Almost 6 Years of Steady Compounding

On 9 April 2020, I published my first post on Steady Compounding, titled Setting up Your Financial Framework for Success in Your 20s.

I was still trying to figure out the direction of the blog, but I allowed myself to write whatever interested me. Sure enough, the next thirteen posts were all about investing in stocks. That told me something.

At the time, I was still serving out my bond in the public sector. I had taken a scholarship for university, and there was about a year left before it ended. I hadn’t figured out what my next step would be.

I knew my passion was in investing. I reached out to folks on LinkedIn, wondering if there were opportunities to pursue this further. But it was the pandemic. Uncertainty was everywhere. Nothing came of it.

So I took it to the internet as permissionless leverage. Instead of waiting for the right opportunity to appear, I decided to build something myself. I hoped it would put me in touch with the right people and pave the way for my next chapter.

The toughest part about starting this blog was coming up with the name. I wanted it to be about investing, but I didn’t like anything that triggered FOMO. I bought into the idea of growing wealth the right way, at least the right way to me. I resonated strongly with the idea of compounding wealth steadily, as opposed to overnight riches, which aren’t sustainable.

And so… Steady… Compounding… Steady Compounding it is.

And right below the name: All Big Things Come From Small Beginnings.

Steady Compounding 1.0 was born.

I didn’t realize it then, but I had just planted a seed.

The Relationship Compounding

The early days were quiet.

LinkedIn outreach during the pandemic went nowhere. No responses. Everyone was figuring out their own situation. So I stopped waiting and just kept writing.

Not every piece found an audience. Some posts got crickets. I’d hit publish, share it, and hear nothing back. But I kept showing up. Week after week. Post after post.

And slowly, something shifted. People started finding me instead of the other way around.

Readers began sharing my work. And over time, opportunities started appearing. A feature in the Business Times. An interview on CNA. A segment on MoneyFM. An invitation to speak at the Seedly Personal Finance Festival. Podcast invitations and collaborations I never could have planned.

None of these came from pitching myself. I wasn’t sending cold emails to journalists or filling out speaker applications. I was just writing, consistently, and letting the work speak for itself.

I used to think opportunities came from networking. Now I think they come from being so consistent that the right people eventually notice.

The relationships compounded. But so did something I didn’t expect: my own thinking.

The Skill Compounding

Writing forces you to crystallize your thoughts.

When an idea lives only in your head, it can stay fuzzy. You can trick yourself into thinking you understand something when you don’t. But the moment you try to put it into words, the gaps reveal themselves.

I’d sit down to write about a company or a concept, and halfway through I’d realize I couldn’t explain it clearly. That meant I didn’t understand it well enough. So I’d stop. Read more. Think harder. Start again.

Every post was a test. Every publish was a chance to be wrong in public. And when readers pushed back or asked questions I couldn’t answer, I knew exactly where my thinking was weak.

This happened over and over. Write something. Realize it’s not clear. Go deeper. Rewrite. Publish. Get feedback. Improve.

The repetition didn’t just produce content. It produced clarity. Each post made the next one easier. Each explanation I struggled through became a framework I could use again.

Writing sharpened my investing. And eventually, all that sharpening would converge into something I never planned.

The Content Compounding

In 2022, an editor from Harriman House reached out.

I didn’t have a book proposal sitting in a drawer. I had years of posts, frameworks I’d developed, and over a decade of investing behind me. I’d made mistakes. I’d had successes. I’d read every investing book I could find in the library. I’d studied Buffett, Munger, Lynch, and the other great investors who laid the path before me.

But when I sat down to write this book, I knew it couldn’t just be a compilation of things I’d already published. That would be easy. That wouldn’t be worth the years it takes to do this right.

I set one rule for myself: this has to be the only book I’d want if I were starting out again.

Not theory for theory’s sake. Actionable insights, filled with real examples of steady compounders.

Not just informative. It had to be impossible to put down. Because there’s no point in writing something valuable if it’s too dense for anyone to finish.

The writing process was brutal. I rewrote sections over and over. Entire chapters got thrown out. I’d think something was done, then read it again a month later and realize it wasn’t good enough.

But here’s what I didn’t expect: years of writing had prepared me for this. All those posts where I struggled to explain an idea clearly. All those times I had to go deeper because my first draft didn’t make sense. The skills had compounded into something I could finally use.

Now the book is in editorial. I’m fortunate to have an editor with a high bar, and we’re refining it together, line by line. It hits shelves in the second half of 2026.

Harriman House reached out in 2022. The book won’t be out until 2026. That’s four years from first conversation to bookshelf.

That’s how long it takes to compound something worth reading.

The Reputation Compounding

Early subscriber growth was slow. Embarrassingly slow. I remember checking the numbers and wondering if anyone was actually reading. Wondering if this was all a waste of time.

But I kept going. I learned what worked and did more of it. Some posts took off. Some threads went viral. I paid attention to what resonated and leaned into it. But none of it would have mattered without something worth reading underneath.

Each reader who stayed told someone else. And that person told someone else. The graph crept upward, slowly, then a little faster.

Today, there are over 82,000 followers on X. Over 12,000 newsletter subscribers. None of it happened in a single year. None of it happened because of one post or one thread. It was the accumulation of thousands of small things over a long period of time.

Reputation is the slowest thing to compound and the fastest thing to destroy.

The Hockey Stick Truth

Here’s what no one tells you about compounding: the curve is flat for a long time.

You put in the work. You show up. You publish, build, improve. And for years, it looks like nothing is happening. The line barely moves. You wonder if you’re wasting your time. You wonder if everyone who made it had some advantage you don’t have.

Then the curve bends. And then it explodes.

The first year felt like shouting into a void. I was building something, but I couldn’t see it. The feedback loop was too slow. The progress was invisible.

In the subsequent years, momentum started. Media features. Speaking invitations. A real community forming. Readers who’d been following quietly for years started reaching out. Opportunities started compounding on each other.

Now the book is finally becoming real.

Almost six years of writing. Fourteen years of investing before that.

The hockey stick is real. But you have to survive the flat part to reach it. And the flat part is longer than anyone warns you.

In 2020, I thought Steady Compounding was just a blog name.

“All Big Things Come From Small Beginnings.” I put that line right below it. A nice sentiment for a new blog.

Turns out it was the whole point.