"So you wrote a book on financial literacy?" Yeah. How much money have you made? Um... I'm 14. I wrote Wealth Warriors: Gen Z Guide to Conquering Finances in Grade 10 as part of my Personal Project. It's on Amazon. Real book, people have actually bought it. And yes, the irony is thick: a teenager with no real income, no investments, no financial independence, writing a guide about money management.

Let me explain how this happened—and what it taught me about learning by teaching.

The Question That Started Everything

My Personal Project required picking something to learn deeply and create something from it. Most of my classmates were doing art projects, building models, composing music. I kept thinking about a conversation I'd had with my parents about money. They were discussing investments, retirement planning, terms like "mutual funds" and "compound interest."

I understood maybe 30% of what they were saying. And I realized: I'm supposed to be an adult in a few years. How do I know nothing about managing money? So my Personal Project question became: Can I learn enough about financial literacy to teach it to others my age? The teaching part was important. I wasn't trying to become a financial expert. I was trying to understand enough to explain it clearly to people who knew as little as I did.

Research Felt Like Learning a New Language

I started reading. Books on personal finance. Articles about investing. Videos on budgeting and saving. At first, everything was overwhelming. Every resource assumed you already understood basic concepts. They'd casually mention "diversification" or "asset allocation" or "liquidity" without explaining what those meant.

I'd have to stop every two paragraphs to Google terms. Then Google the explanation because that had terms I didn't know either. My process journal from that time is full of confused notes:

• "What's the difference between stocks and bonds? Why would you buy either?"
• "How do mutual funds actually work? Who manages them? How do you know if they're good?"
• "Why do people say credit cards are bad but also that you need to build credit?"

Nothing made intuitive sense at first. Finance has this whole vocabulary that feels deliberately complicated.

The Outline That Kept Growing

I started with a simple outline:

1. Why Gen Z needs financial literacy
2. Basics of saving and budgeting
3. Understanding credit
4. Introduction to investing
5. Future planning

Simple, right? Maybe 50 pages. Then I started researching each section and realized how much there was to cover.

Budgeting alone could be a whole book. The 50-30-20 rule, zero-based budgeting, envelope method, digital tools, tracking expenses, setting realistic goals, adjusting for irregular income...

Investing was even worse. Stocks, bonds, mutual funds, index funds, ETFs, risk tolerance, time horizons, diversification, rebalancing, tax implications, retirement accounts...

Every topic branched into five more topics. My outline grew. 50 pages became 80. Then 100. Then 150. At some point, I had to make peace with the fact that I couldn't cover everything. I was writing for beginners, by a beginner. The goal wasn't comprehensiveness—it was accessibility. I cut ruthlessly. Focused on what Gen Z specifically needed to know now, not what financial experts think is important.

Writing About Things I Was Still Learning

Here's the weird part: I was writing chapters about concepts I'd just learned myself. I'd spend a week researching compound interest, making sense of the formulas, understanding the implications. Then I'd write a chapter explaining it as simply as possible. Sometimes while writing, I'd realize I didn't understand something as well as I thought. I'd have to go back, research more, revise.

The process journal requirement turned out to be incredibly valuable. I'd write daily reflections:

• "Today I learned about the difference between active and passive investing. I thought I understood it, but when I tried to explain it in writing, I realized I was confused about who actually picks the stocks in an index fund."
• "Rewrote the credit score section three times. The first version was too technical. The second was too simplified and missed important details. Third attempt: trying to find the balance."

Writing forces clarity. You can't hide behind vague understanding when you have to explain something in concrete terms.

The Sections I Had No Business Writing

Chapter on Retirement Planning: I'm 15, writing about retirement planning. I don't even know what career I'll have. But I researched 401(k)s, IRAs, compound growth over decades. Made spreadsheets showing how starting early matters.

Did I understand this deeply? Not really. Did I learn a lot writing it? Absolutely.

Chapter on Investing in the Stock Market: I'd never bought a stock. Still haven't. I was explaining how to research companies, read financial statements, understand market trends.

I felt like a fraud writing some of this. Who was I to give advice?

But then I'd remind myself: I'm not claiming expertise. I'm sharing what I learned. That's different.

What My Teachers Asked That I Couldn't Answer

During my Personal Project presentation, my supervisor asked questions I hadn't considered:

"What about investing in international markets?"
I don't know. I only researched Indian markets because that felt overwhelming enough.

"How do Gen Z readers in different economic situations apply this advice?"
Good question. Most of my research was middle-class focused. I hadn't thought deeply about how advice changes if you're financially struggling or if you're wealthy.

