In his later years my dad used to say he was rich – rich in family. We didn’t grow up with a lot of extra money. My mum made do with the clothes she had, and we ate a lot of casseroles. I remember the first new car they ever bought – they were in their 60’s.

I guess what my dad was saying was that he was proud of his kids, and happy with where we are all at. He had peace of mind.

Lots of studies show that money only buys a certain amount of happiness. Once one’s passed the first couple of rungs up Maslow’s hierarchy, dollars are of little benefit.

This morning there was an article in the financial section of the paper “How to tell if you’re wealthy.” What is someone hoping to achieve by reading that?

Lisa passed on a quote “You are who you love, not who loves you”. The common trap is to measure who we are by some external standard – whether that’s love, wealth, intelligence or beauty.

I am at best distracted, and worst consumed, by trying to meet what I assume are the prescribed standards. Approval, acceptance, validation. It’s easy to get sucked into someone else’s idea of who I ‘should’ be – so much so that I start applying the same shit right back.

I have a absurd combination of admiration and indignation for anyone who is clearly striking out on their own, damning the torpedoes of public opinion. I want to be like them, but then, I want them to be like me.

I figure my father’s reaction to the newspaper query about how to tell if one’s wealthy would be – if you have to ask, you’re not.