Forget Handouts—Michael Dell Just Showed Us How to Engineer an Ownership Society

By Kyle Mathis

What if the 400 richest households in America copied Michael and Susan Dell’s pledge? What if a small fraction of their combined $6.6 trillion of wealth were used to seed a capital account for every American child under ten?

This is not a charity question. It is a capacity question. It is a way of asking what would happen if a country built stability instead of trying to repair instability after the fact. Start with the simple math. A 4.5 percent pledge (the same percentage of wealth the Dell’s have donated) from the 400 richest households generates about $297 billion. That is enough to give roughly 25 million children a one-time seed of $12,000 each, placed into strictly locked, long-horizon investment accounts.

$12,000 is not transformative in isolation. It becomes transformative when paired with a steady stream of contributions and a realistic understanding of inflation. So, imagine a modest annual investment of $2,000 per child. No fantasy. No trillion-dollar federal program. Just $2,000 per year, contributed automatically and left untouched.

Where does that $2,000 come from? It does not require a sweeping new tax regime. Think instead of a funding quilt:

  1. The Diverted Flow: Families already receive the Child Tax Credit. We create a default option—a “nudge”—that routes half of it directly into the child’s locked account.
  2. The Employer Match: We offer a tax credit that encourages businesses to match contributions for workers’ children. In effect, we create a “401(k) for Kids.”
  3. The Safety Net Floor: For the poorest families, a small public subsidy fills the gap. It is just enough to keep the compound interest engine running.

Now, put all of that in an extremely boring investment vehicle: a low-cost S&P 500 index fund. Assume a conservative nominal return of 7.5 percent. We must also assume inflation eats 2.5 percent of that every year. The true value is not the nominal number on the screen, but the real purchasing power the money commands.

Once you translate everything into today’s dollars, the picture becomes clear. It no longer reads like science fiction. It reads like a plan to solve the most fundamental economic problem in America: fragility.

Phase I: Age 20

By age twenty, the account holds:

Nominal Value : ~ $138,000

Today’s Purchasing Power: ~ $98,000

This is not luxury. It is a cushion. It is the difference between entering adulthood with debt or entering it with options. That $98,000 pays for a bachelor’s degree at a state university. It funds vocational training. It forms a 20% down payment on a median starter home in many metro areas.

The behavioral impact is what matters. A young adult with $98,000 behind them is harder to exploit. They do not take the first bad job out of panic. They can afford to move to where the opportunities are, rather than staying where the rent is cheapest. When people are not desperate, they lower their time preference. They plan for the future because they can afford to have one.

Phase II: Age 30

By age thirty, the account has grown to:

Nominal Value : ~$311,000

Today’s Purchasing Power: ~$200,000

This is the point where capital becomes a risk engine. Starting a business in America has increasingly become a luxury good—something you do if your parents can bail you out. But $200,000 in liquid capital changes the calculus. It allows a mechanic to buy equipment and open his own shop. It allows a designer to start a firm. It allows a teacher or a nurse space to experiment. It democratizes risk.

This is also the period when geographic mobility increases. When people have the financial cushion to leave stagnant regions and move to dynamic ones, national productivity rises. Capital creates the freedom to relocate. Opportunity becomes portable.

Phase III: Age 50

By age fifty, the account holds:

Nominal Value : ~$1.41 million

Today’s Purchasing Power: ~$620,000

This is not extravagant wealth. It is a floor. It is exactly the kind of financial foundation that America is currently failing to provide. Social Security is strained. Private pensions have vanished. Most households approach retirement with little or no savings.

A paid-for house and a $620,000 nest egg does not guarantee a life of leisure, but it prevents disaster. It eliminates old-age poverty. And stability for older adults has powerful spillover effects: it stabilizes the families who would otherwise have to support them.

The Real Conclusion The Dell pledge is an interesting spark. The scaled version described here is the fire. It uses realistic contributions to build a generational asset base for every child in the country.

This proposal is not about redistribution. It is about producing a scarce good: stability.

Critics will say it costs too much. But our current system already spends enormous sums on the consequences of instability—from emergency rooms to crisis welfare. This model flips the incentives. It front-loads stability and allows capital markets to do the heavy lifting.

Give every child a small stake. Let it grow. Let compounding speak for itself. That is the real money case for capital accounts.

Holiday Thriv-al Guide Prompt


As the holiday season begins, my routines get disrupted and the social demand tends to push me into self-protection mode. Help me identify a small set of non-negotiables that will keep my energy stable, and then create a list of 15 concrete ways I can be more supportive and present for my partner during this time.

Estate

The house with neither founder nor first claim
Hums low—a tide beneath the rotting floor.
Some figure counts in rooms without a door,
Half Virgil’s shade, half uncle without name.
He stirs the ash where molten ledgers flame,
Then tests the dust as chemist and as whore
Of fortune, separating rich from poor:
A god who answers only to his fame.
Yet on the lawn the ducks return like gold,
Bright as the host that Wordsworth never earned.
Odysseus knew: the palace keeps its own.
While Walter’s empire blues itself to sold,
And Tony wakes where all his fathers learned
That clouds are clearest when you don’t atone—

Written with AI

DeGiverville

I built a house that doesn’t belong to me.
Sunlight owns the walls.
Wind keeps the deed.
Each morning I borrow the silence,
and each night I return it.

