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.

Last Monday morning I remember bringing a mango to eat at the office – Yes, I like mangos and they’re an easy item to snatch from the kitchen counter on the way out the door. It’s true, they can be messy, but the taste of a perfectly ripe mango more than justifies the risk of a dry cleaning bill. Then my mind had a bout of mango amnesia.
Wednesday, I flew to Santa Barbara for a financial conference and then Thursday to Denver for a board meeting with an institution interested in green investing with my company, Abacus – Changing the World One Portfolio at a Time.^TM
Everyone is at the top of their field, a very impressive group of eight people comparing my firm to two others. I’ve been up since 4:00 AM in order to get to Denver in time and I’m exhausted and famished by the end of the three hour meeting.
I rush to the bathroom, reach into my backpack for the almonds I brought with me to refuel my empty tank and I feel something soft. Oh, it’s the mango, and one that’s going to be very messy to eat. I can’t leave it in my pack – it’s about to burst and spread mango on all my papers. I can’t just throw it out – that would be a waste of money and of my favorite food. Part of my money madness is about financial security being the most important thing in life and if you throw out something you paid money for, you’re diminishing your financial security. I find my money monster driving me to eat that mango, before it goes really bad, and satisfy my low blood sugar, my money monster and protect my financial security. Of course, it’s an irrational thought that eating a mango will protect my financial security, but that’s the nature of money madness. It drives us to crazy behavior around money.
But, wait, what if one of the board members comes into the bathroom? They said they all had meetings to get to, so it shouldn’t be a risk. I yank out the mango, rip into it over the sink, mindfully so as not to force a trip to Presto Dry Cleaners. Just as I’m done, a stall door opens (the bathroom was quieter than quiet when I entered) and the Chairman of the Board approaches a sink, two down from me. I hurriedly clean up my sink and my face, feeling my heart beat faster. I say hello Stan (thinking I’m so grateful you left the stall at the end of the mango instead of the beginning).