Generational "Wealth"

I'm Rich!

When my mother passed away, she left about $700 in cash in a safe that she kept under her bed, along with original copies of my and my brothers' birth certificates and a picture of Tyson Beckford. In her only bank account, there was about $3,000 in her checking and nothing in her savings. At 50 years old, my mother had less than $4,000 to her name—and this less than $4,000 became my and my brothers' inheritance, which we split equally.

I was honestly shocked that she had that much money. She had lived paycheck to paycheck my entire life and dealt with so many financial setbacks over the years, on top of having to take care of three kids on a single, modest income. I’ve had friends whose parents paid the rent for their college apartments for the entire year, each year they lived off campus. Friends whose parents bought them cars as graduation gifts. Friends who would inherit properties, land, and businesses in the unfortunate event their parents passed away. But my calls home in college to ask for money were often met with “I’m broke” or “I don’t have anything to give.” I never knew my mother to have a surplus of money so even though I was only left with a little over $1,000, I was really grateful for it. I was grateful to have been left anything at all because inheriting something that once belonged to my mother made me feel more connected to her.

I was grateful, not because I needed the money—I actually spent it rather quickly—but because this temporary influx of cash provided me with a distraction from the pain of losing my mother. It allowed me to make some impulse purchases without having to worry about them affecting my overall financial health. Within three days of her taking her last breath, the very first thing I did with my share of the money was get two tattoos: one to memorialize my mother’s life and another to commemorate the newfound spiritual path her death had catapulted me onto.

The first tattoo was of a butterfly, a lotus flower, and a purple ribbon—symbols that had become extremely meaningful to me in the final days of my mother’s life. The second tattoo is a replica of an illustration of the Hindu deity Shiva that I had seen in a book called Be Here Now, which was also having a profound effect on me at the time. This interpretation of Shiva depicts him on a surfboard, dancing peacefully while riding a wave, and I resonated with this image the very first time I laid eyes on it. Part of this resonance came from the fact that Shiva is portrayed as an androgynous being, symbolizing a balance of masculine and feminine energies—something I had been inspired to explore within myself after a couple decades of repressing my inner feminine.

The second reason this image resonated so deeply with me is because Shiva is riding a wave that is clearly not under his control. And not only is he riding this uncontrollable wave, he’s doing so gracefully, balancing on one foot with a stoic expression on his face. For me, this became a metaphor for where I found myself in life at the time: on a wave I could not control. I realized I had two options in dealing with the wave of my mother's death—either struggle against it, inevitably tire out, and be drowned by it, or learn to surf and ride this wave and every other wave of life as they came. I chose the latter.

I didn’t know it at the time, but this unintentional surfing lesson that my mother blessed me with during her illness and eventual death is the most valuable thing she left me. It is because of that lesson that I truly feel rich at this very moment and would feel rich regardless of what I own or what number is currently in my bank account. This surfing lesson has allowed me to navigate the waves of life, however they come, without the fear of drowning. It has allowed me to detach from the need to control the direction my life flows and instead leave that up to the Universe to decide. All I have to do is stay on my surfboard, maintain my balance, and dance as gracefully as possible.

This surfing lesson has allowed me to embrace and integrate the feminine energy within me that I had been repressing since I was a little boy. It has taught me how to express that energy in a way that feels authentic to me, which has, in turn, transformed me from an enemy of feminine energy into an ally. Most importantly, this surfing lesson taught me that all waves are temporary—including the wave of monetary success. As such, we become much richer when we learn to detach our peace and happiness from money. If we attach our sense of value to money and, for some reason, money loses its value, we would also lose our sense of self-worth and have to deal with the, often destructive, consequences of feeling worthless.

Generational Egos

I’m not at all shy about expressing my opinion that "legacy" is 100% an ego game, especially when it comes to children. Parents who view their children as their "legacy" are projecting their own egoic desires onto their children in an attempt to sustain their own lives. A child’s life is not an extension of their parents’ lives. Parents can try to make it so, but as we’ve seen time and time again, this often backfires, leaving the child in a worse position than if they had simply been allowed to follow their own heart's desires.

Marcus Jordan, Michael Jordan’s son, was in the news recently after being arrested for DUI and resisting arrest. At one point, Marcus was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps and potentially surpass him in the game of basketball. Most would believe that being born the son of one of the greatest athletes to ever live would be one of the biggest blessings a person could receive, but I think the expectations that came with being the son of such a prominent figure became a curse that eventually led him to the path he currently finds himself on.

Imagine being born in the shadow of a giant, with people constantly telling you, "One day, you're going to be that big too!" Except "one day" never comes. Both literally and figuratively, you don’t come close to being as big as your father, despite having that expectation projected onto you—consciously and subconsciously—for years. Imagine how much of a mind-fuck it would be to eventually realize that what you were "destined" to be is not actually in the cards for you. Now, you have to figure out what your life means outside of the famous name you’ve inherited.

