I did not want to win.
You may have heard stories about lottery winners, the majority of them, who have had their lives ruined subsequent to a major lottery windfall. It’s not hard to imagine why, because money doesn’t buy happiness, right?
Picture the newspaper article and photograph in which you’re holding up a six-foot long fake check made out to you, your name mentioned by a reporter and displayed as a matter of public record. Then imagine your mailbox overflowing with heart-wrenching requests for financial assistance, charitable causes, opportunities for investments, pitches by realtors and financial advisors with offers to “help” you deal with your newly found riches.
Next to arrive are the phone calls and emails. Those who have that information come first, but inevitably some clever hacker will locate you online (it’s not hard) and open the floodgates of Hell. You’ll need to change both addresses and possibly move. Friends and family will develop a barely discernable new relationship with you. The good ones won’t, but finding the bad actors will be painful, like randomly extracting teeth to get at the rotten one.
Something as simple as going out to dinner with another couple might accompany the expectation that you always pay for the meal. After all, you’re a multi-millionaire, right? The ones who offer to pay will be suspect of attempting to influence your undoubtedly generous tendencies, playing the long game, and taking you down a rabbit hole that leads to trust issues, especially if you’re already prone to them.
No, first you need to hire a contractor. Design and build a safe room on your existing house. In it, you will construct a throne, gilded in gold leaf, or perhaps of solid gold. But maybe save the large outlay of cash for the other throne where you’ll read copies of Fortune and Money. At your throne you will grant audiences with the groveling masses, weighing their wants versus needs and doling out small portions of your wealth on the second Tuesday of each month. Your man Jeeves will interview candidates and make appointments when he’s not waxing the Lamborghinis. In other words, live like Bill Gates.
Stop! Do you see what’s happening? Lottery fantasies! Your road to perdition is being paved and you haven’t yet received your first payment. Note: monthly payouts are preferable to a single lump sum for tax reasons. Again, stop!
What many of us at any at any level of financial means sometimes lack is a concept of “enough.” I know that there are desperately poor people in our country. Did you know that 2 million people in the U.S. lack access to drinking water? Are you aware that 11.9 million children in the U.S. live in poverty? It’s sickening, and I would gladly pay any amount of taxes to make that go away. But then, accused of being a bleeding heart liberal I’m aware that half of Americans would not join me in that cause.
But this article is for my small group of Facebook friends. They all live in homes, have water, electricity, food, clothing, telephones, a computer and Internet access. Considering where we came from not that long ago, we live like kings.
I recently wrote about my realization that I won the Privilege Lottery. I was just born American, white and male in the Twentieth Century. I’m happy to debate that one on one, but based on the almost complete lack of feedback to my article, I entered uncomfortable geography. And of course we also earned what we have through long, hard work or lack thereof.
But it was at Disney World a few months ago, just before the world shut down, that a stranger made a comment that really stuck with me. I was washing my hands in the men’s room at the Yacht Club Resort, about to enjoy a delicious breakfast at Ale & Compass restaurant. Now, I’m fully aware that talking to someone in the bathroom is not cool, but a Black pastor stepped up to the sink beside me to wash his hands. Did it matter that he was Black? No. Did it matter that he was a pastor. I think it did.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning,” he replied, “How are you?”
“I’m great, how are you”
“Better than I deserve,” he said.
“Better than I deserve.” How many of us can say that? How many of us should be saying that?
As I approached retirement I had another short conversation with a retired gentleman a few years older than me. He was consulting at our company. Oddly enough, we were returning from the bathroom, that catalyst of deep thinking, at least in my experience.
“So, Tom, tell me about Social Security. Take it early or wait?” I asked.
“Take it. A friend of mine waited and died before collecting a penny.”
The very sad outcome of this exchange is that Tom had terminal cancer, which he discovered within weeks. He died six months later. I know of numerous others who continued to work, stretching for that ever-moving goal of “enough” only to wind up disabled or dead before arriving.
My mother died at age fifty-five. My father died at fifty-nine. They never enjoyed a minute of retirement. So when my wife had brain surgery to correct an aneurysm, also at age fifty-five, any rumination we’d discussed about our future sharpened to crystal clarity. With some careful planning and a willingness to move cross-country, we felt we had enough to be very comfortable.
It is hard to be far from family and lifelong friends. It is challenging to share one car. But most things considered, I realize that we are lucky to enjoy each day, each other and a future for which we remain hopeful. Waking up in the morning is a good thing. I am thankful, grateful and often humbled as aging reminds me that I am not the man I used to be. But then again, if you ask me how I’m doing, I now reply, “Better than I deserve.”
😎
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