Money can be a meal ticket to life’s executive lounge, but I’d rather forfeit my membership.
My father and I never miss an opportunity to sneer when we pass a designer outlet manned by an earpiece-wearing doorman suited up like a SWOT agent, who returns our open mirth with a suspicious glare. He safeguards clothes, bags and shoes whose value lies in the strength of the marketing department in convincing people of their exclusivity. At this point my mind always backtracks to a time when I was unemployed and not going to college. If I had bought a designer bag, where would I use it? I had nowhere to go, no one to meet, no engagements whatsoever. I imagine that spending $1,500 on an Hermés bag at a time when my life felt so empty would only make me feel emptier, especially if I had bought into its branded allure. Unemployment taught me what I want out of life – and my money.
I want my money to take me places – geographically, spiritually, experientially. Retail is but the accumulation of ephemera. I want to study philosophy just because I’m curious what a course in existentialism can teach me about my own existence – if it doesn’t, at least I could hold my own in a room full of quantum physics professors or debate the virtues of “non-academic” majors because I’ve been there. Money means the flexibility to change majors five times until you find the one you’re made for, rather than having to stick with one you hate because you have to pay for the credit hours. Money means having the time and financial freedom to volunteer with the Red Cross in a third-world country and meet people with perspectives you never fathomed, come home humbled and never look at a plate of food, your children or your warm bed the same way again. Money, to me, means health, security, the ability to get two PhDs if I want to. Three years ago I worked at an office two hours away from home, but rather than renting a room nearby, I opted to go home every night. This automatically exhausted most of my earnings, but I would rather spend my money for the convenience of being able to return to my family rather than pinch pennies and be alone.
Money, to me, means flexibility and a wider array of choices in life. I found an internship service that puts students in guaranteed work placements around the world. An $8,000 fee applies, but for that sum you can work anywhere in the world and for a reputable company. If I had the money, would I pay for it? Undoubtedly. The experience would pay non-monetary dividends money cannot contest. One day I was browsing a department store with three of my girlfriends. I watched my thin-as-a-pin friend pore over the label of a tube of cellulite cream before placing it in her shopping basket. What she needed was not the $14 glorified body lotion, but a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on. The trappings of wealth don’t touch the heartstrings.
How many items on your bucket list can you achieve for free? A lot of them, hopefully. As J. Brotherton once said, “My riches consist not in the extent of my possessions but in the fewness of my wants.” It’s easy to assume I’m a New Age puritan who lives in a house with no furniture and that I abhor pre-packaged foods and tailored clothing as the bane of materialism. Or that I’m young and foolish, led by my caprices and a youthful zeal to “live a fulfilling life” that will wane the minute I collide with “real life”. But a “real” life is a full life and I don’t feel like a fool. I feel like a million dollars. l
