

And sometimes, understanding those connections changes the way you interpret things happening right in front of you.

That doesn't mean automatically blaming racism for every negative experience.

It means not automatically dismissing it either.

Again: Context.

I Didn't Leave With Hatred. I Left With Perspective.

That's probably the simplest way I can explain what the HBCU did for me.

It didn't teach me to hate. It taught me to understand.

It didn't make me suspicious of everyone who wasn't Black. It made me more conscious of the world around me.

It didn't teach me that Black people are better than white people. It taught me that Black people have a history worth knowing, a culture worth understanding and accomplishments worth celebrating.

Most importantly, it gave me a stronger sense of identity.

I had spent the first 17 years of my life learning in an environment where Blackness wasn't necessarily the center of the educational experience.

My HBCU gave me the opportunity to make it part of the center of mine. That's a lesson I might have eventually learned somewhere else.

But I don't know.

And that's why I sometimes wonder about that other version of my life.

The version where the PWI gave me the full scholarship.

The version where I never stepped onto an HBCU campus.

The version where I never met all those people who came from experiences completely different from mine.

Maybe I would have turned out exactly the same.

I seriously doubt it.

Because sometimes the most important decisions we make aren't the ones we carefully plan.

Sometimes they're the decisions made because one school offered you a partial scholarship and another school offered you a full ride.

Sometimes the universe has a strange sense of humor. And sometimes, apparently, financial aid is destiny.

One thing I know for sure though... I did four years of school without needing a student loan. 

Won't He do it?

Youth Is Wasted on Young People

“Youth is wasted on the young.”

When I was younger, I thought that saying was just something old people said because old people apparently enjoyed reminding everybody that they used to be young too.

Now I'm almost 55 and I get it. I really, really get it.

Because there is something about getting older that changes the way you look at your younger years. You start realizing that the things you thought were unlimited actually had expiration dates.

Energy, time, physical ability, and, perhaps most importantly, opportunity. When you're young, you don't realize how valuable that is because you have so much of it.

You Think Your Body Will Always Work Like That

One of the biggest things you don't appreciate when you're young is your physical body. When you're 20, you can stay up all night and go to work the next morning. You can eat a super-sized combo at 2 AM and somehow wake up fine. You can play basketball, football, or run around with your friends and your biggest concern is if you can get in enough games before the sun goes down.

Then you get older and suddenly your body starts sending you customer-service emails.

You sleep wrong and your neck hurts. You sit too long and your back hurts. You bend over to pick something up and have to negotiate with your knees before standing back up. You can injure yourself simply by existing.

Nobody really tells young people that your body is an asset. At least they didn't when I was growing up. And you don't appreciate an asset until it starts depreciating.

That's why taking care of yourself when you're young matters. Exercise. Eat better. Get enough sleep (can't stress that enough).

Don't treat your body like it's a rental car.

Then There's Money

The financial part might be even more important. When you're young, retirement sounds like something that happens to people who are 138 years old. You get your first real paycheck and your brain immediately starts calculating what you can buy.

New car. New clothes. New gadgets. Trips. Restaurants. Entertainment. Whatever makes life more enjoyable right now.

And there's nothing wrong with enjoying your money.

The problem is failing to understand that your money could be working while you're living your life. That's the part I wish more young people understood. That's the part that I wish that I understood sooner than 30 years old. 

If you're 25, you don't necessarily need to make a fortune. You just need to understand time.

Because $10,000 invested at 25 and left alone for decades has an entirely different opportunity to grow than $10,000 invested at 50.

That's the magic of compound growth. You aren't just making money on your original money. Eventually, you're making money on the money your money already made. 

Young People Think They Have Time

That's a whole trap.

• I'll do it later.
• I'll start saving later.
• I'll invest later.
• I'll exercise later.
• I'll travel later.
• I'll spend more time with my family later.
• I'll start that business later.
• I'll pursue that dream later.

"Later" is one of the most expensive words in the English language. Because eventually, later becomes now.

And then you look around and realize that 20 years disappeared. Not 20 days. Not 20 months. Twenty years.

Where did they go? That's the part nobody can adequately explain when you're young. You think you're moving through life one day at a time when you're actually moving through it one year at a time.

And those years don't ask permission before leaving.

The Advantage Young People Have Isn't Money

This is what I want people in their 20s to know: Your biggest advantage isn't your salary. It's time.

You may not have much money yet. That's understandable because you're starting out. But you have something incredibly valuable that somebody approaching 55 can't buy. You have decades!

• You can make mistakes and recover.
• You can change careers.
• You can start investing.
• You can start exercising.
• You can learn another skill.
• You can start a business.
• You can travel.
• You can build relationships.
• You can fail.

And then try again.

Older people don't necessarily have more wisdom because we're just smarter. Sometimes we have wisdom because we've had more opportunities to screw things up and learn from them.

Youth Is Wasted Because Young People Don't Know What They Have.

That's really what the saying means. Young people aren't stupid. They simply don't have the perspective that comes with time.

When you're 20, 55 seems ancient.

When you're 55, 20 doesn't seem that long ago.

That's the strange trick life plays on you.

You spend the first half of your life trying desperately to become an adult. Then you spend the second half wondering where your youth went.

Nobody wins.

Well, Father Time does. He's undefeated.

If I Could Give My Younger Self One Piece of Advice

I wouldn't tell my younger self to stop having fun. I'd actually tell him to have more fun.

But I'd tell him to understand the value of the future while enjoying the present.

Put money away. Invest. Take care of your body. Don't waste years trying to impress people who won't matter 20 years later. Spend time with people you love. Learn something. Take some risks. 

Don't assume you have forever. Because you don't. None of us do.

And that's not meant to be depressing. It's meant to be liberating.

The Real Problem Isn't Being Young

The real problem is being young and believing you'll always be young. That's the mistake.

At 25, you think 55 is far away.

At 35, you think you've still got plenty of time.

At 45, you suddenly start doing math you probably should have started doing 20 years earlier.

Then one day you're standing there thinking: “How did I get here so fast?”

That's when the saying finally makes sense.

Youth really is wasted on the young.

Not because young people don't deserve it. It's because young people haven't lived long enough to understand just how valuable youth actually is.