I can only imagine, but I would think it would be extremely difficult to cope and to find a sense of self separate from my father’s legacy. I would imagine that this struggle to reconcile who I am outside of my father’s name might lead me to make decisions that aren’t in my best interest—simply because I’m not quite sure who I am.

If you’re a basketball fan, you might notice something similar currently happening with LeBron James and his son, Bronny James. If you’re not familiar with them, LeBron James is arguably the second-best basketball player who’s ever lived, and he’s still performing at a dominant level at age 40, which is unprecedented. His longevity has created the unique opportunity for him to play professional basketball alongside his oldest son, Bronny James. At age 20, Bronny was drafted by his father’s team, the Lakers, to play with his dad last year.

The problem is, by most accounts, Bronny is not ready to play in the NBA yet and was drafted not because of his exceptional talent, but because his father wanted the opportunity to play in the NBA with his son. On one hand, I think it’s super cool, and I’m glad they got the chance to experience such a once-in-a-lifetime moment. On the other hand, I worry that this could have a long-lasting impact on Bronny’s mental health. So far, he has not performed very well at the professional level, which has exposed the 20-year-old to an incredible amount of scrutiny, hate, trolling, and criticism. Many assert that his position is solely the result of nepotism and that he took an opportunity from someone who actually deserved it.

Personally, I’m cheering for both Marcus and Bronny. I hope they both figure it out and go on to live lives that they find fulfilling, whether that’s in their father’s footsteps or on a completely different path. What I can say for sure is that I don’t envy either of them—or anyone else who was born with a “silver spoon” in their mouth. My life is incredibly rich, and that’s largely due to the struggles I’ve faced. It’s rich because of the creativity birthed out of the limitations I’ve experienced, the relationships I’ve built by coming together with others to survive, and, most importantly, the relationship I’ve cultivated with myself by striving only to impress myself with the way I live my life.

Money can only solve most of our problems—so long as we don't have enough of it. But once we do, we find ourselves with a new list of problems. A list of much harder problems to solve because you can't just throw money or objects or people at them to make them go away. And while monetarily wealthy people are blessed in how they never have to worry about how they're going to eat or pay their bills, that same blessing often becomes a curse as it amplifies the deeper problems that no amount of money, power, or success can cure.

Let Love Be Your Legacy

If you really want to leave your child something after you die, let it be love and the freedom to discover life on their own without your looming expectations gently, or not so gently, leading them in the direction that would be most pleasing to yourself.

If you really want to leave your child something after you die, let it be the knowledge that a name is just a temporary form. No matter how much weight a name carries, we are not defined by our names, and all names will eventually be forgotten anyway.

If you really want to leave your child something after you die, let it be compassion and empathy for others, along with the understanding that human beings are only ever as powerful as their communities. Money itself has no value outside of society—a fact many wealthy people seem to forget. In the increasingly likely event that governments fail, of what value will all that paper you’ve collected have—beyond insulation or fuel for a fire?

And even if the government doesn’t fail, everyone is going to die—including you and your kids. So instead of worrying about a legacy that may or may not be perceived the way you think it will, that may or may not make the impact you believe it will, and that may or may not mean anything to anyone after you’re gone, why not just do the very best you can right now?

In the unlikely event that I have kids, I will do my best to prepare them for their lives, including making investments that will hopefully provide them with some comfort as they transition into adulthood. But the biggest investment I would make in them would be my love, life experience, and wisdom. I would teach them how to surf, just as my mother’s passing taught me how to surf. And with that, I know they’d be able to dance through their lives peacefully, no matter which direction life’s waves carry them.

What's Going On With Me?

This is a bizarre timeline that we currently find ourselves on. One where a convicted felon is gifted the highest office in the land, even after openly admitting that he'd like to destroy whatever bit of a democracy we had left in this country. A timeline where billionaires are worshipped as gods, as if their power is some sort of divine right and not something that we've collectively bestowed upon them by investing in their products. A timeline where Kanye West, someone I once viewed as a personal hero, has fully embraced the role of a villain by being corrupted by power and becoming what he once fought to destroy. Someone who was once the most inspiring person on Earth to me has lost himself in his "wealth"—and I suspect that even his billions won't be enough to pay for the damage he's causing with his carelessness at the present.

And yet, I can't help but to remain hopeful. I have this deep inner knowing that the darkness that seems to be increasing more and more in our world is by design, not by accident, and is necessary in order to bring more balance to this place. Or—at least—that's what I'm telling myself. Because in my own life, whenever it got the most dark, it was because the darkness surrounding me made it much easier for me to recognize and connect with the light within me. In my experience, the darkness only exists to serve the light and even though it seems to be more dark now than it has been in a long time, that darkness has a purpose and a part of its purpose is that those of us who are committed to serving the light are easier to see.

So what I going to do, and what I hope you continue to do, is not become overwhelmed by the darkness but instead, continue to shine and to trust that ultimately, light is all there is—and that the darkness is just a tool to make the light even more bright.

With love,

Micheal Sinclair 💜