Serendipity

Rich. For the most part, it’s all I ever wanted. I wanted to be rich. Rich enough that money didn’t have to be a part of the conversation. Rich enough that people would stop looking down on me. Rich enough to silence everything. Rich enough to find peace.

Money was always a part of the conversation growing up. I saw what being poor looked like. I heard my parents at night, their voices filled with worry—how and when the bills would be paid. The weight of it all, the stress, the uncertainty—I wanted no part of it.

I wanted to be rich. Filthy rich. Rich enough that I didn’t have to care anymore.

In chasing that dream, I lost myself. My values, my morals, my ethics. I let them go because money was the problem, so money had to be the answer. I told myself I had to get it—no matter how, no matter what.

I surrounded myself with people who only talked about money. My career. My potential. What I should be striving for. So I became obsessed. I needed to be RICH.

I was so damn tired of hearing about money that I wanted enough of it to shut everyone up.

Then, I met my wife and her sister. For the first time, the world was quiet. Money wasn’t a factor. We went to the movies. We played games. We had fun. And for the first time, money wasn’t a part of the conversation. What I had was enough for them. We went to Wonderland, and we enjoyed it. I had enough—to suffice for them, for me.

Rich… I didn’t care about money anymore. Rich… My needs and wants shifted. I didn’t need more money—I just needed to be loved. Loved without conditions. Without expectations. They gave me purpose. For the first time in a long time, my purpose wasn’t about being rich. It was about providing, about making sure they knew I loved them for who they were.

I was finally rich. Just not in the way I had once thought.

As my relationship with my wife grew, I only got richer. Her sister became a huge part of my life, and when their baby sister was born, I was even richer than I ever imagined. I was loved, and I could finally love freely—without the weight of expectation, without the pressure to provide something outlandish.

I’ve been around people who are filthy rich. I’ve been around people who are poor. And now, more than ever, I realize that money matters—it buys time, it provides necessities—but it doesn’t make a person rich. Love does. When your heart is full. When you have a reason to wake up. When you go to work knowing that what you do helps the people you care about. That’s when you’re truly rich.

I am the richest I’ve ever been, because I get to provide for the people I love. Yeah, I work every day. Yeah, I’m exhausted. But this richness—this life I have—has become the fuel that pushes me forward.

I am rich. Just not in the way most people think.