Can’t buy you love…

Once upon a time money didn't matter. Things like water did. 

Eventually, money did become important. During the period that it did, there was an enormous group of people who believe that, never doubted that. They had no reason to question the importance of money and the importance of having enough, or a lot, of it.

The people who believed in money were certainly not bad people. They just hadn't gotten out into the world as they say so they could learn things. It wasn't their fault, but most importantly, they were ready to get out and meet other people. They knew they needed to prepare well for the trip, so they packed the essential items and made sure they had enough money to purchase what they'd need along the way: lodging, supper, clothing, tools. etc. 

They were even so prepared as to include a small amount of money for souvenirs for themselves or their loved ones. Souvenirs were important. They were proof that you had remembered a person long enough to spend the money on an object the recipient wouldn't understand. It was the thought that counted. However, in order to get other societies to accept them, they carried water in one hand and money in their pockets.

Off they went, and it wasn't important whether they had traveled far or wide when they came to a place where people were living. It might have been a village, but they didn't notice. The money people were in need of things to ease their voyage. For this reason they immediately extracted the various forms of money they were carrying from pockets, bags, crevices and whatever. Wishing to avoid any impression of trying to wage war, they stuck out their hands, showing the currency they were carrying, and making their requests quite politely. The water buckets, filled with something far more useful, had already been forgotten. For Moneylandia, they didn’t signify profit of any sort, just heavy weight.

The members of the small group of people who were closest to the foreigners were the ones who spoke:

"We don't know what you're offering us, what you're holding in your hands. First of all, it has no visual appeal, meaning that it's not appealing to look at. For this reason your offered objects hold no worth for us."

Another voice explained, using different words:

"If you were offering us art, good art, we would also exchange our art for it, and along with out art we would gladly give you the other things we need. We want for nothing here."

The colony or village was called Art. Nothing else. Just Art. Nobody told the travelers that and there was no sign naming the group, but that's what it was. Art.

The money people did not understand these words and wondered if the people in the village were speaking another language. They decided to continue their journey and hoped to happen on a group whose style of communication would be one they understood. 

At the next stop, the following exchange took place:

"Please, we need assistance in our journey. Do you have lodging and food? We can pay. We are peaceful." 

Arms were held out as proof of the honest offer. Nobody made a move to take the offering. There was a heavy silence between the two groups. Then one of the members of the community that the money people had just encountered spoke up:

"I don't mean to sound aggressive, but we do not work, at least not for compensation. We are driven, yes, to live our passions, through words. We often do this work without a salary because it is who we are. We love reading almost as much as writing, so if you were offering us good books to read, we would gladly share ours with you and at the same time as we gave you lodging in our books we would give you lodging in our homes or inns. For those things no money is needed, if that is what you have, because in an equal exchange nobody loses."

The money holders did not understand much of this brief speech. It was a bit wordy and convoluted, but they did manage to figure out that without literature, they had nothing to offer to the colony called Writing. They would have to move on.

Somewhere somebody must understand the value of money, the market, and making a profit. Surely that wasn't only true in Moneylandia.

The next group of people seemed to know that they were foreigners traveling around offering strange objects they insisted on calling "money" and using verbs like "buy" and "sell." Still, the foreigners had not learned. The persisted in sticking out their hands, full of coins and bills, assuming that money would do the talking for them. So naïve.

"We do not understand what you have in your hands," was the first comment. "You wave it around, but we do not discern any good arm or hand movement for dance. You're all uncoordinated."

"If you are trying to show us a sample of a real dance routine, we would certainly be willing to watch. After that, we would show our gratitude because you had chosen us as your audience."

"Yes, and we would be more than happy to have you come closer, show us more of your repertoire. Afterward, we would dance for you and perhaps we would all be able to share what we know how to do."

"Of course you would have food and a roof over your head while we explore what we have in common and what we can learn from one another."

"We dance out of pure joy. Money means little to us, so we hope what you were offering wasn't money. We crave rhythm, steps, turns and swirls. Movement of the body. Ecstasy, no matter what style of dance."

