Money, Today

“What’s fifty grand to someone like me/ can you please remind me…”

I sing along to Jay-Z in the van speakers asking what is probably a rhetorical question. I haven’t heard this song in so long- it is so dated at this point I feel old listening to it- like I don’t know any better music. But it is such a good song!

Art, music, things that make us feel something, regardless of how old they are, should be appreciated right? But as we change, as the world changes, so do our tastes. The songs we listen to, how they made us initially feel, are never quite recaptured again- instead new ears perceive what has already been.

New ears also take them in differently- they notice a nuance that wasn’t there before, relate to a lyric differently, new ears reminisce, too.

In the past, listening to this song was about the ego stroke, enjoying the cadences in the music, seemingly appreciating the art of it all.

In the more recent past, listening to this song would remind me of being in the club, celebrating Q’s birthday. Smiling over how much fun that night was. I miss my friend who goes by a single letter. I wonder what he would think if he saw me now. Those thoughts prevent me from reaching out.

Today, I find myself not enjoying the song like I used to, not reminiscing over the memories associated with it, but literally asking myself what fifty grand would do for me.

Probably nothing I say defeatedly. But that is just me being facetious.

As I begin to ponder this most important of existential questions, my phone makes a sound indicating another passenger. I accept the call, and begin my journey to picking up….drum roll please…Natalie.

Natalie.

Natalie.

Nice name.

Natalie is 5 minutes away. Enough time to continue pondering I suppose. I realize that I have changed since I first started driving. If this was at the start, my thoughts would have been completely consumed with the process leading up to picking up my passenger. Driving perfectly, wondering where I am going to stop, what side they are going to enter through, where they are going to sit. Then, my thoughts would drift to the potential conversation, to what I should say, to what I shouldn’t. Who I would be sharing a moment with, how they would perceive someone probably their age or a little younger driving around in a dodge caravan doing a job often done by immigrants and retirees.

Is that anxiety or attention to detail?

Now, as I drive through the ever alluring, always romantic Princess Street I again think about what fifty grand would mean for me.

As miserable as I am driving for Uber, I appreciate the time it provides for various philosophical musings (both lazy and rigorous).

It would disappear quickly, at least it has the potential to.

What would be the best or most right way to spend it?

I could use it to pay off some of my debt. Even if I used all of it, it would still only be some of my debt. An education is often an expensive experience huh.

I would give some to my parents and sister, of course. That is a given. But how much? How much is too little, too much? I laugh as I think of that. There is no such thing as giving too much to people who love and support me despite my misgivings and mistakes.

I think about how much it would help. Provide room to breathe, an extra opening in a room consistently being filled with water. The proverbial ceiling being magically raised the closer we come to drowning. Treading water still requires effort though.

I harken back to my father telling me how relative money is. There is always a purchase, investment, or appetite waiting to happen, to be filled. Whether it is over time or instantaneously. I admire that he is not bound by money, even though it has dictated many of our decisions recently. How in some way or another, it can often dictates life’s decisions, big or small.

I then think of how I could use that money to travel. How freeing it would be travelling with a big budget. I wouldn’t have to limit myself to two meals a day, I could choose hotels over hostels. But then I realize $50,000 in euros is considerably less, so may be hotels, with the occasional hostel. I feel spoiled and silly over the fact that I am thinking about hotels over hostels, when many people haven’t had the fortune to experience travel at all. It’s all relative though isn’t it.

Okay, so far we have some money for debt repayment, probably half, which leaves me with $25,000. Then I’d give $5000 each to my parents, that leaves us with $15,000, probably $3000 for my sister (that’s fair I think). Then, of course, some of this money would have to go to a charity or worthwhile cause, may be $2000 to an environmental cause or an organization promoting positive change within society. I feel strongly about that even though I can’t think of a specific cause at the moment.

That leaves me with about $10,000 all of which is going to be blown on a nice Rolex. Kidding.

With this very real, very tangible $10,000 I reason that I would have to use some to invest in something.

Bitcoin? Robbie is always telling me how I need to get into it.

“I’m telling you bro, make some money and buy bitcoin, that is what I’d be doing if I had any money ha.”

Real estate?

“Buy land AJ, because God ain’t making ain’t making any more of it.” -Tony Soprano via Mark Twain rings in my head.

