Poverty is often not what we think it is.  It’s not just about money.

Over the course of my life I have had the remarkable opportunity to meet a range of people across a spectrum of wealth.  This is an observation about those experiences.

I have a friend who has been homeless for fourteen years.  She chooses to be homeless for a myriad of reasons.  She lives on the streets by choice among a group of people who have also been homeless for many years. She has very little money, very little resources, and very little hope.  I would describe her life as an existence at best. When I see her, she holds her hand over her mouth because she has lost most of her upper teeth for various reasons associated with her choices in life. But when I look into her eyes, my heart breaks for her because her poverty is deeper than her possessions or place.

I contrast my friend with two “billionaires” that I have worked with in my life.  Both were exceptionally successful men who had built small empires.  Both happen to drive the same Lexus brand of car, wear incredible business suits, and were always looking for the next big score.  But both were also incredibly arrogant, driven, and lonely. Much of our business endeavors seemed to be about “getting”, which made me really wonder if “enough” is ever enough. Their appetites were insatiable.  Both were friendly…as long as we were making money or dreaming about making money. But when things didn’t work out they way we dreamed, they were ruthless.  Working with them became very hard because we were always the problem when something wrong happened.

Money didn’t change the sense of hopelessness to satisfying what was happening inside.  In both my homeless friends and the two billionaires, I could see a deep sense of wanting that would not go away with or without money. It made me sad but aware that my striving for money could not produce what I wanted it to produce, which was a sense of being comfortable in my own skin.  My heart longed for something more.

I contrast these relationships with a moment in my life that I was profoundly taken aback by the concept of money.  About twenty years ago, I went with my dorm room in college to the “Dumps” in Tiajuana.  The Dump was essentially a hill just inside the border that would be described as a homeless camp.  Most of the houses were half finished brick walls, some with roofs, and mostly without running water.  If it did, it was from a spicket.

We were there with an aid group providing medical services, food supplies, and to put on an arts day camp with the kids.  I remember connecting to this little boy about five who kept grabbing my leg.  What surprised me about him was that he was always smiling.  He was arguably in the same condition as my homeless friend, but he still had relationships.  He lived with his father and mother and two sisters in a one room shack with a broken door.  But he always smiled.  He had hope.

What is interesting about my experience in the Dump was not the it was unique, but that I’ve heard the same story over and over again.  So many of my friends who step into what we think of poverty, often find hope in the darkest of places.  It’s not the money but the perception we hold about our life in the midst of circumstance that defines us.  The little boy had virtually nothing, but he had hope.  When I looked into his eyes I could see it.  But when I looked into the faces of both billionaires, I didn’t see that hope. I saw loneliness.  I saw pain and suffering.  I saw fear that drove them on and on and on.

I’m also not doubting that the little boy had his moments of pain and suffering.  But sometimes I really wonder if poverty is a perception of the self that is empty. The void grows in a way that becomes insatiable.

Have you every had experiences like these?

What happens when those who have forget how to let go?

I have a lot of friend who wish they were financially wealthy.  And I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “If I were rich, I would give it all away.”  It’s a nice sentiment, but one I sometimes strain to believe.  And here’s why.

The above chart comes from Jon Perr and it illustrates something quite interesting. (ht) I’ve been thinking a lot lately about some of the significant differences my grandparent’s generation decided to make about social investment, especially the financially wealthy, as opposed to my generation.

If you look at the two times the United States has been in a true depression, now and 1927, both are when the highest tax brackets have been contributing a substantially lower amount of taxes.  In 1927, the top tax bracket was 24%.  Last year it was 35%.  I just thought that was too convenient for words. 1980 could be considered a recession (and I’m even willing to admit it was a depression) but it was significantly influenced by bad fiscal management and Iran.

The most significant periods of rebuilding occurred when those who had, let go for the sake of investing in the other.  Taxes aren’t fun, but as much as we don’t like them, they act as a social pool towards redevelopment, and management of the social infrastructure.

I also completely understand the desire to keep one’s money.  It doesn’t seem fair that the top 5% pay 50% of all taxes.  But if you flip this idea on its head, the one’s at the top are the only one’s capable of solving the problem.  If 5% pay that much, that means they are the ones controlling the assets.  They hold the responsibility.

But what if the very act of holding onto that money, will be the downfall of that same economy?

I say all of this because we live in the shadow of our grandparents investment.  We live in a nation that has thrived because of that investment.  And if we think it will continue to grow without that same investment, I think we’re kidding ourselves.  What if the very responsibility of money is to let it go, to be the one’s to manage it well by investing in the other.  So the act of letting go becomes the very act that gives people what they want.

FYI:  I’m not an economist but I play one on TV. ;-P I’m not saying anything you probably don’t already know but the chart seemed to solidify it for me.