When a woman tells Joe that wanting money makes her feel selfish, he doesn’t argue with the feeling — he traces it. How much money does she have to want before she’s selfish? Any. Which means, as Joe points out with a smile, it makes perfect sense that she doesn’t want any money at all. The constriction isn’t really about a sum; it’s a rule that wanting at all is wrong.

Joe then pulls the belief apart from underneath. Having a hundred million dollars doesn’t stop anyone else from having it. Not having “earned” it is true of nearly everyone — luck, timing, and the accident of where you were born run through all wealth, billionaires included. And when he asks what money actually gives her, the answer is freedom and safety. Those aren’t selfish things. They’re things almost everyone in the room would raise their hand to want.

“So tell me if we ask everybody in this group, do you want freedom and do you want security? I would assume most people would raise their hands. Are they all selfish? Not at all.”

Once “I want money” is translated into “I want freedom” and “I want safety,” the selfishness story collapses. The want was never the problem. The problem was the moral charge laid on top of an ordinary, universal human desire.

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