Go for Rich

I think everybody should be rich.  Every single person on the planet.

But what does that mean?  "Rich"  It's obviously a relative term and what is rich for Donald Trump is not rich for a bushman in Tanzania is not rich for a single mom in Cincinnati raising two children by herself, trying to avoid eviction. So all we can do is start with one person's definition and hold it up against another life, one at a time.

Let's start with me.

My definition of rich has changed dramatically over the years.  For a long time, it was always very vague, but I knew it was more money than I had because no matter how much I earned it wasn't enough.   I'd dedicated over two decades of my life to helping people get more money and I was doing that because I believed with all my heart that money could solve our problems and make us safe.  More money was the only product I had to sell. In my early forties I was making at least $200,000 or $300,000 a year - maybe more, one year I know I paid over a quarter of a million in taxes - me, little Kathy Holwadel, the medieval history major.

But I never felt rich.  Or safe.  And it turns out I had some problems that money couldn't solve, not even if I had all of Warren Buffett's and Bill Gates' put together.  So I had to quit my job.  Because once you stop believing in the product you can't sell it anymore.  That was in 2000, when I was forty-four years old.

I've done lots of  interesting things since I quit being a financial consultant, but none of them came with a regular paycheck.  In 2012, I earned $3,000 - but that was a fluke that I doubt will be repeated.  Most years I made about $200 dollars, often not even enough to qualify for the joint income credit on the state return.  Needless to say, there has been a significant change in my lifestyle.  My husband and I prefer to eat at home.  And it turns out dry-cleaning is not a necessity.

But here's the weird thing:  I am rich.  Everyday.  It turns out it doesn't cost as much as I thought it did to be happy, not even close.

And today I can define the word in clear terms, specific and meaningful to me.

Rich means no debt.  Not a mortgage, a car payment, or an outstanding balance on a credit card.  I am free.

Rich means my time is my own.  I set my schedule.  If I feel like staying in my pajamas until  two o'clock in the afternoon reading books from the library that's what I do.

Rich means nobody can buy me.  Money is never a good enough reason for anything I do and I can afford to do things that don't pay me a dime, including this blog.

Rich means the sun in my face, riding my bike, quiet, cloud watching, time to write, talking to interesting people, a walk-able neighborhood, listening to music, real mashed potatoes and homemade pie, reflection, solitude and art.  

More importantly, I now know what "rich" doesn't mean to me.  It's not a shiny new car or yet another meal out in a lovely restaurant or a five star hotel or jewelry or new boots or the latest smart phone or anything else that I can pay for with mere money.  In fact, I told somebody the other day that if they gave me a million dollars in cash, it wouldn't change Michele's and my life one bit.  Not a spec.  Because there's nothing I want to buy.  Isn't that nice?  After a while, the brain chemistry changes and consumption doesn't bring pleasure any more.  Shopping has turned into a pain in the butt.  As a very wise client once told me, "It doesn't matter if the market goes up or down.  I'm still going to get up tomorrow morning and eat my half a grapefruit."

Aim high in life.  Go for rich.  But before you worry about which mutual funds to sell or whether or not to buy Twitter, do yourself a favor.  Sit down, get quiet, and figure out very, very specifically what a rich life means to you.  Then go for it hard with everything you've got and don't get distracted by other people's definitions - because everybody deserves to be rich.