I saw an article today - about a bloke who has pared down so much he now only owns 111 things.
This got me to thinking about the Man Who Lived Without Money and sundry other purists.
The thing is.
I really need to know a lot more about these people, because you know, if you actually don't have anything, that's one story, but if you don't have anything, but your dad owns half Hampshire that's a different story.
Time after time I've read inspiring and uplifting accounts of people who have done without, hacked out a living, created their own space, lived in a bender in a clearing ... and then in the end, the inheritance kicks in. Or they sell the family jewels.
I know people, who truly believe they are carving out a life, living in rented accommodation, or in a communal setting, and they haven't even pointed out to themselves that they have wealthy parents who presumably aren't immortal. I have no idea if they're in denial about the money or the mortality, but one of them, for sure. So before they they themselves grow old and dependent, they know full well, whether they acknowledge it or not, that this will not be all. This is not it. In the normal run of things, they will suddenly find themselves materially much better off, if sorrowful.
We had friends a long time ago, who set out to build a house in Ireland, on the wild west coast, on a plot of land they'd acquired heaven alone knows how, and at the time, I was way jealous of their adventure.
Except. It turns out his well heeled family had mucho connections in that part of the world. Mainly builders. So he kind of picked up work whenever he needed it, and also had somewhat of a helping hand on the construction side of things.
Meanwhile her parents actually did own half Hampshire. So mummy would pop over on the ferry periodically with a Fired Earth floor for the kitchen in the back of her Volvo.
Oh and then they had the rock star relative who just gave them cars and stuff.
None of this is to wish anyone any ill will. If I had an inheritance, I too would own land in Cornwall or Wales. (Would I sink all my money into it, and then live off Tax Credits? As it will never happen, I can't confirm or deny. I like to think not.)
But. And this is a big But. (I hope no-one's counting breaches of grammar around here!)
What we have to show for our lives, Is. It. The likelihood of either of us having an unknown relative about to shuffle off and leave us even a few grand is vanishingly small.
Neil's parents maxed out their house on equity release, go on a gazillion holidays a year, and are only in financial cahoots with his younger brother. Hurtful? Yes. But that's another story.
My parents are long dead, I have one surviving sibling who has five children, a dozen or so grandchildren, and lives off her state pension.
For this reason, because we chose to play the wild card when we were young, because we saw California sunsets and Carolina day breaks, because we brought our children up in the wild, home educated, taught them to milk goats and grow food and ride ponies, because we took time to be with them day and night when they were small, and treasure all those days - now, we must do the hard work, because if we don't, we will have nothing.
And I do mean nothing. This is it.
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