After a lifetime of abject poverty — poverty that I hoped would end after I got away from my family and went to college and could get out into the real world — I can’t help but see money as the answer to all of life’s problems.
Unfortunately, my adulthood has been just as full of poverty and struggle as my childhood. It looks like I missed my shot at getting out of generational poverty. And my generations ends with me. But that’s another can of worms for another day.
Suffice it to say, I find myself wishing a pallet of gold ingots would fall out of the sky and land right in front of me — or a pallet of hundred dollar bills. Or diamonds. Or whatever’s easiest.
And thankfully, I have a plan, should that ever happen.
Since this kind of hypothetical really depends on how much obscene wealth you have — a million dollars only takes you so far in this economy, after all, I’ve got to set some kind of arbitrary amount. Let’s say $100 million. A good-sized fortune, but not obscene Bezos-levels. A respectable amount of money.
I’d lock up about $50 million in investments. The name of the game is making sure that I’ll have enough money to live comfortably on for the rest of my life. This also includes hiring somebody (a fiduciary, I think? Someone who’s obligated to act in my best interest) to manage the money and to send me a fortnightly lump sum to spend and give away.
Most of this I’d want to be locked up in very secure things that aren’t going to lose a lot of value. But I’d want to risk a little bit in ventures that have promise, and in causes that I believe in.
But mostly I’d want to make damn sure I don’t fall into the same trap as most lotto winners — I don’t want to piss this whole thing away.