Paypal.me/Rivkha321According to Wikipedia, there are 63,482 millionaires in the world. This number is rather specific. Although, it’s quite likely that a few have fallen under the radar, due to a prestigious propensity to hide one’s assets.
Out of these 62,482 millionaires, only 2,668 have a net worth over 1 billion. This means that the odds of a millionaire, or dare I even say, a billionaire, stumbling upon this very request and bequeathing me with the financial provisions to last the duration of my meagre lifetime are very low indeed. And yet, this is precisely what I’m counting on.
We can all dream, can’t we?
I presume that millionaires and billionaires have better things to do with their time than surf the internet, grading the most creative beggar and awarding them profusely. And yet, there are the occasional outliers; the wealthy eccentrics, the philanthropist rebelling against the stuffy air of mega-corporate fundraisers, the undercover angel investor who’s just trying to pay it forward, and always, those who are paying to have an agenda met unhindered by the observances of the public eye.
The only agenda I hope to meet is a very large lump sum, deposited into a private bank account for only me to access. Or possibly annuities spread out on a monthly or yearly basis from which to draw. I’m not asking for Universal Basic Income, because if I were, everybody would have to get it and that would be unrealistic.
I’m simply asking to never have to worry about money again in my life — Not for housing, clothing, utilities, food, articles of hygiene, etc. I’m asking for the ability to purchase a home of my choosing outright, and have enough to pay the taxes until the advent of my death. I’m asking the ability to pay for repairs, should the need for repairs occur. I’m asking to be financially capable of furnishing the place, with furniture made from real materials; rather than discarded furniture I’ve found by the side of the road, strewn along with people’s garbage, or that mass-produced particle board that can’t hold a book without bowing in two years.
I ask for enough not to have to work a day in my life. Enough to to travel, if so desired. Enough to take care of unattended health concerns, because how could I afford the premiums?! Enough to go back to school in a study of my choosing, or to start a small business if I wished for a project to keep me busy. And ultimately, enough to give back to the community on my own terms. I’m asking to never have to be the bane of someone else’s scorn for simply not being able to make ends meet. I know this is pretty unrealistic, but sometimes it’s good to have unrealistic goals.
Dream big or go home…If you have a home, that is.
For entertainment purposes, I’ve included a photo of myself from the last time when I was homeless. This is not a joke. I’ve written a book. Authors lacking higher education, formal collegiate contacts, and viable marketing strategy tend to fare poorly in society. The manner in which I express myself is seen as atypical amongst my working-class peers who determine whether or not I am a cultural fit for the hiring pool. And “atypical” is rarely considered desirable.
I’ve tried fitting in. I truly have. I’ve taken off the bunny-ears, slapped on a waitress outfit and scored the highest in the land of tips, but eventually my barriers wear thin, and I inevitably succumb to workplace bullying and sensory overload. When this happens, I’m not usually allowed to return to the workplace, as my reactions are seen as out of proportion to the intensity of the stimuli. If the viewer could only place themselves in my shoes! (But few and far between are those with the ability to do so.)
The public finds me unemployable. I may be somewhere on the autism-spectrum, undiagnosed. I may have brain damage that has yet to be proven. There may be a legitimate neurological cause for my failure to adjust to the demands of daily living. And yet, who can afford proper medical diagnostics!? It’s difficult enough getting an employer to take me seriously, let alone a doctor! The aforementioned possibilities give me a hope that there is some reason, some explanation, for the fact that I fail in society despite repeated efforts to get it right.
Hence, I go to the public(or the wealthy minority), because I no longer know just what to do.
Best wishes to all!