Thousandaire

There was a science prof at the college where I got my BA, whose name was Bill Miller, and some of the students who knew him (and he was a popular, well-liked guy for good reason) would refer to him as the "Billion Million" because Bill Miller knew a "million billion" things on all matter of subjects, and also it was funny to follow the bigger number with a smaller number. I don't know if Bill Miller actually knew a "billion million" things, I never took his classes because I was strictly humanities all the time except for when I was busy flunking Applied Mathematics (seriously, my undergrad institution was desperate to see me through a math class) which was basically "math for math dummies." And even Math For Math Dummies 101 was a struggle for me.

I don't know much about, the late, Prof Miller's "billion millions," but I do know he was not a billionaire. Maybe a millionaire? I don't know what you crazy academics are paying yourselves. Or how much you were paying yourselves in the early 1990s. I do know I paid your salaries for years and years and years after graduation. I mean, it's fine, I liked a lot of you a great deal (and still do!), but that was expensive for a non-millionaire. Shit, I'm not even a thousandaire at this juncture in my American life.

And I saw a Tweet this morning calling for Americans to think of American Billionaires as American Oligarchs because that's what they are, and we are living in Soviet America. We have been living in Soviet America for some time, it just hasn't become evident until now what with the rising food costs, rent costs, and gas prices.

Regard the American Billionaires as American Oligarchs because that's what they are, and they must be treated with the same level of suspicion and reservation we would treat, at this moment in history, a Russian Oligarch. They're all the same -- rich, often white, usually men deranged with the desire for money and control.

No one needs a billion dollars, reader. You may want a billion dollars, but there's a lot of weird shit we humans can "want" in the course of our human lives that maybe we just shouldn't have.

As a Buddhist, I practice detachment. Having lived my entire life, without pause, in this country, I know some things. I also try, as an American, not to pretend to know things I don't, as we are so often wont.

I don't hate rich people, reader. I know some really good rich people, and I know some very deservingly money-rich people, but I know way more people, in America, who, like me, are not rich people. And I don't know any billionaires that I'm aware of.

And I don't have a problem with having a billion dollars. There is nothing right or wrong about having a billion dollars, it's just that in a world where so many are being traumatized by poverty, hunger, or wars waged by men like Putin with "super yachts."

Though not even a Thousandaire (someday! dare-to-dream!), I am fortunate to have a large support network that includes some people who can (and do) assist me financially. As for medical care, I'm officially on the American Dole now. I've heard Medicaid is pretty nice, and so I won't be looking this fiscal gift horse in its hot, sweaty mouth. And I feel fairly confident, in this moment, that I will be okay.

I have incurable cancer. Metastatic breast, if it matters to you. And I've been dealing with breast cancer for a decade. And it has not been fun, though I have learned a lot in the process of being a Gen -Xer with cancer in America. Among the most important things I've learned is that all I really have (and you, too, reader) is this precise moment in which I am breathing, typing, sipping the most delicious jasmine tea from a mug with Janis Joplin's face on it. And in this moment, I am safe, comfortable, fed, and have no pain in my body.

A social worker told me, about a month ago, that cancer patients are more than twice as likely as the general married public to experience a divorce. And that's what is happening to me, also. I lived in Arizona for a while, had a whole entire big, deep life out west, and the calamity of the divorce and my health has sent me "home" to the Chicagoland area. Specifically, the 'burbs from which I hail. I have no true feelings -- either good or bad -- about this return, I only know I did not feel I could remain in Arizona when the whole reason I was there was for my spouse and the family I married into. And there's a familiarity about the sights, sounds, and people of this region that I need, right now, in order to heal myself.

Divorce is weird. You ever tried this, reader? I mean, it's just a horrendous breakup made infinitely worse by money and the American legal system. Right? And I knew I was not meant for marriage. And I trusted someone too much. And I've learned my lesson, and will be glad when the legal/money part of the divorce is over, so I can try to comprehend what the fuck just happened to my poor heart.

But that's American life for most of us. We have to table the emotions so we can do the work of surviving. And I think that's bullshit, particularly in a country where there exists so much wealth. I pay taxes; I have held a job since the age of 14; I give back to the communities in which I live. And you probably do all of this, also, reader. My story, I'm quite convinced, is your story. Especially if you're a Gen-Xer with a chronic illness who is just trying to stay a Thousandaire, so that their American life isn't so fucking hard. If you're a millionaire, good for you! Feel free to read on. If you're Elon Musk Rich, however, you're likely going to get your feelings a little hurt about some of what I'm going to say on this blog.

Today, however, everyone's safe from hurt feelings. At least here. In this space.

