Scared Money and Scaring Finches
Mike Ditka the dog and Clint spy some finches one rainy and cold morning
“Scared money don’t make no money.” That is what YG with a little help from J Cole and Moneybagg Yo sang in 2022. It has become kind of a mantra that plays in my mind when I am feeling the desire to stand pat or cling too tightly to what I have.
“Scared Money” was likely playing in the background of my mind one recent, cold, and rainy walk with Mike Ditka the dog. When you are a dog, the whole world is your restroom, but the out-of-doors part is more socially acceptable. This is the situation that brought us under the protection of a small tree that was crowded with finches. There we were, all of us birds, dog, human, and probably others, all huddled together in a little reprieve from the cold, falling rain droplets. That is when Mike had the idea, “Let’s scare the birds, dawg!’ I knew it was kind of a jerk move, but I also knew that it is exciting to be a little scared sometimes.
We scared those finches. They fussed loudly, flew about two meters from the tree, and returned. Mike and I chuckled, felt briefly bad, and then chuckled as we walked off.
Over the past couple weeks, I have been thinking about that cold, wet morning, those finches, and the rhymes of YG and company.
Trying something new is exhilarating or scary depending on who you ask. I am likely to veer off the safe road only a small distance and then be quick to think too much of my accomplishment. I know better than this. Once you know a little risk is safe, you must admit that it is no longer risk. There is an adage often misattributed to Maya Angelou that insists, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better.” It is time for me to do better.
People that I greatly admire have taken chances—opened niche bookstore, invested in making big sculptures without being certain where they would go, bet everything on a film career, moved to another continent to pursue their happiness, etc. One of these friends, with a grin wrapped tightly across his face, said, “Yeah, living without a security blanket— it’s scary, but the tough months make the great months worth it.” I imagine the great months make the tough months worth it too. There is a romance to that. Another friend insisted that you must never make a Plan B. “The mere act of creating a Plan B, nullifies all potential of a Plan A.”
Many of us will not be this bold. I have never had the guts. I lean toward having at least fairly solid Plans A though D. What does understanding this brazenly and singularly focused drive mean to me now?
It means being honest with myself. It means knowing that I should push through when I want to cling to security. It means being willing to be uncomfortable and accepting that there is a real risk of failure. It means believing in myself. It means investing in what I do and not being too humble to ask others to do it too. Maybe I will not be as bold as some of my friends, but I am worth giving myself an audacious amount of belief and support. We are here for an unknown, yet finite, amount of time. If I wake up old one day, I do not want to realize that I spent my limited time living someone else’s life.
“Scared money, don’t make no money.” Go scare the finches. Scare yourself. You are worth the risk.