Sogni D’Oro is the Italian equivalent of “sweet dreams”—it’s literally wishing them “dreams of gold.” Having dreams of gold is exactly what you get when you buy a lottery ticket, as I did today.
Last week, my Italian-loving Uncle JD and I bought four tickets in a dive bar in Bend, Oregon. We strongly believe one should only buy a ticket from a place you want to share in the winnings; family-owned convenience stores, local pubs, that sort of place. No chain stores. Anyway, we bought a few tickets and enjoyed a few days of “What We’ll Do When We Win.”
Out of 4 tickets, we didn’t get a single number. No matter, no one else won either, so comparatively, we’re not any worse off. So I played again today, mostly because I love the thought experiment of it. My mind goes down two tracks—first is the logistics and planning of the win. There are immediately interesting problems of security, disclosure, safety and taxes, and I have plans for all those things.
Once you’ve planned for all the logistics, the second track is about what you do with life, once money is no object? Assuming a basic safe and secure world, here’s today’s short list.
- Get a new phone number. Don’t transfer all the contacts. Who have you talked to in the last 6 months? Who helped you out when you were down? Who is family to keep, who is not? I love the idea of a phone with only a few numbers. And without work, the new phone would only ring with people I deeply liked. I’d keep the old phone, but I’d have an assistant manage that one.
- Hire experts! So much of my time is spent figuring out how to do things for myself, and procrastinating on the figuring out, then the doing, then being mad that stuff doesn’t get done. I would stop at least75% of that and outsource like a boss.
- Meal planning: I would definitely get a chef to plan and cook my meals. Not because I’m fancy or picky, but because I’m getting fat on convenience eating and lazy choices and it bugs me. I’d love for Chef to send me out each day with healthy snacks. Even better- put them directly in my purse in the morning. That would be amazing.
- Media curation: I’d love to be handed a pile of articles or a book every day. There are so many things I want to read I get tired just thinking about the choice. Please someone just give me my assigned reading.
- House general manager: They’d be responsible for teeing up all the choices I need to make: kitchen title, yard, etc. Interior designer for sure. That would be great. OMG could they make appointments for me? My roots would never show and my teeth would always shine.
- Weekend planning. Maybe once I’m not working, I’ll be better able to plan weekend activities, but probably not. Friday will always sneak up on me, even if I’m on permanent vacation. Buy my concert tickets, find something the kids will want to do, input a road trip into my GPS, reserve a ferry spot. It’s just too much for me.
- I’d write all the time, from different remote locations (no, not like “The Shining.” Don’t be a jerk. I’m having a beautiful daydream here). Going away for the weekend reminded me what it feels like to step away from life and have a really open day, and I wanted to write. You can’t really write for 8 hours a day, but I could probably do a solid 3-4, and then go wander around. A month here, a month there. That sounded amazing.
- Daily habits. Without the unpredictability of work, I like to think I’d have more daily habits established. Start every day with stretching and meditation and exercise—exercise that is not rushed. Long walks. Leisurely strength workouts (with a trainer, see “Hire Experts” above). Yoga in the afternoon. I’d like to start every day by focusing deeply on both my limitations/boundaries and my capacity to drive change.
- Purchases. A new car, straight off the bat. Maybe before I even cash the ticket, that’s how much I’d love to go car shopping as an uber-rich person. Also, get a tricked-out Airstream. College for kids. A beach house that is close enough to walk to town, but still has a view of ocean. Maybe also a place in New Orleans.
- DRIVE. I’d get in that new car and drive. Sometimes it feels like I can’t breath deeply unless air is being forced into my lungs at 80 miles an hour. I know it’s the most juvenile road-trip, but I would love to see a ballgame in every park in America. One of my minions can plan it.
- With all the money comes all the time, right? I’d love to take a bunch of arts and craft classes. Maybe really immerse myself in one art form or craft at a time. It would be so cool to have personal teachers and be able to buy an infinite amount of art supplies. And then I could also really learn the difference between good and bad art, and then I could also buy a bunch of good art instead of having to look at all my amateur art. Oooh, I could write in the morning and then do art in the afternoon. Mysteries and mosaics. Poetry and paper. Fantasy and felting. Adventure and oils….
What wouldn’t change:
- Location. I love Seattle. I love my house, and it would be fun to get it up to full awesomeness.
- My office at the Fairmont. I might have it decorated, I bet they’d let me paint the walls and probably do new ceiling and wallpaper. But I love being downtown, I love the people who work there, I love all the light in my office.
- Work. It would be different, but I like having problems to solve. I would take different kinds of clients and maybe be more like a PI. I could buy a van and load up my friends so we could either solve mysteries (it’s almost always a land developer) or go on missions to help people and evade the military police who are always on our tail.
- Naps. I’m already great at naps. They are sacred.
- Bulletted lists. It’s how I roll.
This exercise makes it hard not to recognize that purchases aside, there are parts of my life I want to fix, and could fix, without an influx of money:
- Mornings. Maybe I wouldn’t have all day to spend on an elaborate morning routine, but people do meditate and exercise every day. They report it helps.
- Suck it up and do a bit more planning as a favor to Future Self. I could plan meals and shop on Sundays, and reduce bad mid-week impulse purchases. I could also use Sundays to decide what to read for the week. Maybe it’s two articles a day, or a book chapter, or something.
- I could write more and do more art. It’s not the time that keeps me from it, not really. It’s awkwardness and procrastination and distractions and awareness of how much it all sucks at first. But I keep thinking of a Sara Bareilles story in which Carole King tells her: “Get out of your own way.” I could do that. I could write 500 words a day, that’s not many. I could get some basic art kits, just to lower the barriers to getting started.
It’s possible that I don’t need—no one needs—money to give us permission to live the lives we want. I don’t need the money for permission, and frankly, I don’t need the permission. I hate to admit it, but there’s a lot of changes I could make within the current life.
Sogni d’oro, dears. Winning tickets or not, may all your dreams turn into plans…