Ticket 2 Ride

I held a one hundred dollar bill in my hand and remembered what that amount of money seemed to me 60 years ago. Of course then, I had never seen, let alone held, a hundred dollar bank note.

If I was lucky, I had some loose change and maybe a crumpled up dollar bill to my name. Now, I can’t be bothered with coins. A few reside in the console of my car. Even paper money is something I have, but never use. The feel of money is not a physical sensation these days; looking at a spreadsheet or a statement is how I get my financial kicks now. Welcome to the digital age, baby.

Back to the story.

I was with some other kids, we were in their kitchen, down the block from where I lived. The older sister of the friend who lived there, was talking about getting one hundred dollars. A kid with a hundred dollars! How was that possible? Only adults had access to money like that.

The glow from that conversation followed me home. I still remember it to this day. One hundred dollars is a lot of money, at least it was then. I’ve handled thousands of dollars in paper money in my life, so it’s not like paper money makes me high or speak in tongues, but there is something about $100 that still seems important to me. It’s a measure from my youth that denotes something. Maybe because it seemed unattainable.

My mother recently gave me a check not long ago, and I drove to the bank and deposited it. Holding that check did nothing special to me. Oh, I appreciated the gift, but it was a piece of paper, and holding it in my hand gave me no unusual feeling or sensation.

If I think back to being nine years old, money only existed in my dreams. If I was lucky, my birthday or Christmas might provide a few bucks that I could hold in my hand. Yes, there was doing odd jobs, collecting pop bottles, a paper route, or bartering with neighborhood pals over Matchbox cars or G.I. Joe accessories. My pocket might have a few coins, but paper money is what grownups carried. My mother would usually say that it was burning a hole in my pocket. She was right. Money never stayed in my pocket very long.

Some other friends and I found a rock that looked like a dinosaur fossil. It wasn’t, but close enough that we talked about what we would buy after selling it. For a hot minute, we were rich!

Even today, when the dinner check arrives or I’m in the checkout at the grocery store and bill exceeds $100, I still get that feeling – wow, that’s a lot of money. Of course, with 60 years of inflation, I’m surprised a Happy Meal doesn’t cost that much. It’s all relative I guess. A small house that sold for $20,000 then, now exceeds $200,000.

Now that I’m retired, my views on money are probably more complicated. On a fixed income, I’m fortunate to be relatively healthy, and live comfortably, but conservatively. My stepfather taught me the joy of gifting, investing in people and causes I believe in.

A major illness or accident can certainly change my situation, and I admit, when my monthly investment statement arrives it makes me a bit nervous. The graph usually goes up, but sometimes it goes down. Life is like that. That nervousness I feel when I tear open the statement is just a reminder of how money can drive our lives, even when we have limited or no control over the factors. Make smart decisions, prioritize and don’t look to money to find happiness. It’s a tool, not a god, don’t worship it or center your values around it.

If only I could talk to that nine year old, who was wide-eyed, naive, and in a hurry to grown up, I would tell him, don’t worry so much, it’s going to be fine.