Ah, To Be Rich!

So rich.

It strikes me anytime I am at an airport. Serene in my immaculate sweatpants and sneakers, rolling my extraordinary collection of Rimowa suitcases, going through the gates with ease and confidence, expertly taking out my extensive family of Apple devices as I go through security, everything packed and organized and elevated: I feel so rich.

It would almost seem real if I could get to the lounge and sit there behind my glasses without touching the food, but that would be forgetting that I’m me.
If I’m at the lounge, it’s a bloody buffet party.

What’s being rich anyway?

We so often talk about money like something to accumulate, a slightly immoral motive yet worthy goal to pursue, without ever really talking about “how much money exactly” - so we go about our careers in a sort of soft yearning, a blind pursuit, with the idea that if we’re lucky, we’ll be able to acquire enough of it to feel safe, to own our little corner in the world and to afford as many oat milk lattes as we care t…