It’s no secret that cash (or numbers in your bank account) isn’t the most precious unit of value humans exchange with each other. You know that truth, tip your hat to it on your way to work, do your best to make sure you die with people and memories around you, and not just be surrounded with piles of green paper.
For me, it cuts deeper, in a more personal way, than simply nodding at that truth and continuing on my merry way.
The current financial system is built, run, and used by imperfect beings; numbers and value of said numbers fluctuate day-by-day, controlled by hidden and economic forces; the slide from silver and gold to paper to digital currency seems inevitable, raising questions of ethics, identity, and liberty.
Add to that the increasingly painful realization that my days as a young, single 20-something with more flexibility, time, and energy than I’d ever have again in my life, with the least I’d ever risk to lose–such days are numbered. Terribly short and numbered.
Not to mention Memento Mori, the stark reality that death may claim me at anytime–along with all my dreams, fears, the future I’ve been preparing for.
Would I look back on these days wishing I made more money, made more quicker, had slaved away even more of my life at the feet of the god Mammon?
Or would I want to develop skills and experiences now that would make me a more useful human being, someone who knows how to survive in the real world, build lasting relationships, create beautiful things of value, pass on a legacy bigger than themself?
I’ve asked myself what’s of more value than money, and I’m finding answers.
My flaws cloud my vision; my imperfections cause some to doubt the validity of my convictions; my awkward articulation do not do justice to the ideals I hold to. But that’s alright. I stumble, I make mistakes. I try again with a new twist.
I’m on a journey to live a life that reflects what’s truly precious and meaningful to me, even if such a life seems crazy, lazy, or hazy.
I don’t see how I could not live a lie otherwise.