Money Talks: Are You Listening?

“Sometimes the voice of money isn’t loud—it’s subtle, steady, and life-changing… if you choose to listen.”

I used to think money was just about numbers. Income in. Expenses out. Save some, spend some. Repeat. It was practical, unemotional, a means to an end. That’s how I grew up. In a house where emotions were scarce, but bills were always paid on time. Love wasn’t spoken much, but discipline was. Money, in many ways, was the only thing we respected.

My father worked twelve-hour days at the factory. He barely spoke during dinner, except to ask if I’d done my homework. I admired him—and feared him. He never bought himself anything nice, but we never went without. When I asked him once why he worked so hard, he simply said, “Because money talks. And I want to make sure it speaks well of us.”

At the time, I didn’t understand what he meant.

Fast forward twenty years. I was working at a marketing firm in the city, chasing promotions, chasing bonuses, chasing an invisible line of “success.” I had everything on paper—good salary, sleek apartment, even a car that turned heads. But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d truly laughed. Or had dinner with someone without checking my phone every five minutes.

One late evening, I found myself walking home after another long, hollow day. I passed a small coffee shop where an old man was playing the saxophone outside. A little girl, maybe seven or eight, dropped a crumpled dollar into his case and whispered something to him. He smiled, played a softer tune, and she danced—right there on the sidewalk, her arms open wide like wings.

I don’t know why, but I stopped and watched. She didn’t care who was looking. She was completely present. Free.

That moment stuck with me.

The next morning, I opened my banking app as usual. My paycheck had come in. A five-digit figure stared at me—but it didn’t make me feel anything. I remembered the girl’s smile from the night before. I remembered the saxophone. And I thought, is this what I’ve been chasing? Just numbers?

Later that week, I went to visit my parents. My father had aged so much, though he’d never admit it. We sat in the living room in silence, like we often did. The old clock ticked. The dog snored.

Then, out of nowhere, he said, “Do you ever hear it?”

“Hear what?” I asked.

He tapped his fingers on the armrest. “Money. It talks to you. Not when you’re young, but when you’re tired. When you’ve got everything but still feel like something’s missing.”

I looked at him differently then. He wasn’t just a man who clocked in and out of work. He was someone who’d learned the language of money early—how it doesn’t just buy things, but shapes lives.

“Money tells you who you are,” he said. “It reveals what matters to you. Look at your bank statements. Where your money goes is where your heart is.”

I went home that night and did just that. I looked at every expense for the last three months. Coffee shops. Ubers. New clothes. Subscriptions I barely used. I was spending a fortune to feel something—status, comfort, distraction—but not peace.

So I made changes. Small at first. I started donating a little every month to a literacy charity. I visited that coffee shop again and dropped $20 in the saxophonist’s case. He remembered me. I told him I saw the little girl. He smiled, “That’s my granddaughter. She dances for the joy of it. No stage needed.”

We talked for an hour. I learned more from him about life and music and family than I had from a year of corporate meetings.

Eventually, I took a hard look at my career. I wasn’t happy. So I left. I started freelancing—less money, more time. More presence. I began writing again, something I loved as a kid but gave up chasing checks. I volunteered on weekends. I reconnected with friends I hadn’t spoken to in years.

I started listening—not to what money could buy, but what it was trying to say all along:

“Use me, but don’t chase me. I can give you comfort, but not contentment. I can fill your wallet, but never your soul.”

Now, when I talk to younger people chasing success, I don’t tell them not to make money. I tell them to pay attention to what money reveals. Is it whispering peace—or pressure? Is it guiding you to freedom—or trapping you in fear?

Because yes, money talks. And once you learn to listen, your whole life can change.

Moral:

Money isn’t just currency. It’s a mirror. What it says depends on how you spend it—and how you live. Don’t just earn it. Listen to it.