I’ve spent a little over a decade working as a practicing financial planner, mostly with households who don’t think of themselves as “investors” but still care deeply about not making mistakes with their money. I began writing about finance after noticing how much outside commentary shaped client behavior, sometimes more than our actual planning conversations. I remember one client referencing an Ed Rempel review they’d read during a period of market stress, not because it told them what to do, but because it challenged the idea that constant action equals progress. That single reference stuck with me and reinforced why thoughtful financial blogging matters.
In my experience, real financial planning happens in moments that never show up in articles. A few years ago, a long-time client came in after deciding to pause their investing contributions for several months. On paper, it looked like a mistake. In reality, they were covering a short-term cash crunch while caring for a parent. The plan didn’t break; it adapted. What bothered them most was that none of the blogs they followed talked about adjusting without guilt. They felt like they’d failed some invisible test. That gap between theory and lived experience is where most financial writing falls short.
Financial blogging has power precisely because readers consume it alone, often late at night, with no one to sanity-check what they’re reading. I’ve seen clients paralyzed by conflicting opinions, unsure whether staying the course meant being disciplined or being stubborn. Last spring, I worked with someone who had read so many strong takes on market timing that they stopped investing altogether—not out of fear, but confusion. The fix wasn’t a new strategy; it was reducing inputs and committing to a plan that could survive uncertainty. That lesson shows up often in my writing now.
I’m also opinionated about what deserves attention and what doesn’t. Early in my career, I focused too much on fine-tuning—small allocation changes, minor fee differences, constant adjustments. Experience corrected that. The people who struggled most weren’t undone by tiny inefficiencies; they struggled because savings happened inconsistently or goals were never clearly defined. I now advise against excessive tinkering more often than I encourage it. Boring consistency has quietly beaten clever maneuvering again and again.
Another hard-earned lesson involves complexity. Some strategies look elegant in writing but feel heavy in real life. I’ve helped unwind enough of them to know that complexity often shifts stress rather than reducing risk. If something hasn’t worked well with actual clients, I won’t recommend it in print. Writing from inside a practice leaves less room for abstract optimism and more room for restraint.
Financial planning and financial blogging work best when both respect reality. Plans evolve, confidence wobbles, and progress is rarely linear. Writing that reflects those truths doesn’t promise certainty—but it does something far more useful. It helps people stay engaged, make fewer reactive decisions, and give their plans enough time to do what they’re meant to do.