Avarice

PALM, n. A species of tree having several varieties, of which the familiar "itching palm" (Palma hominis) is most widely distributed and sedulously cultivated. This noble vegetable exudes a kind of invisible gum, which may be detected by applying to the bark a piece of gold or silver. The metal will adhere with remarkable tenacity. The fruit of the itching palm is so bitter and unsatisfying that a considerable percentage of it is sometimes given away in what are known as "benefactions."

Ah yes, the itching palm. Properly channeled, of course, this deadly sin can gleam with virtue: thrift, hard work, good stewardship. And I’ve always found the best way to control an onslaught of avarice is through dispassionate largesse. After all, if you’ve given it away, how greedy can you be?

Furthermore, my furtive longings for lucre have always been somewhat contained by decidedly unglamorous surroundings: a hobby farm in rural Oregon, a tiny, edge-of-the-ghetto apartment in Virginia, and a tree-lined, working-class street in Alabama – let’s just say, even on limited paychecks, I out-earned most of my neighbors.

Here, it’s not so painless. I tell myself it’s not just because gas, groceries, and rent are all sky-high: after all, I’m receiving extra compensation for that. Not just because sofas cost $3000 instead of $350, or because even at 80% off, a nice skirt in the local shopping center still goes for $75. All that means is my frugal side kicks in, hunting down the name-brand bargains and avoiding the exorbitant markups.

And it’s not even that consumption is all that conspicuous here, at least not in the circles where I’ve moved thus far. Money is spent, and in vast quantities; but not ostentatiously. Instead, what cuts to the core is the sheer casualness with which my peers, the city’s young professionals, toss around talk of their six-figure salaries and multi-million dollar equity stakes.

Now for doctors, for lawyers, I feel different. I completely respect their sizable earning potential; I know I’d never have had the patience for all their intense post-graduate schooling. And anyway, they’re paying off crushing school loans.

But the finance guys, the computer techs, the teeming throngs of management consultants – their path hovers just beyond my reach: if only I’d gone to Stanford instead of Oxford…if only I’d used my math skills as a springboard instead of my English talents…if only I’d concerned myself more with profit and less with personal pursuits and the public good. That’s generally where this train of thought screeches short. I’m not, nor have I ever been, willing to whore myself out for money.

My palms still itch sometimes, though...particularly here.