May 4, 2026
I move through most days like a regular person. I work, I eat, I shit, I sleep. Rinse. Repeat. And I feel generally content, albeit a little bored. Other days, I’m pissed off. I’m aware that this is not unique; such is the human experience! My pissed-off-edness is usually triggered by the limitations imposed by my monstrous student loan debt, the state of the world (it’s ass right now, btw), and those people that try to wave you through a four-way stop even though they have the right-of-way. Just GO! On these poopy days, to avoid a continued downward spiral, I force myself to practice gratitude. As recommended by probably every therapist and wellness article ever written, I go for a walk and make a mental list of all the things in life that I’m grateful for. It’s just like sharing with family around the Thanksgiving table except there’s no canned cranberry sauce and the purpose isn’t to set an intention for the meal, the purpose is so that I don’t throw a brick through a window. Of course I’m grateful for my home, for my health, for my family and friends, for nutritious food, potable water, and all the other modern conveniences of the American middle class. I’m grateful to be in the ever-shrinking American middle class. And I’m grateful that my neighborhood isn’t being bombed, that I’m not wrongfully imprisoned, and that I get to enjoy the small gifts in life – like the whirring sound of a fat bumblebee in flight or making my money back on a $5 scratch-off. Most of the time, the gratitude practice readjusts the trajectory of my attitude and I can settle back into my regular person routine. But some of the time, I end up just getting more pissed off.
Recently, on one of these more-pissed-off days, I was lamenting my financial status a.k.a. the $1,800/month Sallie Mae-branded ball and chain that I’ll be dragging into my mid-40s. I’m grateful for my education and employment; but anthropology and public health degrees are not known for their high earning potential. And before you say “Yeah but you’re the one that made those choices blah blah blah.” I KNOW. Please, I have already wrestled with the teenage idiot who signed for the loans. Anyway – on one of these sourpuss days, I walked and wondered: do billionaires have gratitude practices? Do they need to? The way that I need to? Or do they do it in a Forbes “look at what made me successful (definitely not the exploitation of labor)” article type of way? Or in a Goop way?
Do they have to make themselves walk to the Dollar General so that they can feel grateful about moving their body in the sunshine? Do they have to remind themselves to be grateful for the food at home even though they really want to eat out? Are they glad they get to do laundry in their basement instead of at the laundromat? Do they ever tell themselves that they have enough? Do they notice the bumblebees? Or buy $5 scratch offs with the impossible hope that tomorrow could be easier? Or do they just throw the brick through a window and pay to someone else to fix it? Correction: do they throw the brick through a window and pay some poor healthcare-less schmuck pennies on the dollar to fix it?
I know that comparison is the thief of joy. And I know that comparing the tangible assets of my life to someone who makes at least 16,12,800% more than me isn’t a fair way to measure the worth of existence. But on some days, those truths feel a little bit harder to know.
I will never be wealthy but I am rich in this life for an infinite number of reasons. I get to watch thousands of lightning bugs dance in the tall grasses of my backyard every summer. I get to relish in mending a worn pair of jeans. I get to cut rhubarb from the side of the house each May. And then I get to watch it bubble under a lattice crust in the same old oven that countless families have used before me. To roast Thanksgiving turkeys and bake birthday cakes made from mix bought at the dollar store. The one just down the tree-lined, dandelion-speckled street.
TL;DR – Do billionaires have souls?
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