Category: Mindset

Hitting €100k didn’t bring champagne. It brought calm, perspective, and the quiet freedom to choose without fear of money holding me back.

I woke up in a five-star hotel in Sofia, Bulgaria. The kind of hotel with tall and heavy curtains that let through just enough sunlight to remind you it’s way too early. There was an espresso machine in the corner, a bathrobe hanging off a chair, and a minibar I definitely wasn’t going to touch because of the ridiculously expensive peanuts.

It might sound like success. At least, the version of success my younger self would have imagined. But I wasn’t on holiday. I was there for work, with another day of back-to-back meetings ahead of me.

Still half-asleep, I did what I always do in the morning: reaching for my phone and opening my banking app to check my portfolio. And there it was. Overnight, my total net worth had crossed €100,000.

Not in cash stuffed under a mattress, but slowly built through years of consistent saving, investing, and letting compound growth do its thing. A milestone I’d slowly worked toward for years. And now it was real.

The Moment Itself: Not What I expected

I’d love to tell you I jumped on the bed, ordered champagne, or at least splurged on those overpriced peanuts. But the truth? I felt almost nothing.

It wasn’t because I suddenly didn’t care. I had cared for years. But when the number appeared there was no fanfare, just a quiet recognition. A small exhale and lightness like I’d finally put down a heavy backpack I didn’t know I was carrying.

It wasn’t disappointment. It wasn’t euphoria either. It was more a composed satisfaction like: “Okay. So this is what that feels like.” And just as quickly, it all went away. My focus shifted back to the day ahead: I went to the hotel gym to wake myself up with an early workout, took a shower, had my breakfast and stepped in the taxi to the office. 

From an Unexpected Feeling to Personal Finance Lessons

That quiet morning in Sofia taught me three big lessons.

1. Money doesn’t buy the feeling you expect.
Numbers don’t hug you. They don’t validate you. €100K didn’t suddenly make me feel “better.” It just reminded me that I already had most of what I wanted: health, friends, and the ability to enjoy life along the way.

2. Money buys space.
What I did feel was relief and calm. The knowledge that if something went wrong, I could most likely handle it. That if I wanted to say no to a job, take a break, or support someone close to me, I had that option. That kind of freedom doesn’t scream. It whispers.

3. Comparison is useless.
In some circles, €100K is pocket change. In others, it’s life-changing. In The Netherlands, especially at my age, it puts you ahead of many but also still behind others. Comparison is a terrible financial strategy. The only healthy use for it is perspective.

And perspective was what this moment gave me: gratitude for the privilege I’ve had, and a reminder to stay grounded in who I am, not just in what I own.

The Real Milestone

Looking back, the milestone wasn’t the number itself. It was the habits that built it:

• Learning to save for the sake of saving, thanks to my parents’ mindset.
• Building an attitude and work ethic that allowed me to earn enough to invest for the long term.
• Investing consistently and early enough to let time and compound growth quietly carry some of the weight.

I once had dinner with a billionaire and what struck me most wasn’t his wealth, but his calm. He didn’t talk about numbers at all. He just carried himself lightly. Crossing €100K was my own small glimpse of that same feeling.

Final thought

€100K didn’t make me happier. But it did make me quieter inside. It wasn’t a party moment, it was a peaceful moment.

And maybe that’s the real secret: the numbers themselves don’t change you. The peace you build along the way does.

What financial milestone are you working toward right now, and how do you celebrate progress along the way?

Many readers share these lessons in their own circles. If this story gave you something, feel free to pass it on!

Dinner with a billionaire taught me that wealth doesn’t change who you are. True success is carrying money lightly, with humility and clarity.

I was in Munich with a colleague for a two-day conference hosted by the company behind a platform we rely on heavily at work. It was one of those big-budget corporate productions: massive screens, polished stages, and enough caffeine to keep the whole city awake. The agenda was packed with technical deep-dives, product demos, and the kind of hallway networking where business cards are traded like there are Pokémon on them instead of a fancy “vice president” title.

