Money is an easy commodity, only valued so vehemently by those with nothing more precious to gain. I could name three things off the top of my head that will bring me more money in a matter of hours than a day’s work at a high rolling office. It simply isn’t that noteworthy. Humans are fickle creatures with boundless curiosity and fused attention spans. We’re are always willing to part with money to satiate our fix of anything – be it designer clothing, designer drugs or designer sex.
The flow of money is constant and fast moving. It flies from our digital hands as fast as it comes into them. To boast it is a small minded effort. What have you of brains? Or talents? Do you indulge in hobbies or find yourself transfixed by art? What captivates your soul and occupies your mind? What seed will you plant to make our collective garden more beautiful? If your answer is money, you’re missing the point.
To use a resource as abundantless as time to accumulate wealth is to scratch the surface of a vast buried civilization and marvel at the dirt. Let me know when you’ve expanded your sights. I’m simply not interested in the currency you stuff in the gaps of your life to make whole the parts of you that always felt lacking.
Masks made of dollar bills that shield the eyes from the pock-marked insecurities that lie below. A filler for parts of your personality you’d rather not polish, the gleam from your copper penny meant to divert my focus. I demand more. I demand competency in processing your emotions. I demand communication that doesn’t ricochet off me and always lead back to you. I demand more than a bank statement to bandage your festering, wounded feelings.
You thought I couldn’t see. You thought you’d constructed your image meticulously. And you did. For some time, I felt unease from the heat that emulated from your smoldering core but I didn’t see how it fueled your deception. You made me feel errant for not marveling at your overpriced playthings. You couldn’t seem to understand my disinterest at the tokens you acquired to prove your illusion. You made me feel small for chasing my passions instead of a buck.
But I see you for all you are now. Naked in abandon with only your account balance to arm you. I know what it is you’re trying to drown in dollar signs. And I reach to find pity for you. But in a world that values all the wrong things on purpose, your sling has afforded you power. The patch you used to plug the hole you never learned to fill makes you a celebrated few. So I don’t feel sorry for you. You’ve achieved everything you wanted. You’ve made your money, attained some status and stepped right into the body cast you designed for yourself. You will never have my pity and maybe you’ll never have anything more but maybe they’ll line your coffin with the bank notes you threw it all away for.