I Love Money
How does that declaration make you feel? Has your body contracted? Have you already formed an opinion of me?
We say we love our families, our work, our travels, and nobody flinches. Money pays for every one of them. The moment we admit we love it, people cringe as if we'd confessed to a crime.
A man who loves money gets called a visionary. When we say it, we're asked to explain ourselves.
The flinch shows where our money story lives: in our bodies, before any thought.
We're allowed to say "I want money." Wanting points at a purpose, and a purpose makes it acceptable. Tie it to security, a cause, the good we'll do with it, and heads nod. "I love money" is a different beast. Love needs no reason, and in a woman's mouth that's dangerous.
This is my first time going public with it.
When I said it to myself back then, it felt uncomfortable. Straight away I wanted to soften it, to justify it, to say what the money was for. I was reaching for an excuse mid-sentence.
Saying I love money comes with being comfortable with money sitting in my account. Money that's not allocated, invested, or already decided about.
Money with a job is easy to live with. It's halfway out the door. Money with no job, kept for me alone, is where the love is tested. This is the money we rush to give a plan and a reason to leave.
So I let it be there, just being, breathing. I look at the balance and feel pride, joy, even peace. I love having it there, and now you know.
I love money, and I've stopped explaining why.
Now it's your turn.
Say it: I love money. Then see what comes up in your body. Stay with it, and let the sentence stand with nothing tacked on after. Return to it again and again.
Do it for yourself first, then with the rest of us. One woman saying it is a practice. All of us saying it is a liberation movement.
And I want to love much more into existence.
I write and talk about it every week in SURPLUS, my newsletter and private podcast on desire at full size and the money that answers it.