The founder of the company was a man who had turned his ideas into a billion-dollar company, and as a result had become worth a couple of them himself. He opened the event with a welcome speech. It wasn’t flashy or dramatic, just a warm introduction: “Here’s why we’re here, this is where we’re going with the industry and our company. Thanks for coming.” Twenty minutes, a smile, and he was gone. Still, you could feel the weight of his presence. This was someone who had built something massive, and become unimaginably wealthy in the process.

By the end of the second day, most attendees had already caught flights home. My colleague and I were staying the night, so we decided to grab dinner at the nearest restaurant: an Indian place just down the street from the hotel.

We had just settled in and were halfway through our papadums when a familiar silhouette entered the room. It was the founder. No entourage, no bodyguards. Just a man in a jacket, scanning the restaurant like any other hungry traveler.

We were both stunned and excited, not exactly the combination that helps you act cool. Thinking this might be our only chance to ever meet him, we walked over to introduce ourselves and asked if we could take a quick photo. While he was still halfway out of his coat, a staff member explained that the restaurant was fully booked for the evening. And before I could think twice, I heard myself blurting out:“You’re welcome to join us.”

Smooth. Very smooth.

To our surprise, he smiled and said “Sure, why not?”

An extraordinarily ordinary dinner

So there we were, sharing a table with the man whose ideas and products had shaped my career path. My colleague was clearly starstruck and temporarily out of order; I tried my best to keep the conversation grounded. Fortunately the conversation flowed naturally.

We talked about the company: its early struggles, the turning points, the lessons learned. But it wasn’t a one-way interview. He asked about our jobs, our careers, even our thoughts on the conference. For an hour or two, over curry and naan, it stopped feeling like dinner with a billionaire. It was just three people swapping stories about work, choices, and a field they all cared about.

When the check came, we instinctively reached for it. But he didn’t hesitate: Out came an American Express Centurion card, the mythical “black card” I’d only ever read about. A quick confirmation of his enormous wealth, even after such a casual dinner. He handed it to the server with a grin and said to us:

“One way or another, your company pays for it anyway.”

We laughed, took a photo, and wished him a good evening before walking back through the cool Munich night. The next morning my colleague posted about our encounter on LinkedIn, and for 24 hours we were mini-celebrities in the platform community. Connection requests poured in from people we’d never met.

The Life Lesson Hidden in a Dinner

What really stayed with me wasn’t the 24 hours of LinkedIn fame, the photo, or even the Centurion card. It was the reminder that money doesn’t have to change who you are.

Here was someone with more wealth than most of us can imagine, yet he carried himself like a normal person who just wanted dinner after a long day. He could buy the whole restaurant and whole apartment block with ease if he wanted, but there wasn’t a trace of superiority at our table.

And it tied into another realization: some of the wealthiest and successful people I’ve met barely talk about money at all. They have the financial freedom to choose what to care about and as a result tend to be more inclined to carry themselves with lightness, clarity, and a sense of enough. Something that for example also became very clear to me one time when I got a masterclass on financial freedom in the back of a Porsche.

The takeaway of the dinner? Success doesn’t automatically make you different or better. It only changes you if you let it.

Final Thought

A billionaire paying for my curry didn’t teach me about luxury. It was the best crash course in humility I’ll ever get, served with naan and rice on the side. 

Because whether you’re a billionaire or just reaching your first €100k, the real wealth isn’t in the number. It’s in how lightly you carry it, and how little you let it change you.

Have you ever met someone whose humility or calm confidence really stuck with you? What did you take away from it?

Many readers share these lessons in their own circles. If this story gave you something, feel free to pass it on!

A Porsche ride taught me that true financial freedom isn’t luxury, it’s the calm to shrug off small setbacks without losing peace of mind.

I still remember the first time I consciously spent time with someone who was, well… rich. At the time I was still a student, dating my ex-girlfriend, and we had to go all the way across the country for a family birthday.

To avoid a long slog by public transport, her uncle and his partner offered to pick us up at the nearest train station. Nothing unusual. Except when they pulled up and parked, I realized this wasn’t just any car. It was a Porsche, and a brand new one at that.

