Edwin's Corner

THE LIFE YOU WERE TOLD TO WANT   A Two-Part Story About Freedom, Significance and Identity Sometimes the life you desperately want to escape is not the real prison. “We are inherently flawed,” said the man on the pulpit. George opened one eye. Then the other. He sat at the back of a church near his home, wondering whether the preacher was speaking about humanity at large or had somehow received George’s file that morning. If it was the latter, George thought, the man was understating the situation. George had been through a very hard time. Peace had disappeared from his life so completely that he suspected it had changed its number. The previous night had involved too much alcohol, too little sleep, and several decisions that probably made more sense at midnight than they did now. Most Sundays were fairly predictable. Watch a movie. Recover from Saturday. Meet the boys later. Have a few drinks. Promise himself that next weekend would be different. Repeat. Church had never play...

A Five-Part Series on Decisions, Beliefs and the Architecture of Revenge There is a dangerous assumption we sometimes make about emotional intelligence. We imagine that because someone can control their emotions, they must therefore be making good decisions. Joseph had become extraordinarily good at control. He could notice anger. Delay reaction. Study people. Understand beliefs. Observe ego. Predict behavior. Create conditions. Wait. His father had reacted in seconds, destroying his life. Joseph had spent years ensuring he would never make the same mistake. But perhaps there was another question. What if delaying a destructive decision does not necessarily make the decision less destructive? Michael and his brother had already lost almost everything. The paint company was gone. Their local properties had been swallowed by debt. The social circles that once welcomed them became less welcoming. Money has an interesting relationship with friendship. It is sometimes only when the money di...

A Five-Part Series on Decisions, Beliefs and the Architecture of Revenge By the sixth year, Joseph was living two completely different lives. By day, he was still the hardworking young man helping Michael expand the paint business. By night, he was finishing the project he had worked on for years. Eventually, he secured enough funding to test his system in China. It worked. He asked for two weeks’ leave to visit relatives in the village, but instead he flew to Shenzhen for the first trial. He completed the patenting process soon after. Then he pitched it to a multinational company that had been looking for almost exactly that solution. From presentation to closing, the entire process took less than six months. They offered to buy the patent for twenty million dollars, but Joseph refused. Instead, he granted them an exclusive license for certain markets. In the first year, the arrangement earned him about $500,000. The following year it brought in around $2 million. Joseph now knew with...

  A Five-Part Series on Decisions, Beliefs and the Architecture of Revenge At school, Joseph had been exceptional. He had always known that the surest bridge across the circumstances around him was education. Despite the arduous task of caring for his father, he stayed near the top of his class. He performed exceptionally well on the KCSE and was eventually awarded a university scholarship by a leading bank. At university, he completed a demanding program combining mechanical engineering and accounting. But Joseph was not merely studying. He was mapping, learning, observing, and planning. He had decided on an unusual strategy. During the day, he would allow himself to appear vulnerable and disposable. At night, he would build his skills. While everyone else left work, Joseph stayed behind, developing a mechanical system he believed he could eventually sell to an international company. There was another reason he stayed at Michael’s business. Michael was connected to the family Jose...

  A Five-Part Series on Decisions, Beliefs and the Architecture of Revenge No one at the office really knew Joseph’s background. They knew the quiet young man who stayed late, but they did not know the boy who had learned very early that survival sometimes required silence. Joseph’s father had once been a hardworking and successful man. By the time Joseph knew him well, however, almost everything was gone. After an accident left his father incapacitated, Joseph gave up a scholarship to a national school so he could school near home. He woke early. He cooked mandazis and buns. He delivered them to a shop whose owner had taken a liking to him and supported him whenever she could. Then he rushed to day school. In the afternoon, he checked on his father. At night, he studied by candlelight. During those evenings, his father told him stories about a life Joseph could barely imagine. “Son, in a past life I was very successful. I accumulated great wealth, then lost it in an instant of stu...

  A Five-Part Series on Decisions, Beliefs and the Architecture of Revenge Joseph stood there, dumbstruck by what he had just seen. His boss. His girlfriend. His bedroom. There are moments when the mind refuses to process information because it arrives too quickly. This was one of them. For a few seconds, his life flashed before him. The first time he had met Mercy. The things he had done for her. The promises he had quietly made to himself. For her, he had told himself, he would travel to the moon and back. He would work hard, make a difference and give them a comfortable life. Now the woman he had imagined that future with was hurriedly pulling her clothes together. Joseph coughed. It was a small cough, but remarkably effective. The embarrassment on their faces shifted from surprise to shame, and then — almost impressively — to entitlement. “What are you doing here?” Michael, his boss, pulled himself together. Joseph almost wondered whether he was expected to apologize for enteri...

  I have a confession to make. For years, I thought some people had terrible timing. They procrastinated when opportunity knocked. They stayed in relationships that had long since expired. They said yes when every fiber of their being wanted to say no. They overthought simple decisions, people-pleased complete strangers, and somehow found remarkable ways to turn avoidable problems into permanent houseguests. I’d quietly wonder, “Why would anyone keep doing that?” Lately, I’ve become less certain. What if what looks like self-sabotage is actually an old survival strategy that never got the memo that life had changed? That thought has made me much slower to judge others. It has also made me much slower to judge myself. Last Tuesday at The Clarity Room , we explored self-sabotage. One idea has refused to leave me alone. Sometimes the behavior we’re desperately trying to eliminate was once the very behavior that kept us alive. Not physically, perhaps. Emotionally. Psychologically. Soci...

  When Ordinary Days Become History There are certain news stories I no longer read the way I used to. No, I’ve not become indifferent. Quite the opposite. I’ve learned that headlines are astonishingly poor historians. “Six people killed in tragic road accident.” “Driver loses control.” We read the stories during breakfast, exchange sympathetic looks, and maybe say softly, “ That’s so sad.” Afterwards, we go on with our day. The headline doesn’t mention that someone packed an extra sweater because mothers expect you’ll feel cold, or that an uncle brought a cooler no one requested, or that two cousins argued over the window seat as if it were a matter of national diplomacy. Headlines report events. Life happens in the details. This story lives in the details.  —  Three families had escaped Nairobi for a long weekend in Naivasha. Nothing luxurious. Just a few days away from meetings that should have been emails, traffic that seemed personally offended by your existence, and WhatsApp...