The Evening I Began to Understand Scarcity

Some memories stay with us not because they were extraordinary, but because they quietly shaped the way we see life. One such memory has remained vivid throughout mine.

It was an ordinary evening in our rural home. My siblings and I had returned from school expecting supper. Our mother sat quietly in her favorite seat, a basket resting beside her. There was little conversation, because there was little to prepare. One by one, she handed each of us two roasted maize cobs and gently asked us to drink water to satisfy the hunger the food could not. That was our evening meal. It was not a special occasion. It was simply the best that could be done under difficult circumstances.

As children, we accepted moments like these because they were part of our reality. We did not yet have the language to describe poverty or hardship. We simply understood that some days there was enough, and on other days there was not. The remarkable thing was never the lack of food. It was the dignity with which my mother carried that lack.

Years later, reflecting on that evening, I realized something that had escaped me as a child: scarcity had entered our home, but hopelessness had not. That distinction has stayed with me ever since.

I no longer remember that evening merely because we lacked enough food. I remember it because it quietly introduced me to one of life's enduring lessons — that scarcity does not automatically determine the quality of our lives. Our response to it often does.

When We Think About Lack

The word lack usually evokes uncomfortable emotions. We associate it with what is missing: insufficient income, limited opportunities, unanswered prayers, deferred dreams, unfulfilled potential. For some people, scarcity is temporary. For others, it becomes a defining feature of childhood, family life, or even adulthood.

Yet scarcity is not limited to material possessions. A person may enjoy financial abundance while experiencing a profound lack of peace, meaningful relationships, purpose, or hope. Another may possess very little materially, yet demonstrate extraordinary generosity, resilience, and contentment. Scarcity, then, is not merely an economic condition. It is a human experience — one that, at different points in life, almost everyone encounters in some form.

The important question is not whether scarcity will visit us. It is what scarcity will leave behind when it does. Will it leave fear, bitterness, and resentment? Or will it leave wisdom, resilience, gratitude, and strength?

These are not merely philosophical questions. Psychological research increasingly suggests that adversity does not produce identical outcomes for everyone. The same difficult experience can leave one person discouraged while helping another discover resilience and purpose. The difference often lies not in the adversity itself, but in the meaning we assign to it.

Scarcity Can Become a Prison

Not every story of hardship ends well, and it is important to acknowledge this honestly. Scarcity can wound. It can discourage. It can limit opportunity and leave emotional scars that remain long after circumstances improve.

Many people become trapped, not only by poverty itself, but by the belief that poverty has already determined the boundaries of their future. Over time, they stop imagining different possibilities. They lower their expectations and surrender initiative. Eventually, they begin defining themselves by what they lack rather than by who they are.

Psychologists describe a related pattern through the concept of learned helplessness. After repeated experiences of disappointment or failure, individuals may begin believing that nothing they do can meaningfully change their circumstances—and inaction gradually replaces hope.

I have seen this reality in communities, organizations, and individuals. Often, the greatest consequence of scarcity is not empty pockets, but diminished expectation. Once people stop believing that change is possible, they often stop acting as though it is — and scarcity becomes more than a condition. It becomes an identity. That, perhaps, is its greatest danger.

Or Scarcity Can Become a Teacher

My own journey gradually taught me another possibility: scarcity can become a teacher. This is not because hardship is desirable—no one should romanticize poverty or pretend that suffering is inherently good. There is nothing noble about children going hungry or families struggling to meet basic needs. The lesson is not that scarcity is good. The lesson is that scarcity does not have to be wasted.

Looking back, I now realize that many of the values I treasure today were first cultivated in seasons when life offered very little comfort. Growing up barefoot was not simply an inconvenience — it taught me to value dignity over appearance. Watching my parents stretch limited resources taught me stewardship long before I encountered the word in a classroom. Waiting anxiously for school fees taught me to value education long before I understood its full significance. Every challenge carried within it a lesson that abundance alone might never have taught. None of these lessons removed the pain of hardship. But they ensured that hardship did not leave empty-handed.

Finding Meaning in Adversity

While writing The Shoeless Visionary, I often found myself asking a difficult question: why do two people experience similar hardship, yet emerge so differently? One becomes bitter; the other, compassionate. One loses hope; the other develops resilience. One remains imprisoned by the past; the other uses the past as a foundation for a different future.

Although every life is unique, I believe one important difference lies in interpretation. Psychiatrist Viktor Frankl, writing from his experience in Nazi concentration camps, argued that although people cannot always choose their circumstances, they retain the freedom to choose their attitude and the meaning they assign to those circumstances. His insight has influenced generations of psychologists, leaders, and educators, because it reminds us that human beings possess an extraordinary capacity to rise above adversity when they discover purpose within it.

I did not read Frankl during my childhood. Life introduced me to the principle before I encountered the book. Without consciously recognizing it, I had begun learning that hardship could either define me or develop me. Looking back, I realize that every season of scarcity quietly placed before me the same question: will this experience become my prison, or will it become my teacher? I did not always answer perfectly. But I thank God that, more often than not, I chose to learn.

What Scarcity Taught Me

As I reflect on my childhood today, I realize that scarcity taught me lessons I might never have learned under more comfortable circumstances.

• It taught me that gratitude is not determined by abundance.
• It taught me that character is often forged when life gives us fewer options rather than more.
• It taught me to value opportunities that others might easily take for granted.
• Most importantly, it taught me never to confuse my circumstances with my identity.

Growing up with limited resources forced me to appreciate the value of education, not simply as a pathway to employment, but as a doorway to possibilities that had previously seemed beyond reach. Every opportunity to learn became precious, because I understood what it meant to almost lose it.

