Money drove me crazy, more than anything else. When I had it, I go crazy. When I didn’t have it, I go crazy. There’s no middle ground on how to make sure the green stuff doesn’t fuck with my head and leave me wanting more and in a cold-sweat when I don’t posses as much as I want.
There was a simpler time when I didn’t care about money. Money wasn’t the motive, and the weekend was spelled with three ‘Es’. I was younger, then and my favorite shoes lit-up at the bottom. Where did this addiction start? I don’t know. It feels like I went from care-free to money-hungry over night. And like a trained horse, I didn’t ask questions, I assimilated. I hustled, I saved, I spent, and steadily became less happy and more greedy. My whole world from my work, passion, and goals was based around greed and obtaining money and fame. But why? Of course, celebrities get treated better, have a lot of money, and get young play-things. But so do Catholic priests and I didn’t want to be one of those.
I never considered myself as a victim of society or caught up in the plot of the fame monster. I understood the ideal of fame and fortune so thoroughly that my desire for it was bizarre. It’s forgivable for a caveman to drop a iPAD and wonder why it broke. However, a 21st century citizen of America doing the same thing and being perplexed is just stupid, for a lack of better words (I suppose, as a writer, I should have better words). I was the savvy, 21st century American is this scenario. Yet, I still craved for all of these worldly virtues that I rightfully knew wouldn’t make me any better. I grew up in a single-parent household in my teens and in a two-parent house-hold in my earlier years. I know the life of both sides and I know the struggle of not having enough or being hungry at night or being scared about what might happen next month to a car or your home. After my childhood home being foreclosed on, my step-father and mother divorcing, my mother losing her car and her job I noticed what real fear was. I lived through all of those materialistic catastrophes, that was easy. The fear came from the eyes looking. The lower my stock was in society, the more I felt like I needed to seem unmoved. That’s where money was the motive.
My intelligence, imagination, and passion was put on the back-seat for my bank statement. It’s a sad day when altruism is put on the back-burner for the all-mighty dollar, but that is essentially what happened. I took positions and did things for money (nothing illegal or necessarily shameful) that I had no real interest in. More surprisingly, especially in retrospect, I wanted attention and fame for it. I wanted to be known for doing something that I didn’t even give a fuck about. I wanted to be associated with people that I could honestly care less about because it would help me get more gigs and be more known to the same folks that I was learning to worship and hate, simultaneously. I was some kind of backwards, Scrooge-like Satanist.
Luckily, however, things built from weak stuff tend to fall with a blow of the wind or a whisper of some unsettling words. And like the dumb ass slab of bacon that decided to build it’s house out of straw, all my ‘work’ came tumbling down. It’s amazing how you grab what’s important to you when your home is burning down. I grabbed my writing and my community, everything else I was okay with burning to ashes. In that metaphorical fire, the one thing that survived was my self-worth. I lost revenue, I lost my ambition for attention or fame, but I regained a voice that was unshakable. A voice that was void of price-tags. No Jessie J.
I see America going through a similar struggle as a nation that I went through personally. In the wake of economic crisis and Obama being pussy, or erm, “bipartisan.” Financial and economic downfall can be terrifying. Take it from me, somebody who lived through all of those fear tactics they try to scare you with, the money machine has bigger plans in mind. Taking your house, car, retirement, and job might hurt you, but the biggest punch to the stomach is taking away your passion. Taking away the reason why you breathe, stifling that itch or flutter in your stomach that makes you want to cry just thinking about it too long because you want it so bad. That’s the real recession. The recession of imagination and drive. The goal is to make you stop chasing dreams and keep chasing dollars that way everything stays the same, all worries are controllable, and all questions can be answered. I beg, take higher investment in your dreams and future and not just in a paycheck. That’s freedom, fortune and the makings of a real superstar.
I’m an artist (by the way of writing and creative direction in music and fashion) born in New York City, currently living in Atlanta, Ga that enjoys being observed and exploited, so I’m hardly a rarity.
