So we’re always telling a story.
I like telling stories, I like solid stories rooted in positivity and growth and learning. My story is one of curiosity and wonderment, occasional fearlessness. I present my story at every opportunity, my confidence shield and it’s solidly rooted because it’s all me.
It’s only part of my story though. I’m interrogating some of my stories right now, looking at the story and holding it up to the light. Does it squeak and struggle away from the clarity, or is it a pane through which I can see differently?
My Mum always says I wanted to be rich when I was a kid. I still do. And I have built a story about good money management. I think it’s an honour to be a good money manager, and a responsibility. I have done research, read many many (many) books, planned and set goals.
But something I never did was to look at the stories I tell myself about money, and look deep into them. There’s a lot of heavy work here, because money is related to everything. It’s power. It’s independence. It’s food. Comfort. Sleep. Education. What stories your family tells about money affects what stories you are now telling.
Stories about money link into stories about self, about family, about your place in life. Maybe it’s less of a story and more of a web of interconnecting and sometimes opposing thoughts.
I still want to be rich. I want a bigger house with more rooms. I want enough money to travel more. I want enough money to indulge my kids more. I want enough money to hire someone to clean my house and sort out the meal plan and shop. I want enough money to support my favourite charities and build something outside of myself to make people feel as joyous as I do.
And this story keeps me warm at night.