I was in the shower this morning  thinking:  “Oh, when the markets come back and the business world revives, I’ll have more money.  I’ll feel more at ease.  I’ll be happier.”  Of course, three years ago my clients and I had more money.  And I remember that my clients and I were upset about various world events, our elected officials, our jobs, our commutes.  And we were worried about our money, too.   We were no happier back then than we are now.  The opportunity for today is to let go of the myth that more money will make us happy.

If we can let go of this thought we can have happiness and peace right now. Because happiness and peace have nothing to do with the amount of money you have.  When you know that, you’re free.  You can yell at your TV “CNN, you do not determine  my happiness!”  You can choose to be happy because of your own intelligence and creativity, your potential, your community of friends and family, the fact that the sun reliably rises in the sky every day.  We are not victims of  the markets.  We don’t need to wait for the markets to come back.  Were you really happier when the economy was strong?  Or were you just worried about other things?  Cultivate the things that make you happy and your happiness will grow.

And if you really want to add to your happiness, stop watching or reading the news for 1 week.  Feel your bliss grow.

We’re told as we grow up that the three great conversational taboos are politics, religion, and sex, but in fact, people discuss these subjects all the time. No, the real taboo in our social discourse is money, as I was dramatically reminded this past summer.

My young son and I joined a bunch of old and new friends for a rafting/kayaking/ camping trip down the Klamath River. Of course, outdoor trips like this always speed up the process of intimacy; when you live together with others for five days—without obligations, without cell phones or PDAs, and sharing a latrine—you get to know them pretty well pretty fast. On this trip, the process moved even faster because of the forest fires that plagued northern California. The air was pungent with smoke, and the sun was always blocked, so there was a persistent sense of early dawn—a perfect setting for sharing our innermost truths, I’ve always thought.

Sarah and I had been acquaintances before the trip—my son and her daughter were pals from school—but on this trip, we grew really close. Although the fire danger meant there was a ban on campfires, we nevertheless sat and talked each evening, hunkered down in our low-slung camp chairs, our muscles weary, our kids safely in their tents. We talked about our past and present marriages, politics, religion, health, and our kids, sharing our concerns and vulnerabilities about each of these topics. It quickly became clear that ours was one of those friendships in which any subject could be fully explored.

As the trip grew to a close, we adults began to think and talk about tipping the wonderful river guides who had kept us safe through the Class 3 and 4 rapids. So on the last night, as we were settling into our camp chairs, I said to Sarah: “Have you thought about the tip? I’m thinking of giving a hundred bucks. What are you going to give?”

In the orange glow from the fires 30 miles west of us, I could see the look of stunned astonishment on Sarah’s face. “Oh,” she said, “I don’t feel comfortable discussing that.”

And that door slammed shut.

What is this? Why is money a blacklisted subject we hide behind a veil of secrecy as if we and our money were in some sinister conspiracy together? What made Sarah shut down? After all, I hadn’t asked her how much money she had in the bank or what her bonus had been last year. Nor had I suggested she tell me how many boyfriends she’d had in college or what her SAT scores had been. And the fact is that Sarah had told me some pretty private stuff about a rough patch in her marriage and about her own family history. That she could speak freely about such deeply personal matters made it even odder that she would shut down like a clam when asked what she planned to tip the next day.

What I can’t figure out is why. What makes people so uncomfortable talking about money? My guess is we see money as a measurement of our identity—and thus as a wedge that can separate us. That is, the person who “measures up” higher—i.e., with more money—feels he has to protect what he has from the person who measures up lower, while the person who measures up lower feels in danger of being exploited. I don’t know if that’s it, but when Sarah and I finally talked about her response to me, she said it was because she had indeed planned to give more than I was giving, and the difference—the separation it might define—made her anxious.

But if I don’t know exactly why we clam up about money, I do know the impact of all the secrecy: stress. And that stress makes us do stupid things in our money lives. It takes away clarity about money and cuts us off from any wisdom we might bring to our money lives. It leads us instead into a money madness that impels us toward dumb decisions about earning, spending, saving, investing, and giving money. In my own family, my father and his sister had been estranged for the last 30 years of their lives over a money secret!