And what I think we need to start acknowledging, as Americans, is that it doesn't need to be so damn hard. Really, it doesn't need to be. The financial wealth exists to care for everyone, we just need to convince some of these billionaires to pony up and contribute as you and I contribute to our country, our communities, our neighbors, friends, and family, for I am of the belief that we are the same. Elon Musk and me are the same. And you are the same as Elon Musk. And you are also the same, and I am also the same, as much better people than Musk.

Nor do I mean that those who have amassed billions of paper-monies should be forced to part with it. If that is really all that fills the holes in your heart and soul, who am I to deny you your dollar bills? I can be happy without a billion dollars, and maybe some of you cannot. Carry on hoarding money then, but I want my readers to think of the concept of "hoarding," and hoarding as a particularly American problem rooted in the trauma of poverty under Capitalism. And we make exploitative television shows (which, yes, I am guilty of sometimes watching) about struggling Americans who hoard bits and pieces of what, to the rich, is "pure junk" and we call them "crazy" and we call them "filthy," and yet we don't apply "crazy" and "filthy" to billionaires who hoard money and property so that no one else may have access to any of it. Frankly, I think the latter is far crazier and grosser than hoarding one too many cats because when you hoard the cats you only hurt the cats and yourself (and maybe gross out your neighbors), but when you buy up all the land, suck up all the money, and pay your way into making decisions about the freedom and independence of others, you're engaging in truly monstrous behavior.

I want you to think about that, reader. Maybe speak on it, if you can muster the courage.

And on that note, I'm off to lean into my "courage making" sources. My first appointment with my new oncologist is tomorrow, and doctors' offices, hospitals, cancer centers make me uneasy. That's where my beads intervene to keep me grounded in the moment I am alive in, in what is real about that moment, and generally speaking I intuitively know how to cope.

I am often nervous and scared for reasons that have nothing to do with cancer. And I am often nervous and scared for reasons that have everything to do with cancer, mine specifically. Cancer is scary. And depressing. And frustrating. And cancer has been one of my teachers for many years -- reminding me what is and is not within my control. No money can buy the peace that I have learned to, at times, foster through Buddhist practices. And I'm not trying to convert you. This is not a religious or spiritual blog, though I am a spiritual (not "religious") person. And my spiritual life means something to me now, and it didn't mean anything to me just a little over a year ago. More about that in another post.

What I want you to know, reader, is this: money (the having or not) says nothing about your worth as a human being. Not in the primordial, cosmic sense, not in the way that is capital-T-True or that capital-M-Matters. And in terms of healthcare, housing, and education, you deserve what Elon Musk gets because in terms of basic human needs, your needs are the same as Mr. Musk's. I believe we have a right to live our lives in ways that transcend mere, brutal, survival. I believe we deserve to be free and no one is free if they are denied the essential ingredients necessary to living a comfortable, reasonably prosperous, rewarding life: health, housing, education. And yes, jobs would be nice, but I am not an advocate of "job for job's sake." I think people in America should have the opportunity to do work that they love or, at the very least, like. And moreover, they should be able to do work that doesn't literally fuckin' kill their body or spirit.

I have been fortunate in that, since the age of about 25, I have had nothing but jobs I have loved, full of people who were (for the most part) very easy to love. A little tenacity and cosmic luck rewarded me with the privilege of having employment opportunities that inspired me, transformed me (in good ways), and challenged me. And for the last six months of my tenure as a public school teacher, I wept every morning in the shower before work, not because I didn't enjoy the work (on the contrary, I loved that school, too, though it wasn't in the stars for me to stay long), but because I was exhausted. As a forty-five year old cancer patient, as someone whose marriage was collapsing, as someone who felt very far from home when she needed a "home" most of all, I was exhausted. And yet, I could not say this because my spouse would not hear it, and the culture would not hear of an American of "working age" quitting her perfectly good job with healthcare and all to save her own life. Saving your own life is never part of the American work ethic, and I think that needs to change, too. Your life matters more than the work you do to pay the rent. And we should have just, accessible social systems in place for people like me to "step away" when they are falling apart physically and emotionally. We are worth more than the work we do to pay the rent.

Had I remained in Arizona, in my marriage, I would have worked myself to literal, actual death because that's what was expected of me and because that's what I expected of myself, until one day I had to let go. And we've all had to let go a lot in the past couple years. Let go and let go and let go. Some things we should have never had to part with. Some things we let go needed to be let go. And sometimes we have been very afraid, but look at you, reader, sitting there or standing there, looking at these words, still breathing air.

Be good, hooligans.