Language and money

Since I left my full time job a year ago I instantly turned my attention to money. Will we have enough? Where will it come from? How much is enough?

I took classes on playing the stock market and business skills, wrote a business plan and read a plethora of personal wealth books. I was surprised to learn that, for the most part, it is really a quite straightforward process to becoming a multimillionaire – the greatest obstacle for many is the commitment.  As one author put it, to be rich, you really have to want it. Perhaps a bit naive and oversimplified, coming from a wealthy author’s point of view, but put it that way, I had to ask, well, what do I really want?

 I noticed several things while examining my economic position:

• I shopped for relaxation and escape (I’m not a big shopper here, but I even derive pleasure from going out to buy a loaf of bread)
• My outings were legitimized by commercial transactions. (“Lets meet for coffee. How about lunch?” rather than “Lets go for a walk.”)
• Giving and receiving seemed always to be colored by some invisible reciprocal equation. (“She watched the kids for two hours, I should bake her a cake” “Of course we should bring something, they brought us flowers last time they came over.”)
• My choice to give was often motivated by what I might receive in return. (“We should give some tomatoes to that neighbor since we might need to ask him to watch our place when we are on vacation.”)
• I had an overreaching tendency to calculate, quantify and categorize, to place value on actions, objects and relationships. Everything– used clothing, time, talents, information—became a commodity, something that attained a certain value and could be exchanged for something else. (In social interactions I often felt inferior unless I had to have something to offer, be it a joke, a book recommendation or new restaurant tip)
• My day-to-day behaviors were often determined by either the hope for some reward or the avoidance of some punishment. (“If I can just finish cleaning the kitchen we can go out to dinner.” “I’d better call her or she’ll give me a hard time.”)
• My personal worth, as judged by myself, and others, was clouded by my economic status. (“Oh, you don’t have to take the bus! I’ll drive you.” “I’m the only one here who’s not wearing nice clothes!”)

Being raised in a neat, tidy capitalist, catholic and hierarchical structure with clear exact markings for what is wealthy or poor (in terms of money, possessions, titles and degrees) was interfering horribly with my ability to genuinely be me. I was being stifled by a system. I couldn’t stand up for myself in a meeting with a supervisor, or express my opinion at a dinner table of executives, or think that (heaven forbid) maybe I didn’t really want to be wealthy in that way. 

As Napoleon Chagnon divulged to Steven Pinker, the Yanomamo of the Amazon, who only have a few number words (one, two, many), “don’t need exact numbers because they keep track of things as individuals, one by one. A hunter, for example, recognizes each of his arrows, and thereby knows whether one is missing without having to count them. It’s the same habit of mind that would make most of us pause if someone asked us how many first cousins we have…”   I wonder what do I really need to quantify exactly? What would my world be like if I didn’t count, calculate and balance to the extent that I do? What do you think?