The money holders looked at one another and decided it was best to slink off. They little or no knowledge of how to dance and much less as the varieties that every group had, not to mention the costumes. No, they were out of their league.

The sign on the edge of the colony said Dance. Of course it did.

The fourth community was a bit more outgoing than the previous ones and spoke up pretty quickly as the money-holders approached their area of residence. They stated:

"We do not know what those metal discs and papers you're all holding mean. They certainly do not signify anything for any of us, even if we might have run across them somewhere."

Another voice was heard:

"Unless, of course, you are representing a scene in some play we do not know. If so, we are willing to find out about it."

"We do what we do because it is our passion. It's part of being human for us, like breathing, speaking, moving around."

"We do what we do even if it means starving. We have no choice. It gnaws at us until we give in."

"If you are interested in coming to one of our performances, you are more than welcome."

"Or you might be interested in having a part in one of our productions."

"We will gladly see to your needs as far as it is within our resources, especially if what you need is food and a bed."

This was way beyond what the money-holders could handle, despite knowing how money can make people act in funny ways. These people were not for sale; they were just interested in being on stage.

As they moved away, they all noticed the sign Acting on the perimeter of the community. They imagined that could mean on television, live stage, or film, but were not about to go back to find out. They were aware, nevertheless, that they had one last chance to make their money count., and so they forged ahead.

Sure enough, the money-holders came to a field in which a number of people were working. It was very likely that they would be interested in earning a little cash by selling items to the travelers who were by now in desperate need of food, water, and a place to sleep.

Showing off their coins and bills, the money-holders were shocked: the workers in the field dropped their utensils and fell back. afraid. To them, money had never signified anything good in their lives. And yes, they did know what it was, even if they were country bumpkins. They knew full well because they knew what it was like not to have it.

Their money put away, the foreigners asked the farmers exactly what they did to survive, but the only response they got were the perplexed expressions on the faces of the people holding rakes, hoes, and sickles. That response was because since time immemorial, their community had used time as its currency. Not money, which is so isolated from reality, just a symbol of wealth, which in turn means nothing. Not to a peasant.

On the other hand, the ones tied to the land can measure time, count it up and distribute it, very well. Time for plowing fields, planting, harvesting. Rain always to be factored in. Time spent building houses, sheds, corrals and repairing fences, barns, and more. Time going to find the wood for those things, cut it down, bring it back.

Time spent preparing food and preserving it. Not counting all the hours making sure the crops grew, were watered, etc. Time spent on making clothing, altering it, washing it. Sometimes extra time if the cloth had to be hand woven.

And on and on. Life counted, not in dollars or euros or rubles or in any currency of that sort, but in hours, days, weeks, or more. Time that required effort and patience. Something money clearly could not buy. One of the community members was speaking:

"We give others our time to help them get jobs done, like a house-raising. Then they do the same for us. I make things and give them to neighbors who need them. Baskets, blankets., things like that. We always look at these as even exchanges. Profit us not part of our vocabulary."

"It takes time to do these things, true, but since we all know how to do and make things that will help others out, there's no need for price tags, metal coins, or rectangles of paper with famous people on them."

"We know the damage money causes. That's why we backed away," one finally explained.

"And it's always better to run out of money than out of time. If you run out of time, money is useless. You can't take it with you."

The money-holders finally seemed to have understood. It was their turn to back away, but they knew they weren't about to start the long trip back to Moneylandia. They couldn't go back, not now. The conversation in their group lasted no longer than the huddles of the three judges on Master Chef. They knew what they had to do.

They would go back to the societies they had encountered but not really understood because the only language they spoke was Money. They would start over and ask questions. If they couldn't communicate, they would use eye contact, other sounds, movements of the body. Things humans do. Humanities things. Nothing even remotely related to profit and loss. Things they had forgotten when they'd become addicted to financial gain, to competitive markets. They would see about retrieving the forgotten water buckets. Water mattered.

So many other things can buy happiness. 

Actually, buy is the wrong word, especially for people who never buy or sell anything.

*****

Note from the Author: I started out to write a novel, but only ended up with this little story. It's not because I lost interest. I was just too overwhelmed imagining a world where the currency called money didn't exist.