journal

the abundance wallet


Abundancewallet2

It may seem illogical to spend $80 on a brand new wallet when you're in the throes of figuring out how to save money, make more money, and otherwise be fiscally buoyant. But after lunch today with Andrea, on a stroll through Berkeley's Gourmet Ghetto, we walked into a eye-candy store with beautiful ceramic dishware and handwoven placemats and totally unnecessary house accessories that were making my mouth water, and on our pass through the register area - where all the small and truly mouth-watering things were showcased - there was a little shelf of colorful wallets. We began picking them up one by one, opening their clasps and peering inside their pockets. There were fuschias and eggplants and turquoises and sunset oranges and Grecian blues. I casually looked for some of the price stickers and guffawed: $86 for this one, $75 for that one. No way. Beautiful but no way.


"Do you know about the abundance wallet?" Andrea asked me? No, I hadn't heard of that. It turns out an abundance wallet is the wallet you feel really good about taking out. You pull it from your purse or your bag or whatever and marvel at its beauty, its texture, its feel in your hands. The abundance wallet is not the tattered thing you camouflage to pay the grocer. It's not the wallet you avoid revealing on a date or an outing with friends, embarrassed at its bulk, its clutch of receipts, its storehouse of business cards and Chinese cookie fortunes you stopped reading years ago. 


Instead, the abundance wallet is a thing of pride, a source of inspiration and purpose and clear thinking.  It is a wallet that says, "I know exactly what I'm doing." It is a wallet that says, "I'm living the life I want." The abundance wallet says "I am more than enough. I have everything I need. I am abundance incarnate."


I picked up one of the wallets in the pile and said, "Doesn't it seem crazy to pay $80 for this?" I asked Andrea. "Not if it's an abundance wallet," she replied and all of a sudden something clicked into place and I understood exactly what she meant.


And there it was. The wallet that said, "I'm yours." It was a marvelous trifecta of blues and featured a cellphone pocket and a beautiful silver pen. It was slim and pretty and wouldn't be big enough to carry the extra bits of paper that always seem to find their way into the wallet I have now, which meant this wallet would ask me to economize my load, reduce my waste, streamline my organization. Already, I was starting to feel more abundant.


Andrea and I said goodbye and I got in my car and transferred my license and credit card and insurance cards to the new wallet. I folded in the cash I had, and put the coins in the small change purse in the back of the wallet. I liked this new look. So simple. So clear. 


I decided to do some work at a coffee shop nearby and hauled my computer bag out of the trunk. I walked and ordered a decaf latte and a chocolate chip cookie. "That's $4.85" the barista said, and I took out my new wallet to pay. How beautiful it was, and perky, as if delighted to have this opportunity to be of use. I sat down at a table and kept the wallet on the table next to my computer while I worked. I'd steal glances at it once in a while, admiring its bright, smooth surface, its saturated color.


. . .


I drove home witnessing a spectacular sunset. I got an email from a client asking about my availability for a writing job. An hour later, I headed to the climbing gym and noticed how much better I was doing getting through the routes I'd attempted on previously visits. I struck up two conversations with some other climbers and the gym became noticeably cozier. I drove to Whole Foods to pick up dinner and I looked the cashier in the eye when I said "thank you."  Now I'm home again, and the poem I'd been struggling through earlier in the day feels, somehow, untangled, even if I haven't finished writing it. And the house seems less messy. And I can feel that kind of soreness in my body that tells me I've done good work. And I'm swimming with a new idea for an online writing class that I want to teach. And I feel relaxed and gentle and unhurried and loving and full. Complete. More than enough. Abundant.