Invisible Capital

The concept: Invisible Capital is the unmeasured wealth that actually holds society together, trust, ecological stability, and generational knowledge. These forces are rarely valued by traditional economics, yet i believe they are the true sources of economic and societal strength. Money in this model, is not the source of value, it is the reflection of these deeper, often ignored forces. 

The question: What if our society has built itself around a false Sun, and the real source of value is invisible, unmeasured, and quietly collapsing? 

Thesis: Invisible Capital is the true gravitational force of all systems. While money is visible, it is merely a reflection of deeper, transactional forces, trust, ecology and knowledge. Our failure to recognize and protect this invisible wealth undermines the very systems we think we're sustaining. Real change can't be legislated or bought. It requires a collective re-centering of what we consider valuable. 

Its never been about money, power, or religion. Civilizations rise and fall not by what they earn, conquer, or preach, but by the health of what remains invisible. The trust that binds people, the land that feeds them, and the knowledge that survives them.

This is an original framework by Rosaciela Coria (Rose Coria). If shared or cited, please credit the source.

Texas Elements

 

After mapping every documented element in Texas realized something wild: out of 254 counties, only 21 have any recorded presence of elemental resources. That leaves 233 counties as geologic blank canvases. Underexplored. Unclaimed. Potentially misunderstood.

But here's the catch: these “missing” elements aren’t necessarily missing. They just haven’t been documented. The industry looks where it expects profit. But nature doesn’t play by market rules. Elements could exist in similar geologies, just waiting for curiosity (or investment) to catch up.

So I made this list or a treasure map (just watch out for nicolas cage).

The Poverty Penalty: How Texas Turned Late Fees into a Business Model

My father always said, "Poor people are poor because they make poor decisions."

That line stuck with me. Not because I believed it, but because it helped frame the question, what really keeps people in poverty?

Then I got court-ordered to have a breathalyzer in my home. The system demanded I pay $99 every month to a private vendor to comply or else literally straight to jail.

But when I was one day late-just one day-they charged me $134 instead. No warning. No grace period. Just a punishment on top of a punishment, and from a private company contracted to profit off court mandated compliance.

That $35 fee wasn’t a slap on the wrist. It was a shove further into financial instability. And that’s when I realized poverty doesn’t just happen because of bad decisions. Poverty gets manufactured and monetized.

In Texas, THE SYSTEM doesn’t just punish you for doing wrong. It punishes you for being poor AND it lets private companies profit off your inability to keep up.

Late Fees: A $100 Billion Industry, Built on the Backs of the Poor
Late fees are everywhere. In 2022, Americans paid over $14.5 billion in credit card late fees alone. Utility companies collected $561 million in late fees in a single year. Landlords routinely charge 10% to 12% of monthly rent as late penalties. If your water gets shut off for nonpayment, you're charged an additional reconnection fee just to access what should be a basic human need.

These fees aren’t scaled to income. They’re fixed. A $35 charge might be a mild inconvenience to someone earning six figures. To a family working hourly jobs or on disability, it means groceries, gas, or insulin. It means falling behind on the next bill to catch up on this one.

These fees do not improve outcomes. They extract wealth from those with the least to give.

And in Texas, the system that enables this goes beyond the private sector.

Where the State Looks Away
In April 2025, a Texas federal judge struck down a Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB) rule that would have capped credit card late fees at $8. The decision backed by major banking industry groups means credit card companies can continue charging $30 to $40 or more in late fees, regardless of a borrower's financial situation. This legal reversal keeps in place one of the largest and most regressive penalty systems in American finance, reinforcing how institutional decisions at the top continue to weigh most heavily on those at the bottom.

Municipalities and state agencies know these practices exist. Utility companies, many of which operate under public-private partnerships or regulated monopolies, regularly impose late and reconnection fees. And yet, while cities debate affordable housing or rental assistance, they remain silent about the millions quietly siphoned from residents through punitive penalties.

Housing authorities talk about eviction prevention, but permit 10% rent late fees to become standard. Courts mandate breathalyzers and probation conditions without checking whether the vendors charge fair fees or offer indigency plans. And while federal regulators debate limits on credit card late fees, Texans pay them anyway.

