Redifining Prosperity

When I hear the word prosperity, my mind doesn’t flash to yachts or stock portfolios. Instead, it brings up a very specific memory from second grade—one filled with velvet, a funeral, and a heartfelt family decision that, at the time, felt incredibly grown-up to me.

We lived on Cherokee Road. My little sister was two and a half. That December, my grandpa passed away peacefully at home in his favorite chair. My mom had just gotten a beautiful new coat that I admired with all my little-kid longing. For the funeral, I got one of my own—a rust-colored velvet coat with a fluffy collar. It was fancy. It was beautiful. It made me feel important.

From a kid’s perspective, life felt steady and safe. When I really wanted something, I usually got it. My family was stable. My world was small and secure.

Then, a few months later, Mom sat me down for a heart-to-heart.

Dad had been in the “manager trainee” program at JCPenney, working full-time there while also hanging draperies on his day off and in the evenings. He had just been offered a promotion and transfer—to Council Bluffs, Iowa.

Council Bluffs? What even was that? Iowa? Where was that?

Instead of taking the promotion, he had a conversation with Burt, the owner of the furniture store where he hung drapes. Burt offered him a full-time job—no more two-job hustle, just one role doing the work he liked.

Mom explained the trade-off: Dad would be home more, but money might feel tighter. Holidays and birthdays might look a little different now.

I remember feeling proud during that conversation, like I had been trusted with something big and real. I wasn’t too little for important household information.

Months passed. One day I found myself thinking about that conversation. I turned it over in my mind, curious. Had anything really changed? From where I sat, the only noticeable difference was that Dad was around more. And honestly, that felt pretty wonderful. As far as I was concerned, that was prosperity.

Fast forward to adulthood—post-divorce. I sat down with Mom again, this time with spreadsheets, bank statements, and a fresh sense of anxiety. I laid everything out: food, gas, mortgage, and cut the cable. I had spent years scrimping—buying one replacement knob for my old end tables each week because “we don’t have any money, so don’t spend anything” was the household motto under Tom.

But as we tallied things up, Mom looked at me and said, “Lisa… you have an extra $500 a month.”

I stared at her, blinking.

Prosperity isn’t always about what you have. Sometimes, it’s about what you don’t have anymore—like fear, scarcity, or someone else controlling the narrative.

Looking back, I see prosperity in both of those moments: when my parents chose time over money, and when I realized I could finally make choices on my own terms. Turns out, prosperity often shows up in quiet ways—velvet coats, kitchen-table conversations, and the unexpected freedom of an extra $500 a month.

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