Scarcity also taught me stewardship. When resources are limited, waste becomes costly, and you learn to care for what you have, however little it may seem. That lesson has remained with me throughout adulthood. Whether managing personal finances, leading projects, or developing organizations, I have found that responsible stewardship is less about the amount entrusted to us and more about how faithfully we manage it.

Perhaps most importantly, scarcity taught me empathy. It is difficult to ignore another person's struggle when you have known struggle yourself. Experiences of lack cultivated a sensitivity that has continued to shape my work with vulnerable children, young people, families, and communities. Rather than seeing poverty merely as a statistic, I came to understand it as a deeply human experience that affects dignity, confidence, opportunity, and hope.

Looking back, I would never wish those hardships upon another child. Yet I cannot deny that they became part of the education that shaped the person I am today, much as it continues to define my purpose in life.

The Growth That Adversity Can Produce

Modern psychology increasingly recognizes something many people have discovered through experience: adversity can become a catalyst for growth.

Researchers Richard Tedeschi and Lawrence Calhoun introduced the concept of Post-Traumatic Growth, describing the positive psychological changes some individuals experience after significant adversity. Rather than simply recovering from hardship, people may develop greater personal strength, deeper relationships, increased appreciation for life, and a clearer sense of purpose (Tedeschi & Calhoun, 2004).

This does not suggest that suffering is desirable, nor does it imply that everyone grows through hardship. Growth is never automatic. It depends on how we interpret our experiences, the support we receive, and the choices we make in response. This resonates deeply with my own journey — scarcity did not transform me simply because I experienced it. It transformed me because, over time, I chose to learn from it rather than surrender to it.

Carol Dweck's work on the growth mindset offers another valuable perspective: individuals who believe that abilities can be developed through effort, learning, and perseverance are generally more willing to embrace challenges than those who believe their potential is fixed (Dweck, 2006). Similarly, Angela Duckworth's research on grit demonstrates that long-term achievement depends not only on talent, but on sustained commitment and perseverance over time (Duckworth, 2016).

Although these researchers approach the subject from different angles, they converge on a common truth: difficult experiences need not have the final word. They can become powerful teachers when approached with purpose, humility, and perseverance.

Living Beyond Scarcity

One of the greatest mistakes we can make is allowing temporary circumstances to become permanent identities. I have met individuals who remained imprisoned by scarcity long after their circumstances improved. I have also met others who possessed very little materially, yet lived with remarkable generosity, hope, and purpose. The difference was rarely found in their bank accounts. It was found in their perspective.

Scarcity may describe a season. It should never define a person.

This is particularly important for young people. Many grow up believing that where they were born determines where they will finish. Nothing could be further from the truth. Our beginnings influence us; they do not imprison us. As Dr. Benjamin Carson observed, "having been born on the wrong side of the tracks does not mean that that birthplace has to remain a permanent residence. It is not where we have come from but where we are going that counts" (Carson & Murphey, 1992). The future remains remarkably open to those who refuse to surrender their imagination, their initiative, and their willingness to grow.

This does not minimize the structural challenges that many people face. Poverty, inequality, and limited opportunity are real and deserve serious attention from families, communities, governments, and development organizations. At the same time, we must guard against allowing external realities to extinguish internal hope. Purposeful living begins when we recognize that although we cannot always choose our circumstances, we retain the freedom to choose our response. That freedom has changed countless lives. It changed mine.

Conclusion

When I think back to that quiet evening of roasted maize and water, I no longer remember it primarily as a story of deprivation. I remember it as the beginning of an education—not the kind acquired in classrooms, but the kind that quietly shapes character.

That evening taught me that dignity does not disappear because resources are limited. It taught me that hope can survive even in difficult seasons. It taught me that the human spirit possesses an extraordinary capacity to adapt, endure, and grow. Most of all, it taught me that scarcity does not have to become our identity.

Today, I understand something I could never have understood as a child: the greatest gift my difficult circumstances gave me was not resilience alone. It was perspective. They taught me to appreciate opportunities, to value people over possessions, to steward resources wisely, to empathize with those who struggle, and to remain grateful even when life is imperfect.

I no longer ask why scarcity visited our home. Instead, I thank God that it did not leave without teaching me lessons that continue to shape my life today. Scarcity did not have the final word. Character did.

Perhaps that is life's quiet invitation to all of us — not to seek hardship, but to ensure that whenever hardship comes, it leaves us wiser than it found us.

The SOLVIS Reflection

At Solve With Vision (SOLVIS), we believe that scarcity should never become a person's identity. While seasons of lack may expose our limitations, they can also reveal strengths we never knew we possessed. Adversity often teaches lessons that comfort cannot—resilience, gratitude, stewardship, empathy, and purposeful perseverance. We do not celebrate hardship, nor do we minimize its pain. Instead, we encourage every participant to ask a different question: What is this season teaching me? When we choose to learn rather than surrender, even our greatest limitations can become steppingstones toward lives of significance and service.

References

• Carson, B., & Murphey, C. (1992). Think Big: Unleashing Your Potential for Excellence. Zondervan.
• Duckworth, A. (2016). Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance. Scribner.
• Dweck, C. S. (2006). Mindset: The New Psychology of Success. Random House.
• Frankl, V. E. (2006). Man's Search for Meaning. Beacon Press.
• Omondi, R. (2026). The Shoeless Visionary: A Biography of Kenneth Otieno. Nairobi, Kenya.
• Tedeschi, R. G., & Calhoun, L. G. (2004). Posttraumatic growth: Conceptual foundations and empirical evidence. Psychological Inquiry, 15(1), 1–18.