Credit card penalties are especially relentless. Missing a due date by even a few hours can mean a $30 to $40 fee, often followed by a penalty APR. For people revolving balances month to month, that single misstep can mean months of deeper debt. Nationwide, credit card late fees made up the largest share of penalty revenue, and many Texans, especially those without financial buffers, contribute disproportionately to that total.

This isn't oversight. It's selective blindness. The rules are enforced, but the methods of enforcement are ignored. And when the burden falls on the same low-income families, again and again, the silence becomes complicity.

The Economic Drain on Low-Income Texans
Texas has one of the highest poverty rates in the nation. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, approximately 14.2% of Texans live below the federal poverty line. That’s over 4 million people. Meanwhile, Texas households spent hundreds of millions annually in late fees in rent, in utilities, in credit, and in court-mandated programs.

If even a fraction of those fees were eliminated, Texans living on the margin could reclaim hundreds of dollars per year. For a household at the poverty line, an extra $300 to $500 annually can be the difference between staying housed or becoming homeless. It could reduce food insecurity. It could allow debt repayment. It could cover a month of medication.

In short, eliminating unnecessary fees wouldn’t just relieve pressure. It could meaningfully improve Texas’s poverty rate.

The Psychological Cost of Financial Punishment
Behavioral economists call it "scarcity mindset." When you don’t have enough money, your brain shifts into survival mode. You tunnel in on the immediate crisis. Pay this bill, delay that one, juggle until something gives.

This mental strain reduces cognitive function, leading to more mistakes, missed deadlines, and short-term decisions that trigger even more fees. The system exploits this predictable human response.

Poor decisions don’t always cause poverty. But poverty-and the stress it brings-often causes poor decisions. And when every misstep is monetized, the result is a treadmill of financial punishment.

A Personal Example of a Structural Problem
HOA fees are another quiet offender in this pattern. They're not tied to essential services or utilities, yet they often mirror the same punitive practices. From community managers to corporate CEOs like Jamie Dimon, everyone seems to want the power to charge penalties, but no one wants the responsibility of understanding basic humanity or even the simplest economics. Penalties have become normalized, but their randomness across industries-from breathalyzers to HOA dues-highlights just how embedded this problem is.

I’m not writing this to avoid responsibility. I own my choices. But what I can’t accept is a system where a single late payment creates a chain reaction of penalties that keep people poor.

The breathalyzer in my home wasn’t optional. But the fees attached to it? Those were business decisions. Someone decided that $35 for being one day late was acceptable. And the state let them. No hardship waiver. No sliding scale. Just "Pay up, or else."

This is how poverty works in Texas. It’s not just what you make. It’s what they take when you fall behind.

What Texas Must Do
Ban late fees altogether or pilot a progressive, income-based penalty system. Even though compounding is an issue, the core problem is the initial flat fee that hits hardest when someone is already struggling. A one-size-fits-all model ignores economic reality. A progressive approach would scale penalties to what a person can actually afford, and could be tested locally before broader adoption. Cities and counties don’t need to wait on state leadership. Municipal action can make real change.

The Potential Impact of Banning Predatory Late Fees in Texas
If Texas banned predatory late fees today, the financial outcome for low income residents could be transformative. Even a modest estimate of $500 per year in avoided fees, across credit cards, utilities, housing, and court mandated programs, adds up to $5,000 over a decade.

For families hovering at or below the poverty line, that savings could mean staying housed, getting out of debt, or finally affording stability. This isn’t just relief, it’s wealth building.

A basic simulation comparing a household under the current system with one no longer paying late fees shows that the latter could steadily accumulate savings over time. In contrast, the current system traps families in a cycle of zero or negative net gains.

This isn’t theoretical. It’s math. And it should be policy.

Closing: Toward a Fairer Model
My dad’s line, that "poor people are poor because they make poor decisions," was never the full story. The truth is:
Poverty deepens when decisions are punished disproportionately.

Late fees aren’t teaching lessons. They’re turning temporary hardship into permanent setback. And the people writing these policies know it. They just aren’t feeling it.

If Texas wants to be bold, it doesn’t need more government programs. It needs to stop letting public systems quietly authorize the worst parts of private profiteering.

