Over the years, my daughters and I have occasionally had those “what would you do if you had all the money in the world” conversations while driving in the car or sitting in the sun just killing time. You know the ones.
“Hey,what would your house have in it if you could buy anything?”
“I’d have a room made out of nothing but trampolines.”
“I’d have a swimming pool in the middle of the house, and you could jump in from the fourth floor and then take the heated elevator up and do it all over again.”
“I’d have a demolition derby field out back, and every week I’d invite my friends over to wreck all new cars.”
“I’dhave a giant Slurpee machine with 1,000 flavors and a faucet in every room.”
“I’d have a bed made out of Skittles.”
“I’d have a pet gorilla that drank banana milk shakes.”
“I’d have a cheese fountain next to a nacho mountain next to a tub of margaritas on ice.”
I love those conversations. They tap into our weirdest but strongest desires. They’re built on creativity and dreaming of everything possible given the means.
But those conversations also leave me feeling bittersweet in the end when the realization hits that the magical house is never going to be constructed, and there’s never going to be a day when all the world’s riches are mine, and I’ll most likely live my entire life without knowing the joy what it would be like to step out of bed in the morning, head across the hallway, and open the door to my very own room made out of trampolines.
The nearly $600 million Powerball lottery that was on the line yesterday got me thinking about that trampoline room. It also got me thinking about the gigantic organic farm that I’d buy and for which I’d proceed to hire every homeless person with the will to learn the way of the land to give them the education and guidance to grow their own crops, all with the intention of putting them in position to one day own their own slice of the farm and do the same for others.
The lottery got me thinking of the bicycle that I’d buy every kid in every orphanage in every country, or the Big Blaine’s Berry Bombastic Bubblegum that I’d make and sell in order to build ballparks everywhere so kids could learn and play the great game of baseball.
The lottery got me thinking about the private country club that I’d construct and who I’d keep out and who I’d let in. I’d be rich myself, but I’m thinking Club Le Flamig would be restricted to only families making $100,000 or less a year. The initiation fee? Simply take your turn mowing the fairways and greens once a month, make me a cheesecake, and we’ll call it good. I’ll provide the clubs,balls, and lessons free.
Truth is, yesterday, I didn’t even buy a lottery ticket. I seldom do. Either I’m late to the news that there’s a whole lot of dough up for grabs or I’m just too lazy to fork over the money to acquire one.
Once or twice a year, though, I will get my arse in gear and drop a few bucks on a ticket. And I’ll do some daydreaming. And I’ll let my hopes get carried away.And I’ll think, “What the hell. Why not me?” And then I’ll wake up in the morning, learning that I’ve once again won nothing, and get back to living the life I’ve come to know.
But I’ll tell you, being a winner, if even ever so briefly and only in my imagination, is a damn lot of fun and a whole lot of fulfilling.
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