Transfer of Addiction
Transfer of Addiction
When you’re accustomed to making money, hooked on investing and saving, a sordid addiction sets in. I’m not talking about shaking chills, the sweats, rigors. I’m referring to viewing yourself in a certain way. Viewing your relationship between yourself and money on atypical terms.
I am an earner. I make money. That’s how I envision myself. I started making X when I was young. Over the years I have churned and burned until X became 5X. I take pride in my acumen. I get and give advice based on my success. It’s my thing. Hey Doc G, how do I make 5X?
But it goes further. Not only do I make the money, I invest it. I buy stocks and bonds. I scoop up real estate in foreclosure and fix it. And rent it. Money always comes in, it never goes out. This is who I am. This is who I identify myself as. I am a doctor, I am an earner, I am a businessman.
Then I Discovered FIRE
A world opened up to me. Suddenly I realized that I have enough. Enough means that I don’t have to work so hard anymore. I can stop taking phone calls in the middle of the night, stop stressing over thousands of patient’s well-being, stop the palpitation inducing existence I have lived for the last twenty years.
As the anxiety recedes, a large gaping question bubbles from my innards and becomes a never-ending siren in my ears.
But then who am I?
I say that I am a husband and son. A father and spouse. A taker of long walks and a writer of short paragraphs. And although I have enough, this isn’t enough.
Because I am a doer and maker of things. I am a builder and exploiter of revenue streams. With every good intention of slowing down a new opportunity arises. A new consulting gig. A new cash cow.
Enough I scream and I start to blog. Get on twitter, and stress over my stat counter. Repeatedly. Incessantly. Maddeningly. My addiction transferred. My ire rising because I am caught in the same bear trap. I am achieving again. Striking out. Pushing the envelope.
I am sick. My anemic existence seen through this myopic lens of performance.
Yet perform I must. I must.
I’m going to try to do it differently this time.
No stats checking for at least the next week.