The Money Tree
Balter’s Essays of Mostly Acerbic Witticisms
I try to not look too closely at The Money Tree.
I avoid asking it what it's thinking, why its lowest leaves are yellowing and dropping. I try to erase the thought that the Money Tree is a spiritual guidepost to our wealth, epigenetically connected to our actual money flows. To our net worth. To buying low and selling high. To exits. To winning or losing.
The Money Tree used to be vibrant, boldly reckless, unconsciously capable.
Now it grows as if directionless - or uncertain.
The Money Tree seems oddly aware. Of the stock market's volatility. Of tariffs. Of bills to pay; of overspending on Uber Blacks for the shortest of rides. It seems to know the real estate market is soft for the category of house we're trying to sell.
Should I sell some crypto?
Is The Money Tree dying? No, no it just needs less water. Or maybe more? Or maybe some direct sunlight - but not too much. Should it face the southeast to maximize positive energy?
(That would make The Money Tree happiest, I'm sure of it.)
I dread that one day (like so many other houseplants) The Money Tree will die.
That it will eventually lack nitrogen in its soil, or its roots will rot, or some spider mites will infest its leaf junctions and stems. I'll do everything I can to save it; I'll spray it with soapy water, I'll pump it full of fertilizer. I'll quietly beg for it to survive, because if it doesn't it surely would mean we're overextended. It would mean selling toys, taking odd jobs, downsizing, and having to live with less financial freedom.
Brown spots will signal the decline; the smell of mildew will arise. What then?
I care for The Money Tree with as much love as I can muster. I whisper hello to it each morning. I ask it how it's doing, I quarter turn it, I open the window to provide fresh air.
The Money Tree spouts fresh bright green palmate leaves, from multiple nodes, straight from the top. Its trunk remains fat and stout.
But still.
Still, some of the lower leaves look worn and tired, furrowed, like the wrinkled skin of a grandparent.
If the Money Tree could talk I imagine it might try to tell me something.
Something important.
Maybe 'be happy with how much you have', or that 'always seeking double is greed's game', or maybe, with a shudder,'money doesn't grow on trees'.
That must be it.
Or, maybe, The Money Tree is not trying to tell me anything at all.