In my youth, at around the tender age of 15, I watched my friend Jo enjoy the privileges of inherited wealth. His life was a canvas painted with the colors of affluence, and I couldn’t help but envy his ability to effortlessly purchase the latest Nike custom shoes or indulge in countless hamburgers while I carefully rationed my snacks. His wardrobe exuded coolness, and he possessed an array of captivating gadgets that were beyond my reach.
Fast forward to age 18, when I found myself grappling with the weighty decision of choosing a major for university. My mind was fixated on one goal: securing a high-paying job, irrespective of my true passions. Unlike Jo, who seemed unburdened by such concerns, I couldn’t fathom the idea of pursuing an apparently ‘useless’ major like philosophy.
By the time I reached 22, the pressing need for financial stability loomed over me like a relentless shadow. The pursuit of money, I mused, was akin to treading on a tightrope. I took it seriously, even if I pretended otherwise. Jo, on the other hand, enjoyed a certain carefree luxury. He could effortlessly venture into entrepreneurship or even take on a job at an ice cream parlor if it piqued his interest.
Fast forward to age 30, and I was diligently constructing my career, yearning for the day when I could become a partner in my firm. I was prepared to work tirelessly, yet my dreams were eclipsed by the weight of loans and the daunting task of accumulating wealth. Meanwhile, Jo had long surpassed my financial standing, devoid of any debts, and relishing the sweet taste of an everlasting holiday. Life seemed to be his playground, while I continued striving for my own chance at joy.
At age 35, I embarked on the journey of marriage, deeply in love with my significant other, but acutely aware of our financial limitations. Love, I realized, could only flourish where there was room for growth. It dwindled in the presence of poor decision-making. In Jo’s world, choice was a luxury seldom denied. He could effortlessly elevate the lives of those around him, sparing them from the toil of financial sustainability.
As I reached 40, my thoughts were consumed by the daily demands of raising children, a task fraught with challenges and expenses. Jo, seemingly unfazed by such concerns, had the means to hire nannies and chefs to support his wife. We often visited his home for a shared meal, a luxury I yearned to provide my own children, not because I couldn’t feed them, but because the experience of having a meal prepared by someone else was so enticing.
At age 55, our children finally left the nest, and I wondered if I was finally free. Time-wise, yes, but financially, not quite. I couldn’t help but envy Jo’s unwavering commitment to supporting his children, never imposing a rigid timeline for their financial independence. Eventually, our children achieved financial independence, albeit at different paces.
As I approached 65, our couples began to travel together. While we couldn’t always afford extravagant journeys like Jo, we savored the occasional indulgence. Nevertheless, I pondered alternative uses for the money spent on travel.
At age 70, retirement beckoned for both Jo and me, though it seemed Jo had been living a retiree’s dream since his twenties. I embraced my newfound leisure with enthusiasm, all the while marveling at Jo’s unwavering contentment with his chosen lifestyle.
Around age 80, Jo’s time on this Earth came to an end. He left behind a heartfelt letter, expressing his admiration for my relentless pursuit of success and his pride in my achievements. He acknowledged my envy but also my lack of judgment.
At 85, lying in a hospital bed, I reflected on my life. I had worked diligently to secure access to medical services, a stark contrast to Jo’s seemingly effortless existence. Despite the passing years, one truth remained: I had envied Jo, and in some ways, I still did. I had never wished to be consumed by hunger, but I had always hungered for something more.
