Nutty rich people

Recently I returned from a trip to London, where I read an article about a pawnshop in a prosperous neighborhood there, where wealthy people were showing up to pawn very expensive jewelry because they needed quick cash to meet urgent expenses. I'm talking mortgages or car loans. I didn't know much about pawn shops (having never used one), but as the article explained, you leave a valuable item as security, and in exchange, the pawn shop will give you up to 50% of the item's value in cash. If you don't re-pay the loan, the shop keeps the item.

The article said that some of the jewelry was incredibly valuable -- worth several hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth. The people pawning this jewelry were in need of cash to pay their home mortgages.

This is nuts. Who are these incredibly idiotic people, who spent their money on expensive jewelry when they have mortgages they can't afford? What made them buy something as frivolous as diamonds when they can't ensure a roof over their heads? They fell into the trap that Ed McMahon did -- getting lured into spending money on unnecessary items when the basics aren't assured.

Maybe I'm too conservative, fiscally speaking. But I believe that true wealth is having no debt. One of the first things I did when I became wealthy was to pay off my mortgage. No bank will ever take my house. I may not have fancy jewelry. I may not have a luxury car.

But I own my house, and I don't owe anybody anything. That, to me, is the definition of wealth.

You never have enough to feel rich

Early in my career, in the mid-1980's, I hit a new high in my annual income. It was $30,000. I was ecstatic. I felt rich. I looked at my checking account and suddenly the balance looked huge. I thought, "if only I could make $100,000, I'd feel really rich."

A few years went by. My career started to take off. My annual income hit $200,000. I was amazed. I felt rich. I paid off my home mortgage and took a trip to the Caribbean. I thought, "if I can just manage to put a million in the bank, I'll be really rich."

Another few years went by. My investment account hit a million. My house was finally paid off. I'd reached my financial goal. But I didn't really feel rich yet. I still felt financially insecure. Assuming an annual return of 5%, a million dollars will bring in $50,000. It didn't sound like enough yet to fund a retirement. But an annual return of $150,000 sounded about right. I needed three million dollars to feel really, really secure.

A few more years went by. My investment account now has five million dollars. I've reached my goal -- and more. But in the meantime, my spending has gone up. I've bought a larger house. I've bought other real estate. All of it is paid-for, and I still have no debts, but I'm taking more foreign trips. My family acquires stuff. I'm too busy to clean the house so now we have a weekly house-cleaner. I'm fixing up the garden. I worry about inflation. I worry about the economy. I watch the stock market go up and down, up and down. I don't feel rich yet. I think, if I have ten million dollars in my investment account, maybe then I'll feel completely secure.

And so it goes.

I've read studies that say no one ever really feels rich. They always think, "if I have three times what I have now, then I'll feel rich." And that certainly is what's happened to me.

It may also have to do with the fact that I started off middle class, and worried about the future. I grew up in a household where pennies were tight, where my dad always thought we were on the verge of losing everything, and we never felt secure. I think you carry that mind-set into your adult years. I'll always be saving, always be worried that I could lose it all in an instant.

So I keep working, keep feeling like I'm engaged in "a struggle." Even though, logically speaking, I know this is bullshit. I'm as secure as one could ever be.

I just need, oh, about fifteen million dollars to feel really secure.

Who are these people?

This past weekend, the New York Times had an article about the "Yachtini" set that's converging on Montauk. To accompany the article, there was a photo of tanned, trim, gorgeous young women in their sundresses. The article talked about the young ladies in their high heels, showing up at fancy schamcy parties where they sip expensive cocktails and mingle with the jet set.

Oh, come on. I am the jet set. And I wouldn't be caught dead hanging out with these chicks.

Here's my take on it. Many of these girls (and their counterparts, the cool, tanned guys in their deck shoes) are frauds. They're wannabe millionaires. They're hanging out in Montauk and the Hamptons, looking for millionaires willing to ditch their first wives (or their second or third wives) in exchange for the latest pretty young thing. The irony is, these gold-diggers are probably cavorting with other frauds. And if there's any poetic justice in the world, they'll end up with each other.

Or, if they get lucky and do indeed land a millionaire (who ditches his wife for them), then the millionaire deserves what's coming to him. A woman who's not marrying him for his scintillating wit and compassion, but for what's in his bank account.

Maybe I'm just not part of "the scene," living where I do in reality land, hanging out with my original spouse. But the point of having money, from my point of view, is quite simply, peace of mind. The freedom to go out to dinner whenever I want to, travel to exotic lands, and not have a mortgage. Or debt of any kind.

I look at that article about the tanned and beautiful in Montauk, and I wonder what it's like to be a millionaire man, faced with all the temptations of those lovely young things. I wonder if I'd be as foolish (and delusional) as to believe those girls would want me if I had a big zero in my bank account. I would hope that I'd remember the spouse who married me and the friends who stuck by me when I had nothing, and who remained my friends while I was building my fortune.

I hope that I'd realize that these janey-come-latelies couldn't care less about me, except for the fact I have a fortune.

This, my friends, is the secret to a millionaire's happiness. It's not the bank account. It's knowing I can count on people who love me for who I am. It's sticking with spouse number one. It's understanding that money isn't for showing off or for acquiring a bigger house than the other guy.

Money is the freedom to pursue your passions. Travel, books, music, whatever.

It's not the tanned young things in their sundresses.

Everyone wants a piece of you

And this is the downside of being a millionaire.

