I would have done ANYTHING to walk around the block, say hi to a stranger, order a chai latte, walk my dog, grab tacos with a friend. They were laughing, holding hands, playing with friends, eating ice cream, and walking their dogs. And I would lay in bed, and just watch all of the people outside. I lived in a beautiful building in the heart of Lake Oswego, Oregon with floor to ceiling windows. I’ve never been to prison, but I’d imagine prison feeling similar. I was just a human trapped inside of a body of pure torture and misery. I missed being able to actually BE with my family. I was so despondent that I considered assisted suicide which was legal in Oregon. It didn’t matter how much fucking money I had. ![]() I developed allergies I never had before, I grew a tumor on my leg, I lost 22 lbs, my muscles atrophied, I lost padding in my hands and feet so everything I touched or walked on hurt. I had multiple autoimmune diseases, neurotoxicity, an antibiotic resistant staph infection, and insomnia. I started slurring my speech, I basically sounded drunk 24/7 (which is why I don’t drink alcohol). I had encephalitis which is a fancy word for brain inflammation. It took 8 months of testing to figure out that I had multiple diagnoses. Was this depression from not being able to walk? No. I had trouble breathing, vertigo, I was chronically fatigued. ![]() To make matters worse, about 6 months into this accident, I started to struggle with other areas of my health. In fact, I realized maybe some people weren’t meant to be my friends if they can’t help me at my worst, so I even cut some “friends” out. ![]() No one invited me to anything anymore because they knew I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t have friends who would come over to help me. And I didn’t just lose my dignity – I lost all of my connections. Having my brother put me on the toilet and pick me back up, was fucking humbling. I was kidding myself thinking about surfing. Heck, I couldn’t even use the restroom by myself or get dressed. I couldn’t drive, I couldn’t walk, I couldn't surf anymore. Over the next 10 months I worked my job from the comfort of my floor. We all go through tribulations, but I’m sharing this because I want you to think hard about the answer to this question – Does money buy happiness? I know you’re wondering where am I going with this, but hear me out. Excruciating, agonizing, harrowing, violent pain was a complete understatement. And I responded with these three choice words: What the fuck?Īt the age of 27, I had a degenerative spine disease with not only a dislocated vertebra but a bulging disc above it, an annular tear in the disc below it, and spinal stenosis (narrowing of the spinal canal). I had an MRI, and my doctor said these two words: degenerative retrolisthesis. I felt the most searing pain down my spine and no feeling in my legs. Fetch seemed harmless, but that day changed my life for good. In 2017, I slipped a vertebra backwards while throwing a tennis ball for my dog. The time of my life where I lacked the most connection, I made the most money – and quite frankly, I could give a shit about the green paper bills. But they were not happy without connection.Īnd I thought this was interesting because, I agreed. They had money to buy anything they desired. They have gorgeous homes, collectible cars, and $60,000 paintings on the walls that look like a 4 year-old finger painted. Some of them lost a spouse and they desire that connection that is now gone. ![]() They would give up all of their money if it meant they could have family and connection. Common denominator: family and connection. And so I started asking these tremendously wealthy multimillionaires what would make them happy. There’s a lot of research done on money and happiness, and I’ll get to it, but first I want to share with you about why I don’t think money alone buys happiness.įor starters, the millionaires that I know, are (mostly) genuinely unhappy. I want to share that no matter how much money I’ve earned, it didn’t buy ME happiness. I’ve been making well over 6 figures since I was 24 years old. Everyone has their take on this, but here’s mine. It probably depends on who’s blog post you’re reading.
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