On September 30th, 2013, I had “it all.”
On October 1st, 2013, I lost it all.
It didn’t happen immediately; that day was merely a catalyst for a river of loss that no damn could ever contain.
On October 1st, 2013, I was arrested by the FBI and charged with one count of mail fraud.
I defrauded a tech giant for just under a year, and it caught up to me on October 1st.
No one took anything from me; it was my choices and my choices alone that lost it all.
My career was the first to go, then any money I had, my possessions, my homes, cars, and eventually my marriage.
Pre-prison, I was my salary and the status-seeking materialism my salary afforded.
I didn’t know who I was without it, and I was terrified to find out; what if it wasn’t enough?
What if I wasn’t enough without money or materialism?
The river of loss ultimately led to losing my status-seeking materialism identity and, along with it, my will to live.
Fortunately, my best friend visited me in prison and showed me I had worth beyond what I’d always believed made me worthy and enough.
It’s been a decade of reinventing my life from scratch, and when I say scratch, here’s an example:
There were more nights I skipped dinner because I didn’t have the $4.25 to both buy a one-way subway pass to get home from work and a piece of breaded chicken cutlet this one guy at the deli would sell to me for $1.50.
The other guys behind the counter sold that same cutlet for $2.50. I hated it when they were working.
Here are 13 Things I Learned About Money After Losing It All (and the career that produced it):
1. It’s a tool, nothing more.
2. I used that tool to fill myself from within; that’s not how the tool works.
3. Who I genuinely am is much different than the money I earn and the things I own.
4. The goalpost would never stop moving; enough would never be enough until I understood I was enough.
5. I relied on money as my identity without taking the time to get to know myself – and suffered greatly when I lost it.
6. Skipping meals because I couldn’t afford them taught me more about myself and life than money in the bank ever could.
7. The high from receiving money is ephemeral; creating meaningful work cultivates a perpetual cistern of joy and fulfillment.
8. I believed I needed money to be respected. If people respected me because of my money, they didn’t respect me; they respected my money.
9. Pre-prison, I chased money to be happy; post-prison, I create things that cultivate joy, meaning, and fulfillment – that also earn money. Creating is much more fun.
10. Even when I had “nothing,” I still gave money and winter gloves (purchased for $1) to the homeless – that made me feel wealthy in ways corporate success never could.
11. I compromised my values, principles, and dreams for money, status, and prestige. Living in alignment with my values, principles, and dreams is worth more than my bank account.
12. I thought I could buy the freedom I needed to create the life I said I wanted; what I needed was the clarity, commitment, and courage to create the life I wanted – and those don’t cost a dime.
13. Chasing money and materialism to be accepted, feel worthy, and be enough denigrated my self-acceptance, self-worth, and adequacy because I was informing myself I wasn’t any of those things w/o money and materialism.
My relationship with money has been a challenging one.
But this experience, for which I am humbly grateful, has given me the gift of perspective and lessons that can’t be learned in the shadow of success, only loss.
One more bonus lesson:
I didn’t actually lose everything. That was a story I was telling myself.
I had family, friends, health, and a willingness to create something new.
So, really, I was very wealthy.
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