You just withdrew forty dollars out of a gas station ATM. What the kids there buying beer and cherry vape pens didn’t see was how tightly your heart constricted when you tapped the enter button, releasing only when you heard money dispensing out of the slot, like a plate of prison meatloaf being shoved under a steel door.
Remember when the sound of cash fanning out of a machine made you feel alive, adventurous, even invincible? Now, in some cases, this rare sound brings unexpected tears of joy. Tears that turn into creeks of helpless shame when you see a blood red letter from a debt collector, whose resolute persistence makes Javier Bardem’s character in No Country for Old Men seem like the host of a needlepoint call in show on NPR.
Starting at an early age, when you cashed in a savings bond earmarked for college to finance an open field blowout with three kegs and a band, you’ve demonstrated a certain je ne sais quoi toward your relationship with money. Especially after attending a wealth building seminar at the airport Hilton, when dark thoughts about your future ignited into a blinding flash during the meet and greet, and you darted out and drank your rent, doing elbow bends with house scotch at the hotel bar.
Building wealth is easy and straightforward. Make more money. Invest in real estate. And for you, if slow and steady wins the race, try jabbing a needle filled with Tijuana chalk into your rabbit’s neck and fire a 16 inch naval gun to get it hopping.
The good news? There is no good news.