I Don't Want to be a Rich Girl!

I don’t care if no one believes me. I’m going to state it for the record anyway. I’m not driven to be rich. I don’t fantasize about what I'd do if I won the lottery. I have no interest in “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.” I don’t yearn for Financial Independence – the latest buzzword spewing from the lips of multi-level marketing fanatics like apples flying in the face of Eve. I’m basically satisfied with the course my “time for money” life is taking.

If I were rich like Oprah Winfrey or Joan Irvine or Angelina Jolie, I’d be in big trouble. I’d lend money to all of my friends and then I’d feel taken advantage of when they didn’t pay me back or tell me how wonderful I was. I’d never be sure if men loved me for me or my money. Knowing me, I’d get suckered by some land shark, some charming shyster who’d take me for all I was worth. But worst of all, I’d lose my drive, that little voice in my heart that says, “Work or go hungry.”

I was at a friend’s for dinner the other night and the F.I. term was flowing like wine. A successful doctor (who had already dabbled in a multi-level marketing scheme to no success), his beautiful and intelligent wife, and my own little love muffin were all trying to convince me that I was in denial if I continued to insist I was happy with my puny, linear income-producing life.

“Everyone wants a lot of money,” the doctor said, sounding a bit like Mephistopheles.

“Moira hates money,” the love muffin said. “If she won the lottery, she’d give it back.”

“If you were financially independent, you could start your own magazine,” said the beautiful wife.

“I don’t want my own magazine,“ I told her, not succumbing to temptation.

“I don’t think you completely understand,” the beautiful wife said.

And then she handed me an article, one that explained that achieving Financial Independence actually frees us to follow our bliss. It explained that after you quit your job and pay off your debts and jet around the world and buy mansions in the Tuscan Hills, you can start a non-profit organization that could help the poor and the hungry and the abused and the abandoned. You could write novels and study ceramics and build shelters for injured little animals. It's not money or getting rich that’s the driving force behind independence. You restructure your life; invest enough money so that you can survive on interest and then save the world.

This theory, which a former Wall Street maverick has been preaching since the early '70s, first asks you to put down on paper your life’s purpose. I started to think about this. My purpose in life is to complain. I’ve known this from a very young age. So, since I like to complain about an endless number of things, like how much in debt I am (How could I decline dinner invitations without the excuse that I can’t afford to go out?) or the hours I spend at my job (What would my excuse be for not going to the gym?) or crows (If I were rich, I could afford to hire a trained assassin to annihilate them.), or the Pageant of the Masters (If I were rich, I’d bribe someone to make those pieces of art dance a little more.), maybe the doctor’s wife was onto something.

I could start my own magazine where I could kvetch on every page. I’d call it Bitch. It would be a forum for the disenchanted. I’d give Coast Magazine a real run for its money. And then I’d be rich. I could buy that BMW I’ve had my eye on. A house in Emerald Bay…