_“Real wealth, such as food, is perishable,”_ wrote Alan Watts in his 1951 classic _[The Wisdom of Insecurity]()_. Is that really so? Surely, the pyramids have immortalized the wealth of the Pharaohs. Students at Yale will dine at the _Schwarzman Center_ for decades to come, courtesy of the Blackstone founder’s massive $150 million gift. In addition to fortifying one’s legacy, not only does wealth _not_ perish – it grows – courtesy of compound interest (the so-called _eighth wonder of the world_). And when properly allocated, it can beget more wealth… and more wealth… Much ink has been spilled about the “playbook” to achieve said wealth. The metaphors usually involve [ladders](), [step functions](), [pyramids]() and [vertical spectrums]() (our friend Nick Magiulli, author of _[Just Keep Buying]()_ has a particularly [great post]()). This trajectory is “Maslowian:” first basic needs, next psychological needs and ultimately culminating in fulfillment and self-actualization. Along this journey, one increases their autonomy and freedom – while __[converting money into time]().__ Enter the perishability. * * * Watts use the metaphor of his “childish desire to send someone a parcel of water in the mail.” In this flippant example: > _The recipient unties the string, releasing the deluge in his lap. But the game would never work, since it is irritatingly impossible to wrap and tie a pound of water in a paper package._ You know what’s also _irritatingly impossible to wrap and tie?_ __Autonomy, freedom, and time.__ Just like your corporate vacation policy, they all share the distinct perishability property of __“use it or lose it.”__ * * * Why the _memento mori_ , so early on a Saturday? It means that the tiny speckles of life are infinitesimal sources of wealth. An idea that I actually find quite calming. In Peter Barton’s memoir _[Not Fade Away]()_ , the 47 year old media entrepreneur – hugely successful, happily married, and the father of three – receives a sudden cancer diagnosis. In this moving passage, Barton describes a jet ski trip he takes with his then-teenage daughter. Frail and breathing oxygen through tubes coming from his backpack, together they: > _Zipped and bounced along. Kate held on to my back; her cheek was against my shoulder. It was like she was a little girl again, and I was a young and healthy and protecting father._ > > _We explored a bunch of little coves around the resort. The water was a hundred shades of blue and green; sunlight glinted off it so brightly that it almost hurt. Everything amazed us; we just pointed at things and giggled._ > > _I choke up when I recall this story. But not because I’m sad. Because there’s more joy in the recollection that I can hold.____There was a lifetime worth of pleasure in that single day.___ In that moment, Barton encounters imperishable wealth: _“That excursion on the water taught me that each moment is a life, that life is renewed every time we’re walloped by beauty, every time we’re shaken up by gratitude and love._ _“_