The richest life
A few weeks ago, a very successful person in my community told me that he works 120 hours a week. I’ve been thinking about it off and on ever since.
We were talking about prosperity, and the fact that an organization we’re both interested in is facing an income/expense challenge. (That is, its expenses are greater than its income.) For him, the problem was simple: not enough prosperity, as defined by “not enough BMWs in the parking lot.”
Again, that phrase has haunted me, in part because a car for me is a means of getting from one place to another with as little expense, environmental damage and trouble as possible. When I see an expensive car, I always think, “What they could have DONE with that money!” I think of wells in African villages and after-school programs in inner cities.
More importantly, working 120 hours in a week seems the most abject form of slavery to me. I stop to figure out if it’s even possible — yes, that’s more than 17 hours a day, seven days per week. What about sleep — glorious, restorative, dream-filled, health-building, mind-clearing, mood-lifting sleep? Or the only thing that really makes us happy, the company of people we care about? What about all the great books there are to read and the delightful movies there are to see? What about long walks among trees and singing birds? What about life?
I’ve come to the conclusion that we have very different definitions of prosperity, he and I. He has a lot of money and property and is highly regarded by many people who admire money and property. I have the freedom to sleep in each morning, work where I want to, and carve out hours in the day to walk, do yoga and spend time with the people I love.
We are both prosperous, and yet we think of each other as impoverished.
I wonder how many other people that’s true of?