still I was nagged by envy

A man named Sam Polk worked on Wall Street and found himself dismayed by the culture there.  He quit, walking out on opportunities to get more gigantic sums of money for himself.  He says it's a form of addiction -- addiction to greed, or to wealth, & he says there needs to be a 12-step program.



The "Becoming Minimalist" blog writer linked to the NYTimes article which Mr. Polk wrote about the experience, published in January of this year.


----------------------- [excerpt, Polk article] --------------- After graduation, I got a job at Bank of America, by the grace of a managing director willing to take a chance on a kid who had called him every day for three weeks.  With a year of sobriety under my belt, I was sharp, clear-eyed and hard-working.


At the end of my first year I was thrilled to receive a $40,000 bonus.


For the first time in my life, I didn't have to check my balance before I withdrew money.  But a week later, a trader who was only four years my senior got hired away by C.S.F.B. for $900,000.  After my initial envious shock -- his haul was 22 times the size of my bonus -- I grew excited at how much money was available.


Over the next few years I worked like a maniac and began to move up the Wall Street ladder.  I became a bond and credit default swap trader, one of the more lucrative roles in the business.  Just four years after I started at Bank of America, Citibank offered me a "1.75 by 2" which means $1.75 million per year for two years, and I used it to get a promotion.  I...rented a loft apartment on Bond Street for $6,000 a month.


I felt so important.  At 25, I could go to any restaurant in Manhattan -- Per Se, Le Bernardin -- just by picking up the phone and calling one of my brokers, who ingratiate themselves to traders by entertaining with unlimited expense accounts. 


I could be second row at the Knicks-Lakers game just by hinting to a broker I might be interested in going.  The satisfaction wasn't just about the money.  It was about the power.  Because of how smart and successful I was, it was someone else's job to make me happy.


Still, I was nagged by envy.  On a trading desk everyone sits together, from interns to managing directors.  When the guy next to you makes $10 million, your $2 million doesn't look so sweet.  Nonetheless, I was thrilled with my progress.


My counselor didn't share my elation.  She said I might be using money the same way I'd used drugs and alcohol -- to make myself feel powerful -- and that maybe it would benefit me to stop focusing on accumulating more and instead focus on healing my inner wound.  "Inner wound"?  I thought that was going a little far and went to work for a hedge fund.



Now, working elbow to elbow with billionaires, I was a giant fireball of greed.  I'd think about how my colleagues could buy Micronesia if they wanted to, or become mayor of New York City.  They didn't just have money; they had power -- power beyond getting a table at Le Bernardin.  Senators came to their offices.  They were royalty.


I wanted a billion dollars.  It's staggering to think that in the course of five years, I'd gone from being thrilled at my first bonus -- $40,000 -- to being disappointed when, my second year at the hedge fund, I was paid "only" $1.5 million.


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