When More Money Stops Making Sense

Two roads diverged in the forest. One offered more money, the other offered more time. 

No, this isn’t some ancient parable, this was a conundrum John, a friend of mine, was dealing with. He had two job offers—Two? In this job market?! I know. Selfish prick—and wanted help deciding. Is more money worth the added stress and demands, or is free time more valuable than the difference in pay?

One thing became clear: mathing money was way more intuitive than mathing time for him. 

More $ = more things, status, trips, investments, future freedom, etc. 

Mental image, mental image, mental image.

But he couldn’t quantify or “see” the perks of more free time. He was fixated on the future value of every dollar not earned today. 

For him, “more time” was like trying to make sense of a dream, and it actually caused some confusion. What was he supposed to do with that time? Become some mindful version of himself who stopped to look at the stars when he took the garbage out at night?

Oof. It wasn’t a fair fight. On the surface, “more time” can’t step into the idealized ring with “more money” until we can visualize the compounding of time like we do money.

The first thing is understanding that time compounds emotionally not financially. 

To help, we can ask: what might those extra hours become when they stack on each other day after day? 

It’s like we have to be able to project the future value of memory, because that’s what time turns into. 

Think about it. Free hours aren’t spent, they are filled. Filled with dinners, long walks, unhurried mornings, school pickups, spontaneous trips, deep work, real rest. They are adorned with moments that don’t announce their importance while you’re living them, but whose impact quietly shape how a life feels when you’re finally far enough along to take inventory.

Certainly, when you are in the accumulation phase of your life, or when student loans don’t pay themselves, or when rent is how much??, money is a hard thing to forgo to watch bees pollinate lilacs.

And certainly, more income can buy more free time, but you have to value that time, lest it be gobbled up in the Sisyphean status game of chasing more money. 

John asked me what I would do if I were him. I couldn’t answer that because I’m not him. I did tell him a secret that not many people knew. For my first 20 years of working I never had a direct report.

Yup. I declined promotions, said no to more money, left companies, and even changed careers not because I was afraid or couldn't manage people (I’ve done it in personal ventures), but because I wasn’t interested in the loss of free time that more money/stress/responsibility would bring at that stage of my life.

I specifically remember a boss telling me, “You’re doing great, the client is thrilled, but we want more Bassam,” and I thought, well, since those first two things are true, and I’m happy with my income, you don’t get the third.

Sure, I’ve had doubts, and it hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve lived an adventurous, independent, and intentional life, with enough memories (and money) to pay for it all. 

And that’s what I value most.

I read this quote recently: Wealth without independence is a unique form of poverty.

Amen.

Money is the carrot society dangles in front of us.

Time is the carrot we dangle for ourselves.

(It’s a balanced diet.)

I wasn’t telling John what to do, I was reminding him that there is always more money he could make, but he can’t re-earn a Tuesday. 

He has to decide which one he’s buying.