For a student who thought “luxury” meant ordering a beer that wasn’t the cheapest one on the menu, this was a completely different universe.

A Ride I’ll Never Forget

Sliding into the backseat felt like stepping into a spaceship. The leather, the quiet hum of the engine, the dashboard shining like something out of a sci-fi movie. My ex played it cool, she’d known her uncle all her life. I, on the other hand, was basically vibrating in the backseat.

Then we hit the highway.

The car moved with this effortless smoothness, like it was barely trying. And then, on a wide and empty stretch, they tapped the sport mode. The quiet hum turned into a roar, my stomach dropped, and suddenly we were flying forward.

It wasn’t reckless, it was controlled, confident, calm. That’s what surprised me most. There was no nervous laughter, no “oh wow” reaction (besides mine). Just two people casually enjoying their car.

After recovering from the excitement, I asked the one question everyone would probably have on their mind: “Aren’t you afraid of getting a ticket?”

The uncle didn’t even blink. He just smiled and said:
“Better to get there on time, we’ve got the entire country to cross. A fine doesn’t matter.”

I’d never advocate breaking traffic laws (I was already nervous enough in the backseat), but that line hit me harder than the acceleration..

More Than Just Speed

For me, a speeding ticket would have been a disaster. Not least because I didn’t even have my driver’s license yet. Also because my monthly budget was a patchwork of savings, government study financing, and the occasional splurge on fun with friends. Even a €100 fine could ruin my entire month. And even then I was lucky, thanks to my financial upbringing I had a buffer and knew how to live without debt.

But for them? A speeding ticket was an inconvenience, not a crisis. They had leather seats and sport mode. I had a shrinking savings account and a second-hand bike. Their calm, casual perspective and display of financial freedom was worth more than the Porsche itself. It planted a seed: A glimpse of the quiet, humble self-confidence of someone who knew they were more than fine, which I’d later recognize in other places and would try to achieve for myself as well.

Final Thought

Financial freedom doesn’t always look like champagne and caviar. Sometimes it looks like pressing sport mode on the highway without worrying about whether you might get a ticket. The Porsche ride gave me my first glimpse: true financial freedom isn’t about showing off. It’s the quiet confidence that you’ll be fine, no matter what.

What’s a moment when you realized money could buy peace of mind rather than luxury?

Many readers share these lessons in their own circles. If this story gave you something, feel free to pass it on!

I tick all the privilege boxes. That’s not guilt or bragging, it’s context for everything I write about money. Here’s what having the odds stacked in your favor actually looks like.

In 2022, Dutch journalist Joris Luyendijk stirred up quite a debate with his book De Zeven Vinkjes (The Seven Checkmarks). His argument: if you tick seven specific boxes, your odds of ending up in the cultural or financial elite in The Netherlands are much higher.

The seven? Being male, white, straight, having an academic degree, born in The Netherlands, speaking ‘proper’ Dutch, and growing up with rich or well-educated parents.

The book hit a nerve. Some people recognized themselves instantly. Others felt attacked. But whether you cheered or rolled your eyes, one thing was undeniable: these advantages compound in ways most of us don’t see, especially when we have them.

My Seven Checkmarks

I’ll admit it right away: I tick all seven boxes. All of them.

Now, before you imagine me growing up in a mansion with a tennis court and ponies: nope. My parents were middle class. My mom was a primary school teacher, my dad had a steady job for the Dutch government. We were comfortable, but our family cars were second-hand Toyotas that definitely didn’t have massage seats.

Still, the advantages were real. And they’re still working for me today:

Being male means I’ve never had my assertiveness labeled as “aggressive” or been told to smile more in meetings. I can speak up, interrupt occasionally, show confidence without it being called arrogance. I’ve never had to calculate whether my tone might make someone uncomfortable.

Being white means I’ve probably looked like the reference image when hiring managers picture “a good fit.” I’ve never been “the diverse hire” or wondered if my name on a resume got me filtered out before anyone read my qualifications. I’ve never walked into a client meeting and felt eyes scanning me to confirm I belonged there.

