It’s easy to say “So what! If I had 41 billion, I’d give away 35 billion too.”

Thing is, most of us will never have that much scratch. But many of us, in our lifetimes, will have the opportunity to earn a million dollars or more. And all of us inhabit this world, see injustices in our own circles, still have opportunities to make the world better in our own ways. Will we capitalize on them?

It’s true – giving away 70% of our income probably isn’t very realistic. Why not start at 10%? Right where you are, why not make a commitment to yourself that your resources – time, money or otherwise – have a much better use than a nicer car, than a tailored suit, than a first class plane ticket? What’s stopping you?

How much different would our world be if we all did that? Why not find out?

This afternoon, as I was sitting in a Starbucks, I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything all day. A few minutes after I realized I was pretty hungry, I was pleasantly surprised by a barista, who randomly decided to bring me a cup of coffee and a sandwich. I asked what I did to deserve this gracious and well-timed gift.

She said, ‘nothing.’

I used to think that pride was the most troublesome vice to overcome, but I think there might be a worse one. As I walk through the streets of New York and listen to conversations, as I pass the enormous billboards painted onto buildings, as I look at my bank statements and calculate where my money has gone, as I see how I react to the homeless guy outside the deli, as I purchase the overpriced burger from the overpriced restaurant that I went to because it’s trendy, I’m faced with an enormous truth.

The desire for more is terribly destructive.

We live in a world that prizes accumulation of goods above almost all else. Our status in life is determined much more by the size of our pocketbooks than the content of our characters. We want to associate with people who have money, we long to be in a position where others want to associate with us for the same reason. We look at US Weekly or watch Cribs and not-so-secretly long for the lifestyle that these people possess.

We can’t avoid it. Even those of us who would consider ourselves free from the lusts of pop culture are constantly worrying about how much we have, how much we have coming in, how much we’ll have when we stop working. We worry about where the market is going, how our IRAs are performing, how much equity we’ve built up in our homes. We read books and attend seminars to learn how to improve our net worth, to discover the seven secrets to wealth and happiness. We argue and fight over our finances with our loved ones, and those fights lead (more than any other factor) to the destruction of our closest relationships.

We spend more than we make. We look forward to the weekend so we can hit the sales. We clip coupons. We stockpile. We hoard. We obsess.

We are outraged when the cost of gas goes above $2.50 a gallon, but don’t bat an eye at the fact that half the world lives on less than $2.50 a day. We’re so busy talking about the exclusive club that we managed to get into that we walk right by the guy on the corner holding out their paper cup – the guy who may or may not actually be homeless but whose circumstances are such that they’re forced to degrade themselves by standing on the corner with matted hair and clothes that haven’t been washed in weeks, holding out their paper cup in hopes that we wake up from the absolutely pointless conversation we’re having to toss them a quarter or two.

We enter into bitter court battles to “win” what we “rightfully deserve.” We go to war to “preserve democracy.”

We work an insane number of hours so we can get the promotion that will cause us to work more hours so we can get the next promotion that will cause us to work more hours to buy the expensive suits we need to look as good as the other people on our rung of the corporate ladder and finance the houses we never live in and the cars we never drive and the exotic vacations we never seem to take because we have to work some more.

This is the world I live in, the world you live in, the world our parents and friends and loved ones and co-workers and acquaintances and fellow subway passengers live in. We are the wealthiest people in history, living in the wealthiest country in history, living lives of absolute decadence.

And we’re rotting inside. We’re worried constantly. We’re tired and overworked. We’re envious and covetous. We’re gluttonous and unhealthy. We’re bitter and heartbroken. We’re dying, and we can’t take it with us. Worst of all, we’re so blind we call this worry and jealousy and green and anger and hardness “the American dream.”

I worry all the time about money. I worry whether or not I’ll have enough to pay my credit card bill. I worry whether or not I’ll be able to cover rent. I worry whether or not the market will crash. I worry about what my standard of living will be like when I’m old.

The funny thing is, there has never been a day in my life when I went hungry. There has never been a time when I didn’t have anything to wear, a day when I was forced to sleep outside.

Growing up we didn’t have much, and I always looked at the other kids with their cooler toys and cooler clothes and wished our roles were reversed. But looking back, my childhood was amazing. I had loving parents, a great companion in my younger brother, amazing friends, all the food I could ever hope to eat, a bunch of clothes in my closet I refused to wear after a year, a television in my room with a video game system. My life was pretty amazing.

When my first business failed and I was forced to take a job in Seattle waiting tables, I thought my life was over. I had such little money it was crazy. But looking back, that was a pretty amazing time as well. I lived in a beautiful part of the country, rooming with two friends who absolutely went out of their way for me, knowing I couldn’t carry my fair share, never once condemning me or calling me out on it, exhibiting a kind of generosity and patience I’ve never seen before or since. I met amazing people serving up plates of fish. I gained a newfound appreciation for my skills and my passions. I met a girl on a random evening in a different city under the most unlikely circumstances, and spent the next three months getting to know her over a ridiculous number of long-distance conversations.

Literally every single time I’ve been the slightest bit tight, circumstances (or something else) intervened. It has truly seemed like any time I needed something I was taken care of.

It happened in my childhood. It happened in college. It happened in Washington. It happened today in the coffee shop.

My posture about money and wealth and status must change. I must learn to not care what you think about me. I must learn to stop worrying about where I will live in a year. I must learn to stop fretting over the global economy. I must learn to give that $20 in my wallet to the guy who needs it, and do so joyfully. I must learn to let go.

I must learn to consider the birds of the air, and the lilies of the field.

At the time, it was hovering around $4 an ounce, and had remained pretty dormant for a long time. The market was down, I couldn’t afford to buy real estate, but I wanted to do something with the meager finances I had.

Of course, all my friends informed me that I was officially going insane. Who buys silver? The same kinds of people who build bomb shelters and stock up on canned goods and gasmasks and shotgun bullets and pit bulls named Damien.

I let the peer pressure get to me. I didn’t buy silver. I listened to the crowd.

Silver crossed $14 an ounce today, the highest it’s been in 23 years. In two years I would have tripled my money.

I’m never listening to my friends again.

Who wants to join me in my bomb shelter? I have Twinkies…

In the past two days, the stock has jumped 20%.

Now that I’ve paid for the wedding…