The Power Of the Dollar

An obsession with money is taking our soul

On any given day, the New York City Subway system can have over 2 million riders. That’s more people than any of us will ever know, and a number so large it almost seems miniscule. Yet in a subway system so vast, and full of people, I happened to get on a D train with a young migrant family. The mother and her two kids were selling bottles of water and face masks, I was beginning my hour-long commute to work. Beside me was a woman who looked to be in her late 20s, she wore dark blue nurse scrubs, with a face mask that wasn’t covering her nose. She spotted the family and they were heading our way, we both put our heads down. I think it’s fair to say that most New Yorkers feel terrible about what migrant families are going through, but most New Yorkers are also struggling. 

Pay hasn’t increased, but the cost of living in the City that never sleeps is on a constant upswing. The few dollars we might offer could be the difference between having enough for rent or needing to deal with the soulless management company that owns your building. The mother paused when she realized so many of us were avoiding her gaze, but she didn’t stop. She explained to people on the train that she was new to the city, her English was bad, but she and her kids needed help. A few of us lifted our heads to at least acknowledge her, I shared a helpless glance with the nurse, neither one of us had cash. A young man who boarded the train with an E-Bike called her over, they both spoke Spanish so the conversation moved along smoothly, and at the end of it, he gave her a $20 bill. She cried and hugged him, after that a few others gave her money as well. She got off at the next stop with a smile that wasn’t there before. We all felt a little lighter and then the doors opened.

Just as I had begun to feel hopeful again, an older black man walked onto our traincart. He wore a half-torn t-shirt that had brown and yellow stains spattered at the top, and what can only be described as “built-up grime” near his right pocket. His jeans were ripped up and you could see bumps and bruises on his legs. He had tired eyes. One could only hope that at some point in his life, those eyes lit with joy. Today they were just sad, he addressed us all at once. He had been living in a shelter but left because it wasn’t safe. His only options were to sleep in the street or go to jail, he wanted enough money to get a day pass for a city bike. His plan was to use the E-bike to do Grubhub deliveries and make enough to rent a hotel for the night. The train was silent, I gave him my lunch, and someone gave him a candy bar, we couldn’t afford to do more. 

My subway story isn’t particularly new or groundbreaking, talk to any New Yorker and they will have countless examples like this or worse. When you think about it, the idea of anyone struggling in a city richer than some countries seems ridiculous. As ridiculous as it sounds, it is the norm, but that’s the one thing New York isn’t unique about. Point to any state, city, or town, in this country, and you will find people struggling. California’s streets are populated with homeless encampments, families still live in shacks in Alabama, and there are several communities across the United States that do not have safe drinking water. It simply does not have to be this way, poverty is a policy choice, one that our leaders consistently make. The ramification of those decisions has created a cultural narrative so strong it’s almost a religion, money. 

America’s obsession with money has made this place a ruthless existence. In our current reality, those with the most money are also the wisest, most hardworking, and benevolent people. The ultra-wealthy are consistently lionized for wealth alone, and the story behind their accumulation of that wealth is always delivered in bootstraps. As if to assume the rest of us have earned nothing.  

Our society tells people in more ways than one that if you are poor, or struggling, it is “your fault” When the country falls on hard times, we don’t ask the Rich to pay more, we demand that those without “buckle down”. We congratulate bad behavior if it makes money, but only for certain types of bad actors. For example, it tells us that a corporation that makes people pay for something they need to survive (Housing) is strategic, but If someone sells drugs to survive, they are a criminal. 

That belief was at one point my driving force. If I could make enough money, I would never struggle, never want, never be a slave to someone else’s impulses, and I would matter. In my early 20’s I was convinced I could become a millionaire if I was willing to put work before everything, I worked full-time and then unknowingly joined a pyramid scheme that described itself as the “Netflix of lawyers.” Doing that worked for a while, but it was only a matter of time before I burnt out. I made the choice to love myself more than I loved chasing an idea, I’m still broke, but now at least I’m happy. Social media is overflowing with people who have that same idea,  they transform their lives and activities into content. All with the hope of bringing in a few extra dollars, there are entire industries and publicly acknowledged “experts” whose only skill is to talk you through becoming “financially free,” all while those who have everything continue to take whatever is left.

But here’s the thing you should know, and something that has taken me a while to understand. When money becomes the only thing you care about, because you believe it is the thing that will make you whole, you are headed down a lonely path. The only value money has is the one we give it, if you become obsessed with wealth you might attain it, but at the cost of everything else. When money becomes more important than people, we lose something that’s hard to get back, our humanity. 

 Even if it means reaching your goal at the expense of others. That’s not the person I want to be.

I thought about this as my stop on the train approached, If I want the world to change it has to start with me. A homeless woman approached me as I left the station, she asked for a dollar. I told her I “didn’t have it” then walked to the Dunkin Donuts and bought a large iced coffee. I’ll try again tomorrow.