The cost of being poor in Texas isn’t just felt at the register. It’s in the fees added when you stumble-and the silence that follows.

Humans Love Stories

A tribute to Noam Chomsky

Noam Chomsky. MIT.

We connect with narratives more than numbers, react to emotions over logic, and make decisions based on perception rather than statistical reality. This isn’t just an individual quirk, it’s a fundamental part of how societies operate. The unpractical part of this is that the world we think we live in is often a carefully constructed illusion, shaped by media, misinformation, and our own cognitive biases. But wait theres more. Most people don’t even realize it.

Emotions are the filter through which we understand the world. When we hear about a tragic accident, a shocking crime, or an emotional personal story, it feels real. But the numbers that tell the bigger story? Those are harder to grasp, and often, they’re ignored.

We connect emotionally with individuals, not statistics.

We make decisions based on perception, not probability. A single shark attack makes people afraid of the ocean, yet few consider the far greater risk of driving to the beach in the first place.

The result? Our fears, anxieties, and even our policies reflect the stories we’re fed, not the world as it actually exists.

The phrase “If it bleeds, it leads” isn’t just a catchy saying-it’s a business model. Media doesn’t show us what’s most important; it shows us what’s most compelling. And compelling doesn’t always mean true.

Succession. HBO. 

Violent deaths dominate coverage but are rare. Violent or freak accidents account for more than two-thirds of coverage in major newspapers but less than 3% of total deaths in the U.S.

Public policy follows perception, not data. Governments allocate billions to counterterrorism, while preventable diseases kill far more people with little urgency.

Fear-based reporting keeps people tuned in. When the world feels scary, we watch more news. And when we watch more news, the cycle of fear continues.

The consequences are real: when society overreacts to rare events while ignoring daily systemic failures, we end up solving the wrong problems.

False information spreads 70% faster than the truth (Vosoughi, Roy, and Aral 2018. MIT), and it’s not because people are stupid, simply misinformation is designed to trigger emotion.

Monsters Inc. Pixar.

News thrives on outrage. False stories are more likely to evoke anger, shock, or disgust, making people share them before verifying their accuracy.

People believe what feels true. Once an emotionally charged falsehood takes root, facts alone rarely dislodge it, and you are more likely to see people dig their heels into it. 

If critical thinking is the answer, why don’t we all just… think critically? Because it’s not that simple. Unlike language, critical thinking isn’t universal. Being logical in one area doesn’t mean you apply the same skepticism everywhere. Even highly educated people fall for bias when it aligns with their emotions.

If we can’t change human nature, can we at least change how we interact with information?

• Pause before reacting. If something sparks immediate outrage or fear, ask: Who benefits from me feeling this way?
• Seek context. One shocking story isn’t the whole picture. Look for the bigger trends.
• Challenge easy narratives. If something sounds too simple, it probably is. Reality is messy!

A society that values reason over reaction, analysis over outrage, and truth over sensationalism is a healthier society. It’s not about suppressing emotions, it’s about making sure our emotions aren’t being manipulated.

Alice, Unwritten

The jasmine flower did what it was meant to do. As the water embraced it, its petals loosened, unfurling in slow, delicate spirals, stretching as though waking from a dream. Wisps of fragrance curled into the air, sweet, fleeting, impossibly light. Alice watched as the transformation unfolded in her cup, a quiet kind of magic. An awakening that whispered, rather than announced itself, simply becoming.

She lifted the porcelain to her lips, inhaling the scent before taking the first sip. The warmth slid down her throat, blooming from the inside. But something in the air shifted. A ripple, as if the world itself had exhaled.

The newspaper beside her blinked, if paper could blink. The ripple passed through the pages, like a dress caught in a soft breeze. Letters loosened, dissolving, then reforming elsewhere, sentences slipping into new shapes before her eyes. Ink pulsed-first words, then images, landscapes, and figures she almost recognized. Or had always known. She reached for the paper, but it was not a newspaper at all. Not anymore. The edges of her vision blurred, colors deepening as if the world had taken a slow breath and let itself sink. The chair beneath her softened; the floor, lighter than mist, gave way like clouds kissed by morning light. The sky stretched into pastels, lavender skies, peach-hued clouds, a blush-pink horizon unspooling like silk. Reality did not break or dissolve, only bent, folded, expanded, as gentle and certain as the jasmine flower in her tea.