The chairs remember our laughter
better than I do.
The floorboards listened
to arguments I meant as prayers.
The dust,
light as my claims.

I have held them—
the clean fold of linen,
the smell of cedar and bread,
the weight of a coat that fits as if sewn
from a past life’s thread.
But I no longer ask them
to prove that I exist.

I have painted, not for you,
but to see what color wants.
I have kissed, not to keep,
but to learn the shape of her.
I have raised them
as if they were seasons,
coming through me, not from me.

Now I walk
as a guest with good manners—
I use the forks and knives,
but I wash them before I leave.
Beauty no longer fills the hole;
it is the space around it.

When I die,
may my hands still open—
so the world can take back
what it lent:
its taste, its touch, its endless
light falling through windows
I never owned.

Quit Punching Yourself

I remember as a toddler my playful grandfather would stand over me, wrap both of my small hands into fists and playful, marionette me into boxing my own face. Who knew this self flagellation would stick around.

I spent 36 years of my life thinking the only things worth doing were the hard things. Train for a marathon instead of going for a 10 minute walk every day. Read the text book rather than the graphic novel.

We’re taught that adversity builds character. I want more character, therefor I should seek out adversity.

You have weaknesses? Work on them. Don’t quit until they are all gone.

The idea of leaning into my strengths felt like giving up, the grit-less route. How could one possible get better by doing what they are already good at?

Here I am, close to 40 and just now realizing that sometimes “doing the work”, is failing to realize there is an easier way. I’m actually doing it right now. Writing this feels HARD, therefor it has to be good for me to do it. Not today. I’ll try again when it’s easy.

Music is Language.

I had an idea in the car on the way to school this morning. The kids usually HATE my music. Dave Brubeck, Vivaldi, Brand New. They all get a big “BOO” from the kids when I turn them on in the car. This week I’ve been listening to Mahler’s 5th Symphony and I though I would try an experiment in the car. I said, “let’s play a game. I’ll turn on a song with no lyrics and you guys tell me what you think it is about.” Here is their interpretations of each movement of this big symphony.

One: Trauermarsch – “It sounds like they are going to War.” “Something dangerous is about to happen.” “Are they in a fight?” “It sounds like they are in love.” “Is she going to miss him while he is at war?”

Two: Stürmisch bewegt, mit größter Vehemenz – “Yep, they are definitely fighting.” “I hope he doesn’t die.” “He misses her.”

Three: Scherzo. Kräftig, nicht zu schnell – “They won the fight!” “He’s coming back home to her!” “Are they going to have a baby?”

Four: AdagiettoSehr langsam – “I think someone died.” “But also a baby was born.” “This sounds happy and sad at the same time.”

Five: Rondo-FinaleAllegro – Allegro giocosoFrisch – “The little girl is growing up.” “It sounds like she had a baby of her own.” “The war guy and the lady are watching their grand child play in the yard.” “This is a happy ending but there is still some memories of war.”

Listen to the first minute of each of these movements and tell me music isn’t a innate language.

A Case Against Thinking?

I’d say I’m more enlightened than Buddha ever was. He certainly never had a smelly child’s finger thrust into his closed eye while in the middle of a sit and remained calm. I have. I feel connected to the moment, I don’t think too much about the past or present, I am here, now. Until I start reading… Reading sets my mind ablaze. New ideas. New perspectives. My mind hums with excitement, all of a sudden I wake up, and a one hour walk flashed by in an instant. If anything pulls me from the present moment thinking does.

So is thinking good or bad? Life feels peaceful. I feel content. When I’m walking and noticing the birds and the leaves and thoughts are floating through my brain without much attention. I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be. When I’m thinking about new things my mind feels excited and chaotic and my attention is anywhere but here. But I love it.

Do these two states conflict with one another? Is the answer, like everything else in life, balance? We will see.

Why am I doing this?

What’s a blog for? Who’s it for? Why prioritize this over the million other things I could be doing with my time? The answer comes to me from Paul Graham. As I read the passage below a blog became a requirement not an option.

“Yes, it’s bad. The reason is something I mentioned earlier: writing is thinking. In fact there’s a kind of thinking that can only be done by writing. You can’t make this point better than Leslie Lamport did:

If you’re thinking without writing, you only think you’re thinking.

So a world divided into writes and write-nots is more dangerous than it sounds. It will be a world of thinks and think-nots. I know which half I want to be in, and I bet you do too.”

Like exercise is not a luxury but a fundamental need for a good life, so is writing (a gym for the brain). And so the journey begins. I’ll need to find the right modality, the right program for this new fitness. This blog is for me. To build and maintain the ability to think in this new world. I don’t want to wait for the GLP-1 for critical thought. Let’s do it the “hard” way.