Two years ago you decided to kill yourself, but with nothing left to lose you decided to sell everything you own and live your dream of travelling before you die. After two years of backpacking around the world, the morning arrives when you have only $5 left in your wallet.

I am the richest man alive.

I was never a strong man. Luck always seemed to be one of those things someone else had, never me. I didn’t let it get to me, not at first, not when I worked and worked and worked. They say bad things come in threes, but I was thirty by the time I stopped counting.

A car, a computer, some old LPs that I hadn’t listened to since the needle on my record player broke and was relegated so far down the list of priorities I’d all but given up hearing ever again. I sold them all and left.

I kept on telling myself it was impossible. I was tied, no tethered, to that small town. Family and friends and familiarity. Put a hundred miles between yourself and it, and it all looks so small. After a thousand miles even the Sun started to feel different.

I got to to the other side of the world. I’d worked for it. Like everything. But you haul cages out of the ocean, or round up cattle, and you realise that little screen you’re staring at right now means nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I lived and I loved. I met people who had it all and those who had nothing at all and realised there’s no such thing as luck. The happiest man I ever met lived under a bridge in Jakarta and let me share a piece of cardboard. He got a hot meal, but he gave me so much more in return.

I kept on working. I fixed surfboards in Phuket. I learnt to pilot a helicopter in the Outback. And every time, I’d give the money away and I would smile.

So, when I’m sitting here in front of you, with a pair of flip flops that started to wear through somewhere around Ulan Bator and five bucks to my name, you’ve gotta ask yourself.

Who’s the richer man?


Prompt originally posted by TroyPDX on reddit and received 15 upvotes.

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