Wealth

When I was young, much younger than I am now; when my hair was still brown, I bought a notebook. I paid the lady at the checkout, and instead of keeping my change, bought a lottery ticket. And that, dear reader, was the only lottery ticket I have ever bought.

I’m not sure what the odds are of the only lottery ticket you ever buy being a winner, but they were in my favour that day. In fact, so excited was I about winning $20,000 (which was worth much more at the time), that I put that little black book in the top drawer and forgot about it for weeks.

I spent some of the money on a bag, which I lost on holiday about a year later, and the rest went into a bank account for emergencies. A few weeks later, the euphoric rush of lottery- winning beginning to fade, I came across that little black notebook that I had been so excited to buy, yet so quick to forget about. I wrote, then and there, about my day and what I had seen and what I had done and who I had been with.

And so it began, a lifetime of writing, cutting, sticking, and journaling in this little book, whenever I could find the time. I wrote in it on ships halfway across the Atlantic, I wrote in it when my face was aching with laughter, I wrote it when my heart was wrought with grief. There were times the ink ran with salty tears that dripped from my nose onto the page, there are pages with badly developed photos of people I have lost, and people I have gained along the way.

If my life was a little black notebook, I would be in the last few pages now. My hair, no longer brown, is thinning and grey, silver thread spun around my crinkled face. I’m at a time of my life where I cannot help but contemplate the years that I have lived. I don’t want to forget the laughter, the joy and the love, but I also don’t want to forget the low points either. It has been in the darkest of times that I have found true faith and love.

Increasingly my mind feels foggy, memories come to me, but they leave again before I can catch them. I can’t put names to faces that I have seen and loved all my life. In fact, I can’t even remember what I was doing before I sat down to write this.

But as I reflect on a whole life well lived, I can’t help but think about that day I bought the lottery ticket. I thought that I had gained true wealth that day, but I gained so much more the day I found the notebook hiding in my top drawer. Looking back, I’m not sure that I could even tell you what I spent that money on, I had forgotten about it for years until today. That notebook however, is my lifeline. When my ageing brain fails me, my notebook is always there, memories in physical form.

Getting older has made me realise that wealth isn’t measured in money, cars or property; it’s measured in nights spent dancing with friends, telling family how much you love them, time spent marvelling at nature. This small, black book is worth more to me than any amount of money I could’ve won, it is my memories and my wealth, all my happiness and all my sorrows.

As much as I would like to carry on, this is the final line of the final page of my little black book, so just remember dear reader, that even if you haven’t a penny to your name, you may be far richer than you think.