She stood now in a vast, color shifting land where everything made sense until it didn’t, and nothing was real until it was questioned.

You say that I need therapy

Well, my darling, so do you

Don't need for you to tell me

What is wrong in all I say or do

in a world obsessed with perfection, no filters, no edits, just me.

Testing Loss Aversion Theory in Real Life

Loss is Weird.
We know it happens, but when it hits, it still feels like a personal betrayal. The human brain is wired to feel losses more intensely than gains—a little quirk called loss aversion that makes setbacks feel like the end of the world, even when they’re just temporary data points.

So I did something unconventional—I took my biggest loss and turned it into a mathematical problem.

How much did I really lose? Not just in dollars, but in time, mental health, and future opportunity. And more importantly, how long would it take to get me back to "baseline"—the state I was in before this loss occurred?

The Reality of Losing
One minute, I had a stable paycheck. The next, I didn’t.

Throw in legal fees, an existential crisis, and a brief loss of freedom, and you’ve got yourself a story. But instead of letting the weight of it crush me, I wanted to quantify it. Because if I could measure the loss, I could also measure the way back.

The Psychology of Loss
Humans hate losing. In fact, psychological studies show that we feel the pain of a loss twice as strongly as we feel the joy of an equivalent gain.

That means even if I made all my money back tomorrow, it wouldn’t automatically cancel out the gut punch of losing it in the first place. But I wanted to test this theory on myself.

If loss is disproportionately painful, what happens when you measure it?

If you break it down into numbers instead of feelings, does it start to feel… fixable?

So I did what any completely normal person would do when staring into the abyss—I ran the numbers on my own downfall.

The Breakdown: What I Actually Lost
Here’s how it stacked up:
ᐧ Income lost: $31,250 (thanks to five months of unemployment).
ᐧ Legal fees & penalties: $7,000.
ᐧ Total financial hit: $38,250.

But that’s just money. The real loss? The psychological cost.

How do you quantify losing peace of mind? Or the weight of waking up every day feeling like you have no control over what happens next?

I needed a way to measure that, so I applied a psychological distress multiplier—based on studies showing how major life stressors impact productivity, happiness, and long-term resilience.

The result? A total weighted loss of $114,750 when factoring in the emotional cost.

Three times the actual financial hit.

Loss aversion wasn’t just an abstract theory, it was happening in real time.

The Recovery Equation
Okay, so if the pain of loss is exaggerated, then the recovery must be undervalued, right?

I tested different paths forward.
If I landed a job paying twice my old salary ($150K/year), I’d make back the financial loss in under a year—but would it feel like a win?
If I landed a job paying three times my salary ($225K/year), would that cancel out the emotional damage?
Turns out, no.

Loss aversion says that money alone wouldn’t erase the wound.

The job itself had to do more, it had to restore autonomy.

Because if loss is really about losing control, then true recovery isn’t just about making the money back.

It’s about choosing a role, an environment, and a direction that puts me back in the driver’s seat.

Otherwise, it’s just a high-paying band-aid.

Revisiting the Variables 
Instead of asking "What salary do I want?", the real question is:

🐞 How much do I need to earn (and for how long) to fully recover from the loss?
🐝 What job level makes that a reality in the shortest possible time?

Breaking Down Recovery Time by Salary Tiers
Salary Level                 Annual Income Gain ($)     Time to Recover (Years)

$112K (1.5x salary)       $37,500                                     3.1 years
$150K (2x salary)        $75,000                                     1.5 years
$225K (3x salary)       $150,000                                   Under 1 year

So, objectively:
A $150K job gets me back to baseline in about 1.5 years.
A $225K job neutralizes the loss in under a year.

The Bottom Line: It’s Just Math.
If a higher-paying role matches my skills and gets me back to a stable mental & financial state faster, it’s simply the most efficient choice.

Because at the end of the day, loss isn't just about what’s taken from you.

It’s about what you choose to take back.

But then again…

Can you really lose something you never had to begin with?