Plutophobia

I was looking over a list of phobias on the Internet this weekend to see which ones I have. (Isn’t that how most healthy people spend their free time?) The ever-increasing number of phobias that resonate includes:

glossophobia—fear of speaking in public (Why do you think I have a blog?)
amathophobia—fear of dust (When the sun streams into our house at certain times of day and I suddenly see the billions of particles floating in the air my throat starts to close up and I feel like I’m suffocating. I guess I could actually do a little dusting but it’s easier to wait for the sun to set—out of sight, out of lungs.)
athazagoraphobia—fear of being ignored (Remember Glenn Close’s “I will not be ignored!” mantra from “Fatal Attraction?” Years ago Kendall accused me of being like that character—and I’ve never even boiled anyone’s pet rabbit.)
doxophobia—fear of receiving praise (I’ve written about this—but I also have a fear of not receiving praise, would that be antidoxophobia? Remember, I WILL NOT BE IGNORED!)
dementophobia—fear of insanity (I guess that’s a no-brainer at this point. Just check my DNA profile for further explanation.)

My growing repertoire of phobias does Woody Allen proud. (Did you know that his original title for “Annie Hall” was “Anhedonia” which means the inability to feel pleasure? Luckily for Diane Keaton, United Artists forced him to change the title just before the film’s release.) One fear on the list that really struck a chord with me was plutophobia which has nothing to do with Disney canines or frigid planets. Plutophobia is the fear of wealth. It’s a fear that brings up lots of baggage for me. I worry that expressing this fear will make it seem as if I’m not grateful for all the abundance that exists in my life and that this will provoke the Evil Eye to take it all away. I feel guilty that I have the chutzpah to kvetch about this when I have never known what it means to suffer from lack of funds like so much of the planet does on a daily basis.

My plutophobia mostly rears its ugly head when I make the mistake of comparing myself to others and seeing my own worth through the lens of my bank account. The afterschool car line at my daughter’s private school can send me into a tailspin that quickly morphs into judgment of the wealthy families at the school. Wedged as I usually am between the Lexus SUVs, BMW convertibles, and the occasional limo (there's a sixth grader at the school who is Middle Eastern royalty), I start feeling defensive about my 11-year-old Honda Civic, with its 100,000 miles, moiré pattern of dents and dings, and rear windows that stopped working during Clinton’s impeachment hearings. I convince myself that I am on the moral high ground with my well traveled vehicle, as I cynically estimate how many landfills are choking with the discarded Range Rovers of these high-end consumers. “I don’t define myself by the kind of car that I drive,” I smugly tell myself. While it’s true that if I were rich buying a fancy car would not be my luxury item of choice, I also know that if the topic were really neutral for me I wouldn’t be sitting in that car line feeling like David in a sea of Goliaths. And just let one of those SUVs try to get in front of me in the line and I go ballistic, assuming that this sense of entitlement is a direct result of a lifetime of worship at the Altar of the Almighty Dollar.

That’s one of the biggest dangers of my plutophobia—the assumptions I tend to make about wealthy people and how they got their money. Anyone who has a great fortune must have engaged in some kind of unsavory, unethical, or downright illegal activity, right? They clearly live their lives with the sole aim of amassing wealth and have little time or energy left for their families or the things that really matter. Are they even paying attention to their children sitting in the back seats of these tanks they’re driving or are they already planning their next corporate takeover or Cambodian sweat shop?

Leah has been working on a history project about the colonies. For the past few weekends, she’s been having study sessions at the homes of some of her classmates, including students from families that are enormously wealthy. Walking into their palatial homes, I try to push aside the familiar thoughts that dance through my brain:
• Why don’t I have this kind of income? Have I been making all the wrong choices for the past 20 years?
• Will Leah complain about our inner-city hovel after spending time in these mega-mansions?
• Why do we even go to this school? Will Leah be ostracized because she doesn’t have a flat screen TV in her bedroom or a Blackberry in her pocket?

Then, like clockwork, these queries are bumped aside by the familiar patter of external judgments—my tried-and-true technique for keeping Planet Inferior at bay:
• How many workers are being exploited to provide this kind of wealth?
• I may not have all the money in the world but at least I spend time with my kid.
• How many flat screen TVs does one family need? Why are they watching so much TV anyway?

And here’s the kicker. The families that I’m talking about, the ones whose luxury homes Leah has been visiting, are among the nicest people I’ve ever met. Damn! My theories about the downside of wealth are so well constructed, it would be way more convenient if the rich people we met through the school were heartless bastards. Instead I'm forced to admit that some of the parents of Leah’s wealthiest friends are wonderful, attentive parents who are raising kind, compassionate children. How did that happen? These people are not judging me for any differences in our stock portfolios (assuming I had a stock portfolio)—I’m the only nutcase in this story who’s judging people based on their bank accounts. Oh, and about that inner-city hovel that I’m worried Leah will not want to come home to—can someone please shoot me for that comment? Talk about provoking the Evil Eye! The truth is that we have a beautiful historic home that, by the way, would have been big enough to house about six families in the early days of the Soviet Union. But even if we were living in a tiny apartment, what difference does it make? Who’s the one with the screwed up perspective?

