Why Am I Not Ridiculously Rich?

I was in school with a bunch of rich brats. It was definitely annoying witnessing their prejudice against those who didn’t have their privileged background. These were girls who obsessed about brands, and the mentality extended to their regard of people. Just like they wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something non-signature, they similarly couldn’t be friends with kids who went to public school, let alone like a boy who didn’t go to any of the few boys’ school they found acceptable. It was really toxic growing up in that atmosphere.

When I grew up, I taught at a more exclusive school and the level of wealth was even crazier. I was happy to note that despite their station in life, my students were not snobs. What was disturbing though was their cavalier attitude about money. There were certainly times when I was envious, but I don’t think I ever wished to be so insanely rich that I wouldn’t even notice that I was missing a hundred-dollar-bill.

To be fair, those kids had never known what it was like not to have money they needed or wanted and they didn’t have enough imagination that allowed them to be sensitive and empathetic, so it’s really not a surprise. Who knows? Most of them are adults now, so I’m thinking their horizons have broadened.

Now, I myself have never been rich in my life. While I’m quite comfortable, I’m also perpetually hoping for more money. I guess that comes with having kids. Not only are they expensive, you also love them so much that you want all sorts of things for them, including a secure future, all of which cost, as you know.

Sometimes I wish I had been more in love with money, but that just wasn’t me. I had a friend in college who was unrepentantly materialistic. She was forever skipping meals so she could save up her money to buy another designer bag. We both wanted to go to New York, but she wanted an executive position in an important conglomerate while I wanted to be a writer in Greenwich Village. She watched “Sex and the City” and wanted the lifestyle, while I watched “Dharma and Greg” and worked to achieve the hippie lifestyle.

Twenty years later, she has a glamorous job and an office in Rockefeller Center while I write for pittance and homeschool my kids. My God, the revelations I get from writing these Medium articles!

She’s rich and I’m not, but I’m happy for the most part. She seems happy too. Does this mean that she has a better life? It all boils down to values, so at the end of the day, I suppose we’ve both done well for ourselves. Having said that, I wouldn’t complain if she decides to treat me to a holiday at a Dubai 5-star hotel.

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