Last week, there was another crack in the relationship between Trump and Xi. This time, it was triggered by China’s announcement that it might cut back on rare earth production—reducing supply amid high demand.

We all know how rare and valuable rare earths are. But we often forget there's another limited resource we deal with every single day: our attention.

We live in a culture where our attention is constantly getting drained. We’re addicted to all the things grabbing at us—notifications, headlines, videos, updates. We crave new stimulation all the time. And when it’s gone, even for a short moment, everything suddenly feels boring. That’s when we quickly reach for the next thing to distract us from the present moment.

Companies know this. They’re all fighting to steal our limited attention—like it’s rare earth. There's a supply (our attention), and a demand (companies trying to get it). And once they have it, they try to hold onto it for as long as possible, and turn it into revenue.

As an investor, I’ve realized something uncomfortable: I often judge companies—sometimes without even noticing—by how good they are at pulling people’s attention. The better they are at it, the more attractive they seem as investment opportunities.

But this doesn’t sit easily with me. In my personal life, I try really hard to protect my attention. I meditate. I do yoga. I keep a journal. I try to use my daily supply of attention on things that feel meaningful. I don’t want to be passively hooked by random stuff.

What a contradiction. Like how Yuval Harari talks about AI and information technology in his new book (which I’m reading now—it’s fascinating how he connects historical events with the coming AI era), yet doesn’t even own a smartphone. Or how Steve Jobs, who helped shape the digital age, was known for strictly limiting screen time for his children.

Every day, startups from all over the world come to us, hoping to win (demand) a part of our limited capital (supply). And it makes me ask myself: as the supply in this equation, what kind of investor do I want to be?

I probably won’t stop valuing companies that are good at capturing attention. That part won’t change easily. But maybe what matters more is what they do with that attention. Do they just steal it and waste it? Or do they use it to offer something people really need—to solve real problems, not just offer a sugar rush?

If they help people change something in their lives, or make things a bit better in a meaningful way, then maybe investing in them feels more aligned with how I want to live.

Taking a step back, I turn the question toward myself: as a person—not just an investor—what am I offering others that's truly worth their attention? Is it meaningful enough to deserve even a small part of their limited supply?

And when I chase (demand) after things in this noisy world, am I really pursuing what I truly value? Or am I just reacting to whatever’s shouting the loudest—wasting my treasure along the way?

I first heard about “supply and demand” in a college econ class where I got a C+. Back then, it felt like a distant, textbook idea. Now, it feels like it’s quietly baked into almost every choice I make in daily life.

Last week, there was another crack in the relationship between Trump and Xi. This time, it was triggered by China’s announcement that it might cut back on rare earth production—reducing supply amid high demand.

We all know how rare and valuable rare earths are. But we often forget there's another limited resource we deal with every single day: our attention.

We live in a culture where our attention is constantly getting drained. We’re addicted to all the things grabbing at us—notifications, headlines, videos, updates. We crave new stimulation all the time. And when it’s gone, even for a short moment, everything suddenly feels boring. That’s when we quickly reach for the next thing to distract us from the present moment.

Companies know this. They’re all fighting to steal our limited attention—like it’s rare earth. There's a supply (our attention), and a demand (companies trying to get it). And once they have it, they try to hold onto it for as long as possible, and turn it into revenue.

As an investor, I’ve realized something uncomfortable: I often judge companies—sometimes without even noticing—by how good they are at pulling people’s attention. The better they are at it, the more attractive they seem as investment opportunities.

But this doesn’t sit easily with me. In my personal life, I try really hard to protect my attention. I meditate. I do yoga. I keep a journal. I try to use my daily supply of attention on things that feel meaningful. I don’t want to be passively hooked by random stuff.

What a contradiction. Like how Yuval Harari talks about AI and information technology in his new book (which I’m reading now—it’s fascinating how he connects historical events with the coming AI era), yet doesn’t even own a smartphone. Or how Steve Jobs, who helped shape the digital age, was known for strictly limiting screen time for his children.

Every day, startups from all over the world come to us, hoping to win (demand) a part of our limited capital (supply). And it makes me ask myself: as the supply in this equation, what kind of investor do I want to be?

I probably won’t stop valuing companies that are good at capturing attention. That part won’t change easily. But maybe what matters more is what they do with that attention. Do they just steal it and waste it? Or do they use it to offer something people really need—to solve real problems, not just offer a sugar rush?

If they help people change something in their lives, or make things a bit better in a meaningful way, then maybe investing in them feels more aligned with how I want to live.

Taking a step back, I turn the question toward myself: as a person—not just an investor—what am I offering others that's truly worth their attention? Is it meaningful enough to deserve even a small part of their limited supply?

And when I chase (demand) after things in this noisy world, am I really pursuing what I truly value? Or am I just reacting to whatever’s shouting the loudest—wasting my treasure along the way?

I first heard about “supply and demand” in a college econ class where I got a C+. Back then, it felt like a distant, textbook idea. Now, it feels like it’s quietly baked into almost every choice I make in daily life.