I just came across this post by Paul Graham called, "modeling a wealth tax." It's from last year, but it recently resurfaced. In it, he paints a scenario. Let's say you're a successful entrepreneur in your twenties (i.e. you make some money) and then you live for another 60 years. How much of your stock would the government take with various wealth taxes?

With a 1% wealth tax, it means that you would get to keep 99% of your stock each year. But assuming the wealth tax gets applied every year, you would be left with 0.99^60, which equals 0.547. Put more simply, a 1% wealth tax would mean that over the course of the 60 years after you built your company, you would be giving the government 45% of your stock.

How did this number get so big?

The reason wealth taxes have such dramatic effects is that they're applied over and over to the same money. Income tax happens every year, but only to that year's income. Whereas if you live for 60 years after acquiring some asset, a wealth tax will tax that same asset 60 times. A wealth tax compounds.

Of course, Paul also points out that giving away a portion of your assets each year doesn't necessarily mean that you're becoming net poorer, so long as your assets are increasing in value by more than the wealth tax rate.

Still, these are massive numbers. A 2% wealth tax would translate, over this same 60 year time period, into the government taking 70% of your stock. A 5% wealth tax works out to 95%. For more on this, check out Paul Graham's post.

Back in 2006, Paul Graham penned an essay about how to be Silicon Valley. Since then, it seems like every city on the planet has tried to replicate the successes of the Valley. At the time, his argument was pretty simple. Geography used to be destiny when it came to cities. New York City, for example, is arguably what it is today because of its geography and its deep harbor, which created a natural competitive advantage compared to other east coast cities such as Boston and Philadelphia. But this, he argues, has become far less relevant. Now, you can create a great city pretty much anywhere. So what are the necessary ingredients?

Paul argued that you only really need two kinds of people to create a technology hub: rich people and nerds. You need people creating new things and you need rich people to fund those new ideas. That's it. So in theory, if you could just dump a bunch of these kinds of people in one place -- Nunavut? -- you'd perhaps get unicorns coming out the other end. He goes on to say that Miami is a perfect example of a city that has lots of the former, but very few of the latter. It has lots of rich people, but, in his words, it's not the kind of place that nerds like. So it is/was not a good startup city. (I'm a nerd and I like Miami.)

But the year is now 2021 and a global pandemic seems to be helping to change this dynamic. Every tech entrepreneur and/or investor now seems to want to move to either Austin or Miami. To that end, SoftBank recently announced that it has earmarked $100 million for startups that are based in Miami or that plan to be based in Miami in the near future. It's perhaps a good testament to the momentum that seems to be developing around the startup scene in the city, which is something that their mayor has been incredibly vocal about.

But here's something to consider. Was Paul right about the two requisite ingredients for a successful startup hub? And if so, does Miami now have enough nerds? Maybe this recent influx of people was just what it was missing.

Photo by Cody Board on Unsplash

Four years ago I wrote about a great essay that Paul Graham had published way back in 2009 about two different kinds of schedules: the manager's schedule and the maker's schedule. Put differently, the manager's schedule is one of command. It is for bosses to drop in for 15, 30, or 60 minutes at a time, say a bunch of things, and then jump to the next meeting.

The maker's schedule, on the other hand, is one of doing, whether that be programming or working on an excel model. And the reality is that you can't make or do much with only 15, 30, or 60 minutes. To make anything of real substance you need longer uninterrupted blocks of time. You need time to get into the zone.

I'm reminded of this dichotomy now, more than ever, because of video conferencing. It has never been easier to overload a calendar with meetings. Consequently, it has never been easier to screw up a maker's schedule.