The Recession Of Imagination and Drive
Money drove me crazy, more than anything else. When I had it, I go crazy. When I didn’t have it, I go crazy. There’s no middle ground on how to make sure the green stuff doesn’t fuck with my head and leave me wanting more and in a cold-sweat when I don’t posses as much as I want.
There was a simpler time when I didn’t care about money. Money wasn’t the motive, and the weekend was spelled with three ‘Es’. I was younger, then and my favorite shoes lit-up at the bottom. Where did this addiction start? I don’t know. It feels like I went from care-free to money-hungry over night. And like a trained horse, I didn’t ask questions, I assimilated. I hustled, I saved, I spent, and steadily became less happy and more greedy. My whole world from my work, passion, and goals was based around greed and obtaining money and fame. But why? Of course, celebrities get treated better, have a lot of money, and get young play-things. But so do Catholic priests and I didn’t want to be one of those.
I never considered myself as a victim of society or caught up in the plot of the fame monster. I understood the ideal of fame and fortune so thoroughly that my desire for it was bizarre. It’s forgivable for a caveman to drop a iPAD and wonder why it broke. However, a 21st century citizen of America doing the same thing and being perplexed is just stupid, for a lack of better words (I suppose, as a writer, I should have better words). I was the savvy, 21st century American is this scenario. Yet, I still craved for all of these worldly virtues that I rightfully knew wouldn’t make me any better. I grew up in a single-parent household in my teens and in a two-parent house-hold in my earlier years. I know the life of both sides and I know the struggle of not having enough or being hungry at night or being scared about what might happen next month to a car or your home. After my childhood home being foreclosed on, my step-father and mother divorcing, my mother losing her car and her job I noticed what real fear was. I lived through all of those materialistic catastrophes, that was easy. The fear came from the eyes looking. The lower my stock was in society, the more I felt like I needed to seem unmoved. That’s where money was the motive.
My intelligence, imagination, and passion was put on the back-seat for my bank statement. It’s a sad day when altruism is put on the back-burner for the all-mighty dollar, but that is essentially what happened. I took positions and did things for money (nothing illegal or necessarily shameful) that I had no real interest in. More surprisingly, especially in retrospect, I wanted attention and fame for it. I wanted to be known for doing something that I didn’t even give a fuck about. I wanted to be associated with people that I could honestly care less about because it would help me get more gigs and be more known to the same folks that I was learning to worship and hate, simultaneously. I was some kind of backwards, Scrooge-like Satanist.
Luckily, however, things built from weak stuff tend to fall with a blow of the wind or a whisper of some unsettling words. And like the dumb ass slab of bacon that decided to build it’s house out of straw, all my ‘work’ came tumbling down. It’s amazing how you grab what’s important to you when your home is burning down. I grabbed my writing and my community, everything else I was okay with burning to ashes. In that metaphorical fire, the one thing that survived was my self-worth. I lost revenue, I lost my ambition for attention or fame, but I regained a voice that was unshakable. A voice that was void of price-tags. No Jessie J.
I see America going through a similar struggle as a nation that I went through personally. In the wake of economic crisis and Obama being pussy, or erm, “bipartisan.” Financial and economic downfall can be terrifying. Take it from me, somebody who lived through all of those fear tactics they try to scare you with, the money machine has bigger plans in mind. Taking your house, car, retirement, and job might hurt you, but the biggest punch to the stomach is taking away your passion. Taking away the reason why you breathe, stifling that itch or flutter in your stomach that makes you want to cry just thinking about it too long because you want it so bad. That’s the real recession. The recession of imagination and drive. The goal is to make you stop chasing dreams and keep chasing dollars that way everything stays the same, all worries are controllable, and all questions can be answered. I beg, take higher investment in your dreams and future and not just in a paycheck. That’s freedom, fortune and the makings of a real superstar.
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Myles Johnson
I’m an artist (by the way of writing and creative direction in music and fashion) born in New York City, currently living in Atlanta, Ga that enjoys being observed and exploited, so I’m hardly a rarity.