Winters can be tough anywhere, but I've always thought the inhuman cold that defines your average January day where I live is augmented by a sense of isolation that is uniquely Midwestern. Driving home in a frigidly clear dusk at the end of a day where the otherwise bright, glaring sun couldn't manage to heave the mercury above zero, I always get to thinking about heading somewhere warm, and staying there. That's still (and always will be) the plan for retirement, but the sooner I can shuffle off this wintry coil, the better.
Ideally, I'd love to be a snowbird, have the means to stick around for what are generally splendid summers and autumns in the Midwest, absorb a little flutter of white for Christmas, then head south for the winter, hopping on a plane around January 2. But for now, that's just a dream. I remain a non-migratory animal, eeking out an existence on the tundra (er, so to speak).
In places like this, where dark, cold days groan uncomfortably as they dissolve into really dark and really cold nights, things like the impending Powerball jackpot, a record, have an inflated significance. They're more than just the chance for a monumental lifestyle change, they are, potentially, a means of escape.
The numbers surrounding this drawing are beyond belief. So astronomical that merely "running" them in the interest of putting it all into perspective is itself a pleasure:
As I write this, the jackpot for Wednesday's drawing is 1.5 billion dollars, the highest ever, and that is sure to grow even higher as ticket sales surge over the next 24 hours. I'm amazed, given the sheer volume of ticket sales for Saturday's $900 million jackpot, that nobody won. I'd have thought that at some point it becomes statistically unlikely for there not to be a winning ticket among the millions and millions sold.
But in any case, if you take the 29-year annuity option (the jackpot paid out in 29 equal annual payments), that would be about 50 million dollars per year, roughly 30 million after taxes for the next three decades. If you choose the cash option, which most people, including myself, are inclined to, then depending on what your state income tax is (if at all), you'd be left with between 400 - 500 million dollars, free and clear.
Honestly, the jackpot is SO big right now, I'd consider taking the annuity. I'll be in my seventies at the end of it, but why not take the entire prize money, if at all possible? I'm pretty sure I can make 30 million a year work. The only thing that would affect that notion is I heard once that you can't bequeath a structured lottery payment plan, that it dies with you. I'm not positive that's true, just something I heard once, which lamentably I've never had any reason to investigate further.
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| SIMPLY NOT ENOUGH ROOM - The current Powerball jackpot is SO big, there simply isn't enough digits to represent billions, so a clerk at a local grocery store had to write it in. |
But either way, I don't even know where I would begin trying to manage that much money. I'd do what they tell us we should do: I would immediately retain a lawyer, and an accountant, and I would be sure that the T's and the I's are crossed and dotted, a specific plan in place, before I even claimed the ticket. I'd prefer to claim it anonymously, I think most people would. As far as I can tell, Wisconsin is not one of the states where lottery winners are allowed to do this. I want to think this is BS, but the truth is, there's really no anonymity to be had. The minute someone saw me slide behind the wheel of a Mercedes S Coupe, the jig would be up. They'd know. I'd have some 'splainin' to do.
Once the ticket was claimed, anonymously or otherwise, I would surely do what everyone does: I would pay off all my debt, take care of loved ones and family members, spurn the inevitable and unavoidable overtures of woodwork dwellers, then yes, treat myself to a certain complement of luxury.
To that end, I don't think I'd go overboard. I would afford myself one classic American muscle, probably a 1968 Mustang....maybe a '77 Corvette Stingray (man how I'd love to be a middle aged stereotype behind the wheel...;-), one marvelous road machine (I don't mind admitting there is a Mercedes S Class model that gets me a little physically aroused), one pick-up (for fishing), and an RV for my big road trip.
Once that road trip was over, once I'd gotten it and any other restlessness out of my system, I would fully embrace that much talked and fantasized-about 'snowbird' existence. I would spend my summers fishing, growing tomatoes and drinking craft beer somewhere deep in the woods of northern Wisconsin or Minnesota. Winters would be spent in the close company of the sun, probably in the American southwest.
How soft the nights must be in Albuquerque.
I'd have my things, my few indulgences, but I'm certain I would not pursue some bizarro life of excess, even if I could, with perhaps one notable exception: I would never wear used socks again. I'd have a brand new pair for every single day of the week, year in and year out. This wasn't my idea; I heard it from someone else, but I think it's brilliant. And I wouldn't be wasteful, no sir. Each of my very gently used pairs would be donated to Saver's or Goodwill. They'd take them, right? My feet are pretty clean, I like to think...and I've seen used men's underwear hanging on endcap displays at Saver's...so I'd hope a pair of Jglo's socks would be considered relatively safe for resale.
Truth be told, I don't need to win the jackpot. There is absolutely nothing wrong in my life that a few extra grand wouldn't cure. I'd love to have all the means in the world (and a fresh pair of socks each morning), and I would bravely and enthusiastically face the "dilemma" of what to do with all that money, but it's not necessary. If I could just live through my middle and old ages debt free, I'd be happy as a frigging clam. So how about 5 numbers out of the 6, lottery gods? You can keep the Powerball, if you want.
What I do wonder about is how winning this current jackpot would change me, as a person. Because it would change me, no question. Overnight millionaire Jared Glovsky would be a very different animal from the Struggling But Mostly Doing Okay version.
I don't think I'd turn into a jerk. I'm in my 40s, pretty much hard-wired to be how I will be. I'm confident I wouldn't become arrogant or full of myself, or entitled in any way, wouldn't treat other people or 'the help' any differently than I do now. In fact, the opposite will mostly likely be true. Memories of my paycheck-to-paycheck years, the many of them, will remain fresh in my mind. I've been there, man. Abject poverty? No. But I know all too well the drudgery of barely staying afloat, of having to settle, having to make choices between paying this bill or that bill, because there never seems to be enough for everything. I don't think riches - sudden or otherwise - will make me forget that.
I do, however, wonder what I will care about if I win Wednesday night. I have always been a creative person; it's been what's driven me, defined me. Writing has been, first or foremost, the mainstay of my existence, with the potential prize at the end of all my hard work being two-fold; an enthusiastic readership, and a certain financial payoff.
Will Overnight Millionaire Jared still write? Will he want to bother? Will the fact that it doesn't really matter if he ever writes anything again, or sells books, or garners a readership, change the process? Will a fortune of unimaginable proportions, lending him unbridled freedom, neuter the impulse? Dismantle the discipline?
Will that unbridled freedom impel him to disengage, to want to disappear into the sun rather than merely keep its company?
It's a depressing thought. But money of that magnitude can do strange things to people. Sometimes it's revealed that the architecture of our lives is held in place by our struggle. I may not turn evil, but will I turn jaded, lazy, because it no longer matters whatsoever if I do or I don't? Hope not.
I surely welcome the opportunity to test myself.