"What about cryptocurrency?"
Um... I read about it, but I don't understand it well enough to recommend anything. So I left it out?

These questions revealed the limits of my understanding. I wasn't writing a comprehensive financial textbook. I was writing what one curious teenager managed to learn in a few months.

And that's okay. That was the project.

The Editing Process Was Humbling

I thought writing the first draft was the hard part. Then I started editing.

Reading my own writing weeks later, I found:

• Paragraphs that explained things in the most confusing way possible
• Sections where I clearly didn't understand the concept as well as I thought
• Advice that sounded confident but was actually oversimplified
• Contradictions between chapters because I'd learned something new while writing later sections

I rewrote probably 40% of the book.

Then my mentor read it and pointed out more issues:

• "This section on credit cards makes it sound like they're always bad. But if used responsibly, they're useful tools."
• "You explain compound interest mathematically but don't show real examples that Gen Z can relate to."
• "This advice about investing is technically correct but unrealistic for most teenagers. What can they actually do right now?"

What Teaching Taught Me

The irony: I learned more about finance by trying to teach it than I would have just studying it for myself.

When you have to explain something simply, you must understand it deeply. You can't hide behind jargon or vague understanding. If you can't explain it to someone who knows nothing, you don't really get it yourself.

Writing is thinking. I thought I understood budgeting until I tried to write a clear, practical guide to it. Writing revealed gaps in my knowledge I didn't know existed.

Teaching creates accountability. If someone reads my book and follows the advice, it better be good advice. That responsibility made me research more carefully than if I was just learning for myself.

The best way to learn is to commit to teaching it. This principle has carried over to everything else. My blog, my YouTube videos, even explaining concepts to classmates—teaching forces you to clarify your own understanding.

The Parts I'm Proud Of

The tone. I didn't write like a financial advisor talking down to young people. I wrote like a peer who just figured something out and wanted to share it. That authenticity—including admitting what I didn't know—made it more relatable than textbook-style guides.

The Gen Z specificity. Most financial books are written for people with steady incomes, mortgages, families. I focused on challenges Gen Z actually faces: student debt, gig economy, unclear career paths, economic uncertainty.

The process journal. Documenting my learning journey—the confusion, the breakthroughs, the mistakes—made the project about learning, not just producing a book. That's what my supervisor valued most.

The Parts I'd Change Now

If I wrote this book today, I'd:

Be more honest about what I don't know. I tried to sound authoritative in some sections where I should've said "this is complex and I'm still learning, but here's what I understand so far."

Include more diverse perspectives. My research was limited to resources I could access. Real financial experts, people from different economic backgrounds, international perspectives—all missing.

Make it more actionable. Some chapters explain concepts well but don't give clear "here's what to do today" steps for teenagers.

Address economic inequality more directly. Financial literacy is important, but systemic issues matter too. The book focuses too much on individual responsibility without acknowledging structural barriers.

These aren't failures exactly. They're limitations of a 15-year-old's understanding. But they're worth acknowledging.

What This Experience Actually Taught Me

You don't need to be an expert to learn in public. I wasn't pretending to be a financial expert. I was documenting what a curious student could learn. That's valuable in its own way.

Teaching is a forcing function for learning. When you commit to teaching something, you push yourself to understand it more deeply than you would otherwise. This principle has shaped how I approach learning everything now.

Imperfect knowledge shared is better than perfect knowledge kept to yourself. Yes, my book has limitations. But some people have told me it helped them start thinking about money differently. That wouldn't have happened if I'd waited until I was a financial expert to write it.

Process matters more than product. The book itself is nice. But what really mattered was the learning process—the research, the struggle to understand, the iterative improvement. That's what the Personal Project was actually about.

To Anyone Thinking About Creating Something

Don't wait until you're an expert. Create from whatever level you're at right now. Document your learning. Share your confusion along with your breakthroughs. People relate to the messy journey more than polished expertise. You'll feel like a fraud sometimes. That's normal. As long as you're honest about your limitations and don't pretend to know more than you do, you're not actually being fraudulent. The best time to teach something is right after you've learned it. You still remember what was confusing. Experts forget what it's like to be a beginner.

Am I qualified to have written a book about money at 15? Probably not. Did writing it teach me more than any finance class could have? Absolutely. Would I do it again? Yes. Maybe with a disclaimer on every page: "Written by a teenager still figuring this out. Read critically."

That disclaimer might have actually made it better.