Ever since I became known locally as the lady with the money, the lady who'd "made it," I find that my friendships (such as they were) have changed. My dearest, oldest friends remain my friends. These are the people who knew me when, before I became famous, before my bank account swelled to what it is today. Soon after I became a success (and very publicly too) I walked into a local fish market, and some guy in the store said, loudly, "I'd like some of her clams."

I never ventured into that fish market again.

My peripheral acquaintances have morphed into a different sort of relationship. Suddenly I'll get an email from someone I haven't heard from in years. Or I'll get a phone call from someone who wants to talk to me about their latest "project." Or I get begging letters, from charities -- some worthwhile, some not -- telling me that a representative would like to sit down and explain to me how important their organization is. (Followed, of course, by a request for a check.)

I'm sick of it.

I've stopped answering the phone if Caller I.D. shows me an unfamiliar number. I don't return calls from charities I don't support. I react to every surprise invitation with suspicion. I want, most of all, to be left alone.

I feel like the cow that's been milked too many times and I just want to have my old friendships back. The friendships that have nothing to do with money.

Part of the problem is that I'm also in a position to influence the careers of many other people in my field -- and I get asked for favors all the time. Sometimes I'm delighted to help out. Other times, I know that people are being nice to me only because of what I can do for them. I feel used and abused by complete strangers who only want what I can give them.

This is a reason that rich people only hang out with other rich people.

I never understood this before. I thought that rich people were just being exclusive, and wouldn't deign to hang out with the "common folk." Now that I am (sort of) a rich person, I've discovered that rich people are dealing with the issues that I'm dealing with -- a sad realization that no one likes us for who we are, but for what we can give them.

A friend of mine is a really well-known singer/songwriter who's made a fortune with his art. He socializes with almost no one. But we've become friends, and primarily for this reason: I need nothing from him, and he needs nothing from me. We can relate as equals. We want to be friends with people who aren't millionaires, but we've been burned so many times that we've lost our trust in people liking us for just who we are.

So we begin to hang out only with people in our tax bracket. People with our level of professional achievement.

I'm sad about this because I grew up middle class and I feel most comfortable with other middle class people. Yet I'm cautious and suspicious of any approaches by regular people.

If you are a "regular" person, here's a hint: be friendly to your local millionaire. Don't be friendly because of the favors you can ask of them, but because you have other things on common with them. They may be lonely, and for good reason -- no one relates to them in a "normal" way. Everyone wants a favor of them. If you like them as people, then relate to them as people. Not as the guy with the big bank account.

They're human, just like you.

Do I look like a millionaire?

No.

If you were to pass me on the street, you'd never guess I was particularly wealthy. I look like just another woman wearing blue jeans, sandals, a sleeveless shirt, and no makeup. I don't wear designer clothes. I'm still wearing the same Seiko wrist watch I got as a wedding gift thirty years ago. (And yes, it's still running!) I get my hair cut at a local salon about every two months, when I can find the time. I hate to shop, so I stick to my well-worn pants and soft cotton shirts. I wear no jewelry except a wedding ring. I drive a ten-year-old sedan and have no plans to buy a new car until this one falls apart.

I'm still married to my first and only husband.

I am, in short, very much like the description in that book THE MILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR.

So what do I do with my money? Am I total miser?

Not at all. I own a very, very nice house in a spectacular setting. I own other property -- all of it unique and desirable, and none of it for speculative purposes. I bought these other properties to hold onto for myself because I love them and believe in their inherent worth. And I want to pass them on to my children.

And I do have one major indulgence: I love to travel. I long to see all the countries I never could afford to see when I was younger. I love nothing better than to pack a suitcase and hop on a plane to some new destination.

But to look at me, strolling around town, you might think I was just another middle-aged housewife. If, that is, you'd never seen me before.

The problem is this: people in my town know who I am, and they know I have money.

And this is, indeed, a problem. Because once people know you have money, that's when your life gets complicated.

Who am I?

Yes, I am a millionaire. But not a super-duper rich one. I'm worth about, oh, ten million dollars, more or less, including the value of my primary residence. I know this makes me a very fortunate person, and I'm indeed grateful that this country (the U.S.A.) has given me the opportunity to achieve this level of security. Because, you see, I wasn't born rich. I was born solidly middle class, the daughter of a social worker and a restaurant cook, and it was only relatively late in life (in my mid-forties) when I began to earn a hefty income. How? you may ask.

I can't really tell you, because I'd like to stay anonymous.

Suffice it to say that no worker was exploited, no gimmicks were involved, and no, I don't work on Wall Street. I earned my living through my own creative endeavors, and my creations seem to be popular around the world. My own imagination has been the source of my wealth. Last year my income was three million dollars.

But I'm not writing this blog to gloat. I'm writing it because I think there are a certain number of people out there, just like me, who suddenly find themselves wealthy and don't know how to adapt. Or they're slightly embarrassed by it. Or they think they don't deserve it. Or they find out that it results in changes in their lives or their friendships or their relationships, and they're distressed by these changes.

I'm dealing with this myself, and I'm hoping that I can find other people who can relate.

First off, I want to get something straight. I don't want anyone to think of me as an "asshole rich person." I try to be generous because I remember what it was like to worry about paying my bills. I am a Democrat. I pay my taxes (the maximum tax bracket -- I simply don't have that many business deductions) and I don't begrudge my checks to the I.R.S. I think it's the price one pays to live in a well-ordered society. I am a social liberal and a fiscal conservative, and I think that every American should have health coverage.

But I know I am rich and I know that people will make assumptions about me because of this.

Anyway, that's who I am. And I hope that others out there -- people who are dealing with the issues I and my family are dealing with -- will find my thoughts valuable.