A few months ago on a chilly Saturday afternoon, my two young children and I took the subway from our home in Astoria, New York to midtown Manhattan and rode the M20 bus all the way down to the East Village — just for the fun of it. With the big, 360-degree windows and slightly elevated position, I always appreciate the point of view the city bus affords. This one made its way down Broadway lined with store after store, bursting with busy shoppers consuming denim and flatware and mineral-based cosmetics. As we passed high-rise apartment buildings full of tufted sofas and imported olive oil and closet systems, I was filled with the astonishing phenomena that money was everywhere my eye landed.
Politics and healthy living aside, I delighted in this sight of consumption. It gave me a sense of abundance. There is plenty of money in the world — and not just in the filthy-rich land of New York City. There is enough money on this planet for every single woman, man and child to have enough. It is just a matter of getting some.
I haven’t always felt that way though.