Are we rich?

A few weeks ago, a question came up at the dinner table. My son asked, Are we rich? Immediately, I said, Yes, we are. Almost simultaneously, his dad and grandma replied, Oh, no.

Hmm.

We eventually ascertained that I was comparing our relative status, so to speak, to people across the entire world while my husband and mother-in-law were comparing us to, apparently, American billionaires. Hence, her emphatically ending her answer with, Not at all. My son seemed satisfied with our responses and the conversation soon turned to other topics, but since then, my thoughts have returned, again and again, to his question. Are we rich, Mom?

Why did I answer in the affirmative, almost without thinking? Was I really making a purely statistical analysis—where does our income or net worth rank versus the global citizenry? Or was I thinking in other, non-monetary terms?

Say the word rich and all sorts of images come to mind—planes and yachts, the Monopoly man, Gordon Gekko, crazy Asians, maybe even this kid:

Literally, Richie Rich.

Maybe I should be flattered that my mother-in-law, with her modest, Midwestern sensibilities, didn’t consider us even close to being rich. Truth—I’d rather not be lumped into the same club with any of the above individuals, regardless of the membership requirements. But … Are we rich, Mom? The question felt important to get right.

Consider the term’s opposite. If we’re not rich, what are we then? Poor? Or something else?

When my husband and I lived in NYC in our pre-kid days, we rarely ate at home. My husband teases me that no matter where we dined—a fancy four-star restaurant, the local greasy spoon, and all points in between—as the food was served, I’d rapturously sigh, on cue, “How happy am I right now?” Did I feel rich in that moment? Absolutely. Was it at all related to what was in our bank account? Not really … if at all.

My instincts were right. I am rich. Rich doesn’t refer to some magical number at which point all my problems disappear or to a particular state of being, heavy on the animal furs, champagne, and caviar. Instead, it refers to a mindset of abundance, of being surrounded by vastly more than enough. How can I say that I am anything but rich? My family is healthy, fed, clothed, and sheltered. We have access to clean air and clean water, good schools, free libraries, and Mother Nature.

Truly, an embarrassment of riches.

Through no deliberate actions on my part, my daughter’s two favorite foods in the world are ramen noodles and bean and cheese soft tacos. She could eat these two things—calling them dishes seems like a stretch—each and every day for the rest of her life and be perfectly content. Part of me is concerned with the sodium, but a bigger part of me is delighted that future her has a genuine shot at feeling rich regardless of her external circumstances. The opposite of rich is not poor, but rather unsatisfied. And that word can describe anyone.

Perhaps I should not have answered my son so quickly. Are we rich, Mom? Instead, I could have asked him questions in turn. Do you have everything you need? Do you want for anything? Do you feel safe, loved, and engaged?

Are you full?