What's your net worth?

So, I've recently had a few net worth articles written about me... Why net worth articles are hot crocks of shit (from someone who has had a few written about him). The other day a friend and client of mine brought to my attention that there were several articles floating around the web in regards to my "net worth". Generally, I wouldn't have fallen victim to Googling myself, certain my friend was fucking with me. But, due to some developments in my personal life, the articles, while most definitely odd, seemed possible. So, it was 10 a.m. on a Monday (or maybe it was a Tuesday?) and while I should have been spending my time writing to add to my net worth, I was instead reading writings –– very poorly written articles, mind you –– about my net worth. Post binge, I've come to the conclusion that all net worth articles are hot crocks of shit written by lazy writers whoring the craft to garner clicks and quick paydays. (So, not all that different from the "writers" you see on Linkedin and Twitter...) These articles are factually incorrect. They write that I'm African American. I am not. They write that I live in New York City. I do not. They write that I work full-time jobs at a number of different companies. I donot. And, as far as I know, I don't think you can legally work "full-time" jobs at multiple companies? And, ironically, nowhere does anyone attempt to take a stab at my net worth because, well, how the fuck could anybody even truly know someone's net worth? That being said, reading these articles made me think... Why is it that we Google the net worths of people we find interesting? It's obvious that, to some degree, we equate someone's net worth to their value and their importance here on Earth. If we didn't, we wouldn't have millions of people wanking off into their hankies at the sight of Jeff Bezos' bald head gunning to the moon in his phallic-looking rocket, while paying little to no attention to his ex-wife, MacKenzie Scott, who has donated close to $9 billion the past two years and has pledged to donate at least half of her "net worth" before she bites the dust. We applaud the wannabe Buzz Lightyear because net worth, at least to some of us, really fucking matters. Anyway, since posing this question, I've done some thinking on my own net worth... I'm wealthy for a twenty-seven-year-old –– at least by my own standards –– because I have a very clear idea of what wealthy means to me... I read, write, think and drink coffee for a living... A chunk of this "living" comes in the form of exchanging my creativity for dough to help cool brands who I use and love to write words and breathe life into advertising that people want to read and share and take photographs of; another chunk of this living comes in the form of guides and poetry books and other clever writing-related goodies. I make more money than I spend... The money I make and don't spend goes to paying off my home here in East Nashville and buying into companies that I think will be worth more money a decade from now. Generally, these companies aren't unlike the brands I write for: brands that I use and I love. I have enough to be happy, not enough to be miserable... I have enough money to cover June's dog food and her pricey vet bills (she's a beautiful but rather problematic dog). I have enough money to tip generously on every cup of coffee I order. I have enough money to never not buy a book that I want to eventually read. I have enough money to always "gift" a book to a guest when one catches their eye on my bookshelf. I have enough money to buy another spine to replace the gifted spine in hopes that I can one day gift the same spine, again. I have enough money to drive an '89 range rover I bought for $8,600 that was the best bargain I've ever gotten (save for the $200 I spent to adopt June). I have enough money to try and always pick up the tab at dinner for my girl who sports a much larger "net worth" than me. I have enough money to clothe myself in vintage denim, to buy the occasional typewriter, to do a decent deed here and there, to pay off my credit cards that I probably swipe too liberally at times, to own one car that I love, to own one house that I love, to buy fresh ingredients to make a damn good dinner for myself and my friends every now and again. And, all that to say, I think our net worths aren't unlike the articles written about them... they're all a hot crock of shit. What matters are our own ideas of "wealthy" and, after some of my own reflections, I'm realizing that number is far less than I had ever originally thought. But, I digress. By [Cole Schafer](. [Subscribe to Chasing Hemingway.]( If these newsletters are making your heart skip a beat... If you love these newsletters enough to frame them and hang them on your living room wall next to your grandmother, here are a few incredibly thoughtful gestures you can do to say "thank you"... 1. You can [tweet me]( or [Instagram me]( (free). 2. You can buy my 1st book, [One Minute, Please?]( ($25). 3. You can buy my 2nd book, [After Her]( ($25). 4. You can subscribe to [Chasing Hemingway]( ($10). 5. You can buy my writing guide, [Snow Cones]( ($97). 6. You can buy my freelancing guide, [$100k]( ($97). [Or, you can buy me a Moscow Mule.]( 31 delicious lines from Ocean Vuong's "On Earth we're briefly gorgeous". Pound for pound, Ocean Vuong might be the greatest sentence writer I’ve ever come across –– more so than even Charles Bukowski and Ernest Hemingway. His first and only novel to date, [On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous]( is blooming with such an array of delicious imagery and succulent sentences that, at times, you find yourself needing to put it down to cleanse your palate and dab your mouth with a clean, well-starched napkin, before continuing on. Anyway, here are a few dozen lines of Vuongs that made me pause… [*Ocean Vuong is typing now*]( I'm smitten over this metaphore of the firefly. Humanity has been intrigued with fireflies for some time now –– the ancient Chinese used to catch them, funnel them into lanterns and use these oddly contrived firefly-fueled lanterns to light their way. Now, with the invention of light, humanity’s pull towards the firefly is less out of necessity and more out of admiration. Growing up in Southern Indiana, I vividly remember the feeling of my bare feet stamping on cool grass as I ran, willy-nilly, gathering these mini glowing beasts. While my firefly hunting days are behind me, my curiosity remains –– curiosity that led me to read the other day that fireflies light up not only as a means to ward of predators –– save for pesky children –– but to mate. Here’s how it works… The male fireflies will flash a light pattern and will then gauge the interest of female fireflies in the area by how long it takes her to flashback the same pattern back. Now, for the metaphor, I’m swooning over… Is this, not in a way, like humans sharing glances with pretty strangers…? [Tiny bottles of lightning, flying.]( P.S. If this newsletter made you weak in the knees, you can share it with the world by selecting one of the four icons down below... 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