As Natalie enters the car, I consider asking her what she would do with $50,000. But I’ve decided that this is my last ride for the day, I’m too tired to engage in conversation.

On my way back to the motel I am calling home, I repeatedly change how I would divvy up the money. More for charity, spread out the debt payment, more for investment. The scales continually shift, but what doesn’t is that daydreaming about these scenarios makes me feel good, a temporary escape from my current financial perils. I also find that no matter how I cut it, it is spent quickly. I reel in my mind, thoughts like these are not productive I remind myself. Stay focused on what I have, on what I’m making now. Stay present.

It will happen eventually, somehow, I convince myself. Bank on yourself, I say.

Then I grow depressed thinking about how hard it is to save money, to make money, the ways we make time for it as we go through life. How much of your life it can take up.

I get a call from an unknown number just as I pull into the driveway.

“Hey, I was your passenger earlier today, I think I might have left something in your van”.

“What did you leave?”

“A small, black notebook. I was sitting in the back, I had a briefcase and a bunch of papers with me, this was early this morning.”

“Oh yeah, I remember you. Alright, well I’ve been driving all day and clean up pretty much every day and haven’t noticed anything”. But I can take a look around and get back to you?”

There is hesitation on the other side and then resignation.

“Alright. Please, if you find it, tell me. Please.”

“Of course.”

This stuff happens all the time. I remember one time someone left their phone and ran back to me, banging their fist on the windows to get my attention.

Your notebook isn’t here buddy, I think to myself.

I grunt as I do my due diligence. I look to where most passengers sit, and find nothing.

Sometimes, things slide to the back. I use my phone as a flashlight and look under the rear seats. I notice the metallic reflection of a zipper.

Well, well, well. Look what we have here. I see a black, zipper bound notebook and reach for it. I am simultaneously cramped and stretched out in the van and this notebook is deep in the crevices of the back seats. It is a lot heavier than I anticipate and as I lazily try to pull it closer to me, cash comes out of the unzipped side. The higher I lift it up, the more cash comes out. I quickly try and recover the notebook to prevent anymore cash from coming out.

There are hundreds all over the van floor.

El Oh El. Am I in a movie?

I take a second to acknowledge just how bizarre this is. I shake my head and laugh. What is going on?

What is going on?!

I start picking up notes from the floor, and as I do, I find myself starting to count.

I stop counting after I get to $2000, and realize there are still so many notes on the floor.

I quickly jolt up and look out the windows. Has anybody seen me?

The streets and motel parking lot are similar to the quiet grey it has been all day.

I quickly pile all the cash together and head to the back of the van, protected by the tinted windows.

I end up counting. $20,000.

Wow.

Earlier, I was pre-occupied with $50,000. But hey, $20,000 could go a long way too. I would just have to shift the scales.

I nosily (guiltily) flip through the notebook, seeing if I can make sense of this twilight zone moment.

The cursive is too hard to read, but I piece together that this notebook seems to be a journal. There are only a few entries. The majority of the notebook is blank. I pick up bits about an ex-girlfriend, travel, a death in the family. Life.

No explanation about the money though.

I try and remember this passenger. He just seemed busy. Preoccupied. I tried to engage in conversation before I realized I shouldn’t. It was a moment like many.

What could all this money be for? Sinister mafioso origins, a down payment for a car, help for a friend- my mind runs through scenarios.

We all have our reasons don’t we?

I could just take this money, and no one would be the wiser. This stuff happens all the time.

I start rationalizing it as some sort of cosmic sign. May be this money is meant for me. This is how people move forward in the world. Seeing the way money has crippled me this year, how it has forced me to think about it has been dejecting because, I know money isn’t everything, but lately it feels like it is. May be it is.

Money is freedom, but freedom isn’t contingent on money.

There is a whole lot of freedom in my hands right now though.

I call back the number.

“Hello”

“Hey, how is it going? It is your Uber driver from today. I found your notebook, it was in the back the whole time. May be we can pick a place to meet up?”

I sense the controlled excitement in his voice.

“Oh wow, great. Yeah that sounds good.”

We hash out details. I tell him I can meet him now if he wants.

What is fifty grand to someone like me?

What is twenty grand to someone like me?

Guess we won’t find out, not today anyways.