I’m not saying that there aren’t obnoxious rich folks with twisted morals who would stop at nothing to increase their assets. Of course there are plenty of these people just as there are plenty of people with no money who are lousy parents along with those who are raising their kids beautifully with an abundance of love and caring if not cash.

Here’s another irony. For all my talk of values and priorities, it’s not like I’m living some kind of ascetic lifestyle. True, the Christmas consumer frenzy turns me off, but I get a big kick out of many of the non-essential luxuries our privileged culture has to offer. Bring on the bubbly, pass out the Beluga, sprinkle on some white truffles and saffron threads, and I am so there. I don’t care about owning a high-end car but upgrade me to first class on an airplane and I am in hog heaven. Kendall and I once stayed at the Savoy Hotel in London and that was my idea of paradise on Earth. I don’t need or want these luxuries all the time, but every once in a while? Yes, please! So what’s my fear of wealth really all about? Fear that I secretly want it bad but I am programmed to think such a desire is not noble or pure? Is this all just the green-eyed monster talking?

How did I get this way? My father grew up very poor and started working like a dog from a very early age. Money was survival for my dad and he would do anything to prevent his own children from experiencing the kind of terror he felt as a child. My mother, on the other hand, grew up in relative wealth and never wanted for material possessions. As a result she failed to develop any discipline with money and spent much of her adult life living beyond her means and sinking further into debt. My father’s urgency about money and my mother’s cluelessness was a tricky combination to navigate.

Kendall doesn’t have a trace of plutophobia. She is able to experience the abundance in her life without neuroses, thank God. I sure don’t want to pass on my fears to Leah. I know that I need to face my own insecurities, stop comparing myself to others, and stem my crazy judgments. One of the biggest faux-pas in our culture is talking about money at all, and believe me, my Blog Character is not comfortable with this discussion. “Take it off the blog,” he’s shouting, “and into your therapy sessions. You have lots of work to do but this isn’t the place, you’re making me look like a spoiled brat!” Okay, okay, I’ll stop. I know there are so many important things in life that have nothing to do with money but I also know that I want to be more open to greater abundance without all that guilt and fear. As Tevye said to God during one of his most famous exchanges, “I realize, of course, that it’s no shame to be poor, but it’s no great honor either! So what would be so terrible if I had a small fortune?”

Comments

[Tamar]

"Bring on the bubbly, pass out the Beluga, sprinkle on some white truffles and saffron threads, and I am so there." I'm with you, Danny - ALL the way!

Well, well, Plutophobia eh? I don't have it actually.

Just a definite feeling that I don't deserve it. I wonder what that's called ... eh?

Fantastic post! (just for your "doxophobia!")

[david]

I figure your first book should address some of these issues -- both in the wealth of material, and in the material wealth the book will surely bring you.

Write on.

[Karen]

Danny,

Write your novel and watch what happens.

Cured!

[OldOldLady Of The Hills]

Great post, Danny...Who Knew???
Plutophobia....And a number of the others...I never heard those names before...but I certainly understand those feelings...Isn't it wonderful that Kendall has none of that? Keep on keeping on, Danny...and Plutophobia will disappear as the truck filled with Caviar pulls up in front of your Gorgeous Historic Hovel! (lol)
Love You!

[The Retropolitan]

Danny, if you decide one day that you no longer want your money, I'll take it. I promise to give it a good home!

[Danny]

Oh no, I want it, and I wouldn't mind some of those retro-dollars too!

I was reading about the symptoms of plutophobia which include shaking, heart palpitations, inability to speak clearly, a fear of going mad, a sensation of detachment from reality, or a full blown anxiety attack. Oy, sounds like my morning checklist!

But I'm encouraged by the signs of gaining control over the phobia: "when you can talk about your former fear symptoms as though you are describing a movie where the character is someone else, not you." Hooray, that sounds like every post in my blog!

[Heather]

I have the same kind of prejudice against rich people, unless I think they made their money doing something creative. For instance, famous writers, actors, musicians = people who earned their money. Oh, and they have to be legitimate artists, not Jessica Simpson or the Olson twins. (I am rolling my eyes at myself.) But people who made money doing boring business stuff that I don't understand? They have to be crooks and they're ostentatious idiots. (Another self-directed eyeroll; I know that I am being prejudiced.)

[Mark Daniels]

Danny:
I linked to this on my site. Somehow, I associated it with Tamar's post on something that happened in her class.

Mark

[Pearl]

Danny, can you send me some of that Canadian money that's just lying around in that photo.
Sure could use that!

I'm also a Honda Civic driver, wedging my chariot between Cadillac Escalades, Mercedes SUVs, lots and lots of minivans, at my kids' private day school.

And while my kids' classmates will be traveling this upcoming Chanukah break to Florida, to Israel, to family floating resorts (aka cruises in the Caribbean), we will stay in Toronto, build snowmen and take a walking tour to see the "monster homes" in the neighborhood.

[catski]

Damn, here I am; trying to earn a living (on a holy Sunday that is!) and instead of trying to get the cash register kajinging, I am reading about plutophobia! It's been a while that a text got such a hold on me. Love it! Thanks for giving me my smile back today! Will certainly come back again.

[cindy]

that was quite interesting..
thank you for ur information and thoughts