His name was Doctor Rich but he never made much money being a doctor. You see, he wasn’t a medical doctor but a doctor of philosophy. There had been a time when he had tried writing a book, but that had not worked out for him. He taught a few courses at college which barely paid his rent.
He always felt like he was running out of money no matter how much he tried to budget. There was always something unexpected coming up. A tire that needed to be changed on his bicycle or a glass pot he left on the stove that had scorched so he’d had to replace it.
Each month, he thought that this was it. He would put a bit of money aside for a trip he might want to take in the future. But lack of money always crept into Dr. Rich’s world.
The essence of what he believed in was the heart and soul of every individual, and he tried to live his life in such a way that at the end of it, whenever that would come, he could say that he had lived a very rich life.
Wasn’t it better in the long run to have a rich soul than a rich bank account? The latter was like a tyrant tied around your neck. A slave that was impossible to beat.
He found it strange that when he thought about this, he didn’t worry about his lack of money at all. The only thing that he trusted was that things would work out, and somehow, they always did.