Head like a hole


160431 All-Day Breakfast—Head like a hole—#199

Lately I have been so distracted by money that I literally cannot think.

Literally. Literary. Monetary. Mind-blank. Mind-fuck.

I feel like a hole has been torn in my ability to function.

I’m falling with a gashed parachute, and not sure how hard I’m going to hit the ground.

I don’t know how to rob a bank.

When so much more is flowing out than in, it’s time to plug the hole. But the hole keeps growing bigger. Every plug seems to produce more punctures. The leaks have leaks.

I love talking about money. But I hate talking about money trouble. People equate money troubles with your value as a person.

People look at money trouble as a personal defect.

It’s true.

It means you did something wrong. You angered a god. You were stupid. You weren’t ready. You made the wrong bet. You don’t deserve it. You are unworthy. You’re unlucky.

And many people also believe the other side of the coin.

That if you have money to burn, you did something right. You are blessed. You are a genius. You’re ready for the big time. You’re a courageous gambler. You deserve the world. You are worthy of praise. You’re a good luck charm.

None of these things are true.

No one deserves success. No matter how hard you work, there are other people working just as hard that can’t catch a break.

And you can never be successful without some measure of luck—whether it’s the part of the world you were born in, or the time you were born into, or the colour of your skin, or the difference between an x and a y chromosome.

I am privileged. I am lucky. I am grateful.

Yet I am still stressed out because there’s a giant hole in my parachute and the landing’s gonna hurt.

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