A chance remark from a seasoned investor—and fresh insights from a provocative new book—taught me why leverage beats luxury when building real wealth.

I was halfway through a kale‑pesto flatbread when my friend’s father, a newly retired investor with the kind of calm you only earn after four market cycles, dropped a sentence that made the table go quiet:

“Rich people don’t buy things — they buy leverage.”

He didn’t say it with swagger. He offered it like a weather report, the sort that tells you to carry an umbrella because a storm is inevitable.

In his view, leverage wasn’t just about debt or stock options. It was any tool that multiplies time, skills, or capital.

“A Tesla?” he shrugged. “Nice. But it depreciates. Invest that money into a small business, real estate syndicate, or even a team that frees your hours—and suddenly you own a lever that keeps working after the thrill of new-car smell fades.”

I chewed on that—literally and figuratively—all weekend.

By Monday morning, the line had wedged itself between my to‑do lists and personal goals. I write about psychology, wellness, and occasionally money, but I’d never framed my spending patterns through the lens of leverage.

Did my purchases move like gears, amplifying future value? Or did they sit still, requiring ongoing maintenance and offering nothing but momentary pleasure?

My first audit: where my dollars actually went

To find out, I exported three months of credit‑card statements and auditioned every line item for leverage value.

Some were obvious duds: $17 matcha lattes at trend‑chasing cafés, “emergency” scented candles, athletic wear I hoped would motivate me (spoiler: motivation is not sold in leggings).

Other expenses surprised me: the $25 I pay monthly for a speech‑to‑text tool enables me to draft articles twice as fast—genuine leverage. The $200 I spent on a weekend writing retreat forced me into deep work that produced three paid essays. Another lever.

Seeing the list in black and white was like turning on fluorescence in a nightclub: the glamour drained from impulse buys, while humble line items glowed with newfound relevance.

The investor’s phrase had given me a binary filter—lever or trinket—that sidestepped guilt or moralism.

Why leverage beats lifestyle inflation

Behavioral‑economics research calls lifestyle inflation the “hedonic treadmill”: as income rises, wants morph into needs, and the baseline of satisfaction shifts upward.

A raise arrives. Suddenly, the sedan feels inadequate, the apartment feels small,and the watch feels pedestrian. Leverage, by contrast, resists that treadmill because it converts surplus into assets that expand capacity. A single camera lens might earn a photographer more clients; a database course might earn a marketer higher retainers.

Psychologists would label that an intrinsic reward loop — your action (invest in leverage) produces a reinforcing outcome (more autonomy, income, time) rather than a fleeting dopamine pop.

The retired investor framed it elegantly: “Things decay; leverage compounds.” That line now lives on a sticky note beside my laptop, where it glares at me any time I price‑compare gourmet desk snacks.

The three levers I underestimated

1. Skill leverage

Learning Spanish had sat on my someday stack for years. Yet freelancing for Latin American clients would raise my rate overnight. The potential return dwarfed the cost of an online course.

So I reclassified Spanish lessons from hobby to leverage and booked a tutor.

The difference?

I stopped skipping sessions when life got busy, because now they weren’t optional—they were asset building.

2. Network leverage

Introvert me used to view networking events as extrovert cosplay. But strategic relationships act like social catapults, placing you in rooms where opportunity density skyrockets.

I began treating coffee chats as micro‑investments: a $4 Americano that might yield a referral, collaboration, or new insight worth thousands.

3. Systems leverage

My biggest bottleneck wasn’t ideas; it was administrative sludge: invoicing, image formatting, endless email sorting. P

aying a virtual assistant ten hours a month felt decadent until I realized she freed thirty of mine. Net leverage: twenty hours to write, think, run trails.

Where the idea collides with mindset

Leverage sounds rational; our emotions are anything but. The day after my audit, I watched a flash sale on artisanal cookware test every neural reward pathway I possess.

Logically, new pans wouldn’t add value to my writing business. Emotionally, they promised identity: Look, you’re the kind of person who sautés with copper.

This is where Rudá Iandê’s new book, “Laughing in the Face of Chaos” rescued me from a checkout click. I’d mentioned his work in passing before, but reading the newly released edition last week applied super‑glue to the investor’s lesson.

Rudá argues that “We live immersed in an ocean of stories, from the collective narratives that shape our societies to the personal tales that define our sense of self.”

His point: many spending choices serve the story of who we think we should be rather than our actual well‑being. That zinger landed so hard I closed the cookware tab mid‑scroll.

If the narrative of “stylish minimalist chef” conflicted with my leveraged author life, why bankroll it?