I’ve been there too. I’m the guy who could talk a blue streak about my sexual history on the second date with the woman who became my wife—but for the first three years of our marriage never said a word about our assets, our debts, my income or possessions. Those were the conversational taboos I stuck to. And the dumb decisions I made as a result of that madness-driven secrecy were very costly indeed.

Yes, there are good reasons for keeping certain aspects of your money life private, but I think we’ve gone too far on the secrecy side. The money taboo has become so automatic that we no longer have a choice about whether to share or not to share details of our money life; it’s just not an option anymore. Yet most of the time, a secret or lie about money causes us stress, loses us money, and diminishes our intimacy with friends and family. That’s enough motivation for me to re-think what is the real conversational taboo—money talk.

At the end of my Cure Money Madness talk last month, I had a great opportunity to dissect a common—though complex—money madness situation. On the last day, a 50 year-old man came up to the podium and said, “I’m not sure if I have money madness.” He went on to share that he hadn’t filed a tax return in almost a decade, not only to avoid taxes, but also to avoid the hassle of completing an administrative form.

After we talked about some numbers, he publicly confessed what he already suspected, and what I knew—that he wasn’t actually saving much money by not filing. Then, he blurted out, “I’ve also kept my income low all these years so I’d be below the IRS’ radar – too small a fish for them to fry…But now I’ve spent my small inheritance and am struggling to make ends meet.”

“OK,” I responded, “let’s get clear about what your money madness drives you to do. First, earn less money than you’re capable of earning. Second, reject work that would increase your net worth and refuse to ask for better compensation for the work you’re doing. Third, shirk your legal obligation to pay taxes.”

He agreed that this was a fair assessment, so we explored the money messages on which this behavior was built. Three important messages emerged.
1. The “system” is unfair, and a hassle, to boot.
2. You should get away with something if you can
3.Not paying taxes makes perfect sense, given #1 and #2.

Curing money madness begins with examining the costs of money madness. In this case, money madness locked him into making less than he needed to live, into doing uninteresting work that didn’t capitalize on his genius qualities and into a constant state of stress at the specter of being caught by the IRS.

Then, he had to accept the numbers we’d just looked at, and truly understand that while he might have avoided an end-of-the-year check to the IRS, what he avoided in earnings was far greater than any taxes could ever have been.

Next, he had to make the connection between not paying taxes and his self-confidence.  One consequence of the system he’d concocted was that he lived a smaller, less public, more limited professional life, which no doubt affected his personal life, too. His system both reinforced and created low self-esteem. He had to see that the whole thing was, for him, a way to avoid personal pain, yet a source of the very pain he was trying to avoid.

I recently had a meeting with an unrelated man named Spencer Sherman. He’s 16 years older than me, but we were both born and raised in the same New York City borough, and both moved to California later in life. We share similar values and interests, not to mention a name-very uncommon.

Yes, I was curious about another human being with the same name, but the bigger reason for our meeting was to offer him money for his website and its domain: www.SpencerSherman.com.  I brought up my interest and joked that my business partner was afraid I’d pay him $1 million for the site, and Spencer Sherman stopped, thought and said, “I might consider a million dollars, but just for a moment. Money doesn’t mean much to me and I’m enjoying my website.”

How unusual to find someone who doesn’t equate self-worth with net worth, who isn’t willing to sell his joy for money and who isn’t obedient to the call of money as a well-trained dog to its master.

I recall so many instances when I sold enjoyable, precious private time just to make an extra buck. I believed then that, as long as the price was right, you were supposed to sell your joy for money. I let my money madness override the true value of happiness.

I’ve gotten much better at keeping my money monster from running the show, but it’s still a practice.  With practice, each of us can dissolve the money madness and see the value of life beyond money.  The other Spencer Sherman’s peaceful connection to his own happiness over riches inspired a deeper inquiry into my own money madness, and how I can continue to transcend it. Indeed, sometimes we can see in others exactly what we want to cultivate in ourselves.