My university diploma opened doors even before I proved I deserved to walk through them. That piece of paper signaled “capable” before I’d accomplished anything meaningful. It gave me the benefit of the doubt in ways I didn’t earn yet.

Being straight meant I never had to decide whether to mention a partner at a work event, never calculated whether being honest about my personal life would cost me opportunities. My romantic life has never been a professional risk.

I speak ‘proper’ Dutch, no regional accent that might code me as “less educated” or “provincial.” That sounds trivial until you realize how much snap judgment happens in the first thirty seconds of conversation. 

Being born in The Netherlands meant no visa anxiety, no bureaucratic nightmares to prove I had a right to be here, no extra hoops to jump through for every job application. My existence here has never been questioned.

And most of all I had loving, well-educated parents who provided stability when I grew up. I could take career risks because I had a safety net. I could fail without catastrophe.

What Privilege Actually Does

Here’s what I didn’t understand when I was younger: Privilege isn’t just about the doors that open. It’s predominantly about the doors you never see closed.

It’s not getting the job because you ticked boxes, it’s never being filtered out before the interview. It’s not being handed opportunities, it’s being given the benefit of the doubt when you stumble. And it’s not having everything easy, it’s having the invisible cushion that makes failure less catastrophic.

And here’s the part that sometimes makes me a little uncomfortable, now that I’m aware of it: these advantages don’t stop after you get hired. They compound.

When I succeeded early in my career, people assumed it was competence. When I made mistakes, they were treated as learning experiences, not confirmation that I didn’t belong. When I spoke up in meetings, people listened. When I negotiated salary, I was seen as confident and assertive, not greedy.

At every step, I got the better interpretation of ambiguous signals. That’s what privilege does: it tips perception in your favor, over and over, in small ways that add up to massive advantages over time.

The Uncomfortable Question I Have to Ask Myself

I’m in a position now at work where I’m occasionally responsible for evaluating others. That could be in interviews, in team settings, or in decisions about who gets opportunities.

And I have to ask myself: When someone feels “right” for a role, is it because they’re actually the best fit? Or because they remind me of me?

When I see someone who’s confident, articulate and has the “right” background, am I recognizing competence, or just familiarity? When someone with a different background or communication style doesn’t immediately “click”, is that a real culture misfit, or is it just that they don’t mirror my own advantages back at me?

If I have a preference for people who “feel right” without examining why they feel right, I’m just reproducing the same advantages I benefited from. Teams are created that look like the stock photo from the HR handbook, and then we call it “meritocracy” afterwards.

Privilege and Effort Aren’t Opposites

Here’s what took me too long to understand: Acknowledging privilege doesn’t mean I didn’t work hard. It means I worked hard with a tailwind.

I did build my career through effort, learning, preparation, and intentional choices. I did save money, negotiated opportunities, and took risks to get where I am today. That’s all real.

But I also did it from a starting line that was a bit closer to the finish. I did it with fewer headwinds and more benefit-of-the-doubt. I did it in a context where my advantages were invisible to me but obvious to everyone who didn’t have them.

So both things can be true: You can work hard, and have massive advantages. Pretending otherwise would just make you blind.

Final Thought

I can’t undo my advantages or give back my checkmarks. But I can at least be honest about them. Every story I tell on this blog is filtered through them. When I write about negotiating salary, graduating debt-free, or taking career risks, all of that happened in a context where the odds were tilted in my favor. You need to know that before comparing your path to mine.

Privilege isn’t something to feel guilty about, since guilt like that won’t get you anywhere. But it is something to be conscious of, because that consciousness changes how you use advantages you didn’t choose. This blog is about my money and my emotions and actions because of it. But all of that happens in context. And my context includes starting the race closer to the finish line.

You deserve to know that before you read another word.

So here’s my question to you: What privileges or head starts do you recognize in your own life, and how do they shape the lens through which you see others?

Many readers share these lessons in their own circles. If this story gave you something, feel free to pass it on!