Freedom From Money

So, what to write?
I did consider doing a story, maybe something about a man living in the lap of luxury, a gigolo perhaps? Or a kept man/woman, who had tired of the gilded cage, seeing it for the prison it was. But then I got to thinking about the title “Freedom from Money” and thought, nahhh. So here instead, for your delectation is a barely coherent stream of consciousness :)

Freedom from money;
Just what does that mean? Two thoughts occur: first, the literal. Freedom from money, a-la “The Good Life.”
I know I`m showing my age here (and just to prove it, I`m prepared to admit to a massive teenage crush on Felicity Kendal; thank God for Pseudonyms) but even in this show about self-sufficiency, dropping out of societies norms, they couldn’t escape the need for money. Richard Briers character having to go back to work in one episode to pay the council tax, apparently they wouldn’t recognise the barter system. So trying to opt out simply isn’t possible, money like all evils is a necessity. At least until we mature as a species; try paying for your groceries down at the local Aldi with a short story and see where it gets you?

Okay, option B:
Free-dom from money; i.e. having such a surfeit of money that you are no longer plagued by the day-to-day worries of the mortgage, or having to schlep your sorry carcass into a soul destroying job, day after God-awful day; sounds great, right? Except……
Except; I`ve known quite a few wealthy men in my life, worked for some, befriended others, and to a man they are obsessed with their money. They worry about it, fuss over it, are terrified that someone is going to steal it, or that it will somehow evaporate into the electronic ether, I have a daughter I worry less about (does that make me seem like an uncaring father? What do you mean yes? Cheek)

I worked for a guy who literally gave me his shoes….. You don’t want to know the details; oh okay you twisted my arm. We were going to Chicago; well actually we were going to Indianapolis for a Formula1 Grand Prix, but via Chicago. We, and by that I mean I, had booked us flights on Etihad out of Shannon. So we get to the airport and the check-in girl leans over the counter, looks down at my feet and asks, “Don’t you have any shoes?”

For context, I wasn’t barefoot, I was wearing runners. I always wear them, and yeah I run, Christ yer a judgemental fecker. Where was I, oh yeah; so I`m thinking, Jaysus this is a fancy airline, when she says, “Only I was going to upgrade you to first class, but…. and that’s how I ended up wearing Mick`s size fourteens on my size eleven feet. I swear, I was like a kid in his da`s shoes as I clopped onto that plane, but it was well worth it.

How did I get here? Oh yeah. The thing is, while he`d happily give me his shoes; ask him for a raise…. I have heard this song many times in my life, perhaps you have too, it`s like I`d asked for his first born to sacrifice. Don’t I know how lucky I am to have a job, don’t I know how much he`d sacrificed to start the company, yada-yada-yada, oh the humanity…..

See; money is a prison, a bit like love, what`s the line form that song, “Love is like oxygen, you get too much it gets you high, not enough and you`re gonna die,” or more appropriately, “can`t live with it, can`t live without it,”

And there`s the rub, there is no such thing as, Freedom from Money, it`s a pipedream (now there`s an interesting word. Note to self, look up pipedream)

There is one other possibility; the lottery. All that lovely money and no effort, except….. damn there`s that word again.

Except, well, how much is enough, or too much? The annals of lottery winners are littered with bankrupts and suicides, and if you win enough you can never make another friend again; why exactly is this person trying to befriend me?

Plus, just for fits and giggles, the friends you do have will probably never speak to you again after you don’t share your winnings equally with them, and let`s not forget that girl who`s currently suing the British lottery company (I don’t remember the name, and frankly I`m too lazy to google it) for giving her more money than she could handle; so now she wants more money from them?

Freedom from Money, don’t make me laugh. Who was it said, “The only difference between being poor and being rich is that you`re miserable in nicer places.” Well I`ve tried poverty, and quite frankly I’ve found it`s not to my taste, so I`m prepared to risk being wealthy, after all what do I have to lose?