Tiny field test: one month of leverage‑first spending

Eager to see real numbers, I ran a thirty‑day experiment:

Rule : Any purchase over $30 had to answer, “How does this create leverage in time, money, or energy?”

Metric: Compare net savings and subjective energy at month’s end.

What I bought

A second monitor — $110. Result: editing articles 20 % faster. A course on narrative podcasting — $89. Result: landed a $600 freelance audio gig two weeks later. An ergonomic chair cushion — $35. Result: longer writing sessions without lower‑back tweaky‑ness.

What I skipped

Flash sale cookware

Limited‑edition sneakers

Subscription to yet another news platform I’d never fully read

Outcome

I saved around $460 compared with the previous month and generated an extra $600 in revenue—$1,060 swing. More subtly, my cognitive load shrank. Fewer packages to track, fewer returns, fewer pangs of buyer’s remorse. Evenings felt quieter.

The mindset shifts

Rudá’s insights from the book that I mentioned above nudged the leverage concept beyond spreadsheets into psycho‑spiritual ROI. A few standouts:

Question everything you believe — including “stuff equals success.” Scrutinizing that assumption tore holes in my consumption autopilot.

Your body is your wisest teacher — I noticed how certain purchases clenched my gut (subtle anxiety) while leveraged ones expanded my chest (subtle excitement). Somatic cues became spending compasses.

Emotions are messengers, not enemies — The cookbook FOMO wasn’t greed; it was a signal craving creativity. I channeled that impulse into crafting new recipes with ingredients on hand—creativity at zero cost.

Authenticity over perfection — Instagrammable trinkets support a façade, not depth. Leverage serves real-life goals; trinkets serve highlight reels.

None of this felt preachy — it felt like holding a funhouse mirror to my habits until I laughed at how distorted they’d become. The book inspired me to treat money less as a scarcity meter and more as clay I could shape.

If reality is flexible, as both the investor and Rudá hint, then leverage is the artisan’s wheel.

Common leverage misconceptions debunked

Myth 1: Leverage means debt.

Truth: Outsourcing chores, automating savings, or cross‑pollinating skills are leverage without borrowing a cent.

Myth 2: Only entrepreneurs need leverage.

Truth: A teacher who builds a lesson‑plan library is leveraging future time. A nurse who invests in ergonomic gear leverages health and longevity.

Myth 3: Leverage is risky.

Truth: Blind leverage is risky. Thoughtful leverage—backed by research and contingency buffers—mitigates risk by diversifying income streams or reducing burnout.

5 starter levers you can install this week

Knowledge lever — Read one whitepaper or expert blog in your field and synthesize it into a LinkedIn post. Knowledge becomes network leverage. Tool lever — Automate one recurring bill or email filter. Minutes saved compound monthly. Health lever — Swap one evening scroll session for a 20‑minute stretch routine; mobility later means fewer medical costs and more energy. Connection lever — Send a concise “How can I help?” note to a colleague. Reciprocity is leverage in disguise. Mindset lever — Write your top three spending triggers; place Rudá’s quote where you’ll see it before online shopping. Watch decisions pivot.

When leverage goes wrong

I’d be remiss to paint leverage as utopian. A friend leveraged credit to scale her e‑commerce store; supply‑chain delays turned that lever into an anchor.

Another outsourced so aggressively he felt detached from his own creative voice. The antidote is calibrated leverage: start small, monitor returns, adjust.

As Rudá writes elsewhere in the book, “You have both the right and responsibility to explore and try until you know yourself deeply.”

Translation: test levers until data beats guessing, but retain agency.

The richest payoff: time to live

Financial upside is cool, but the quiet dividend of leverage‑first spending is reclaimed time.

During my experiment, I hiked more, called my mom more, and read printed books without the clock heckling me. Ironically, that spaciousness made me more generous: I donated unused gadgets, mentored a junior writer, volunteered at a trail cleanup.

Leverage, it turned out, wasn’t just a wealth hack—it was a life‑expansion protocol.

Final thoughts

The retired investor’s line keeps echoing: “Rich people don’t buy things — they buy leverage.”

Pair that with Rudá Iandê’s perspective that we swim in stories, and a new narrative surfaces: wealth isn’t counted in objects but in amplified impact and freedom.

Evaluate expenses through that lens and the 5‑second thrill of a flashy purchase pales beside the quiet power of a lever that keeps giving.

So next time a sale banner flashes or a shiny gadget beckons, I’ll ask: Does this item leverage tomorrow or merely decorate today?

If the answer is the latter, I’ll smile, close the tab, and maybe reread a paragraph from my new discovery,“Laughing in the Face of Chaos”.

Because sometimes the smartest buy isn’t a thing at all — but a mindset upgrade that leverages every decision thereafter.