There are moments in life that quietly rearrange your thinking. Not the big ones. Not the promotions, the new watches, the overseas trips, the milestones we photograph and post. The small ones. This is a story about a power board.
My cousin Thomas
My cousin Thomas is in his mid-40s.
He has a mental impairment and lives a very simple life. He is cared for. His world is smaller than most of ours, and structured. He has the mental capacity of a child, but the body and age of a grown man.
When I visit him, I usually bring something small:
A cake.
A drink.
A movie voucher.
Nothing extravagant. Just something that might make his day a little brighter.
And it always does.
The problem with one power point
On a recent visit, I noticed something practical.
Thomas had a few devices — a phone, an iPad, a GPS, a laptop charger, the TV, the radio — but only one wall socket. He was constantly unplugging one thing to plug in another.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t tragic. It was just mildly inconvenient.
So I went out and bought him a power board with USB sockets and individual switches. The kind with surge protection and little blue lights above each switch.
To most of us, it’s forgettable hardware. Something you toss in the trolley without thinking.
To Thomas, it was transformational.
The text message
Later that day, I received this message:
Hi Adam, I have set up the new powerboard, the usb sockets have successfully charged the phone, iPad and GPS. It’s a little tight getting 240v plugs into the sockets as they have safety shutters but it has helped to organise the TV, radio and my laptop charger and use them at the same time. The switches lets me turn on one or all three chargers without having to plug and unplug. There is a very good blue light above each switch to tell me what is on and there is also a surge protector. The switches have a good movement and click sound, it is trustworthy. Keep cool and enjoy the rest of the long weekend. Thomas
Read that again.
He noticed everything.
The safety shutters.
The organisation.
The ability to run everything at once.
The blue lights.
The click sound.
The surge protector.
“The switches have a good movement and click sound, it is trustworthy.”
Trustworthy.
That word stayed with me.
What we chase
If I’m honest, I don’t live a small life.
I chase growth.
Career progression.
Big projects.
Travel.
Nice things.
Status markers.
I let myself get stressed about momentum, outcomes, titles, income, the next move.
Many of us do.
We operate in a world where satisfaction is deferred.
We tell ourselves:
“I’ll relax when…”
“I’ll be happy once…”
“I’ll feel secure after…”
The bar keeps moving.
What Thomas sees
Thomas saw:
- Function
- Order
- Independence
- Feedback
- Reliability
He didn’t compare the power board to someone else’s.
He didn’t ask if there was a better model.
He didn’t check if it was the premium version.
He saw that it solved a problem.
He saw that it made his day easier.
He saw the blue light.
He heard the click.
And he was genuinely, completely satisfied.
Not performatively happy. Not half-pleased. Fully delighted.
A different definition of wealth
We often measure wealth in scale:
Bigger house.
Better job.
Newer car.
More recognition.
But what if wealth is also measured in the ability to notice?
To appreciate.
To feel the click of a switch and think, this is good.
Thomas lives with limitations I would never romanticise. His life is structured in ways he did not choose.
But within that structure, he experiences something many high-performing adults struggle with:
Pure satisfaction.
No comparison.
No ego.
No chasing.
Just: this works. This helps. I am grateful.
The quiet lesson
The lesson isn’t to abandon ambition.
It isn’t to reject growth, travel, or nice things.
The lesson is this:
Satisfaction doesn’t scale with price.
Peace doesn’t scale with status.
Joy doesn’t require spectacle.
You can buy a $50 power board and create a moment of genuine happiness.
And maybe — just maybe — you can learn to see your own life with that same clarity.
The reliable laptop.
The coffee that tastes just right.
The project that “clicks.”
The person who shows up for you.
Trustworthy.
What he reminds me of
Thomas reminds me:
- To be humble.
- To be grateful.
- To notice the small upgrades in life.
- To appreciate function over flash.
He doesn’t know he teaches me these things.
But he does.
Every time I visit him with a cake.
Every time I bring a drink.
Every time I solve a tiny inconvenience.
He is excited in a way that is uncomplicated.
And in a world that rewards complication, that feels rare.
The power board wasn’t the point
The power board organised his devices.
But it reorganised my perspective.
It reminded me that contentment isn’t something waiting at the top of a ladder.
Sometimes it’s sitting quietly on a desk, glowing blue, making a reassuring click when you switch it on.
And maybe the most mature form of ambition is this:
To chase big things.
But never lose the ability to be grateful for small ones.
