If I ask you, “what would you do if money were no object?”, you’ll have no trouble coming up with an answer.
Basically, this question asks us what our life would be like if we could have anything we wanted.
Back when I was in my early 20’s, I might have said the following:
- I’d be playing jazz guitar in a band somewhere, maybe Paris or Tokyo, perhaps Taipei or Kathmandu or somewhere bohemian in the South of France; basically, a place that attracts young music fans ready to have their minds blown(!!!).
Incidentally, I wasn’t then, nor am I now a big jazz fan. It just seemed really hard and, therefore, impressive. - I’d travel to every country in the world. The Sudan? Somalia? War-torn Wherever? Yep. Them too. If the situation called for it, I’d hire a hundred battle-hardened mercenaries to make sure my trip wasn’t a fatal one (for me, at least).
- I’d get lots of chicks.
- Material possessions, too: I’d buy or at least lease a spaceship and a baby-blue leather tuxedo, central air-con, all the premium channels on cable.
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But I’m wiser now. Today, if you asked me what I’d do if money were no object, I might say:
- Visit the dentist twice a year. The cats get to see the vet annually.
- Advance order the new iPhone so it’s in my wealthy little hand on July 18th or whenever (my personal shopper will know the exact date).
- A personal shopper
- Three 30” monitors, a $10,000 office chair, and a proper swinging arm for my keyboard.
- I’d set up a program to allow teenagers to spend a summer overseas somewhere.
- And art. My money would improve this nation’s creative landscape, me commissioning books and movies, first picking a topic that interested me, then collaborating with my favorite writers – Jonathan Franzen, Iain M. Banks, Dave Eggars, Nick Hornby, Charlie Kaufman, and Mike White. They’ll be my friends too; we’ll talk about what other people are like. My other friends will look on enviously.
- I’d bully politicians into passing laws that would cut New York City’s car traffic in half.
- I’d frequent Italy and Costa Rica in the winter, Reykjavik and Berlin in the summer. I’ll fly first class, sipping Scotch while giggling at the latest Will Farrell farce, my shoulders gently kneaded by a svelte, pony-tailed air hostesses.
- And I’d buy a drum kit. A good one. Made of some richly-colored, rare, American wood. Cherry or Sequoia. With a room to play it in, and I’d make the room soundproof so as to not annoy the neighbors. Except – really – I’d be living on an estate; the neighbors will be miles away.
- This estate of mine … there’ll be race horses gazing casually about the lawns, squash courts, a flying trapeze, and a waveless lake for waterskiing.
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