Lately, we've been discovering addiction to wealth. Or, I should say, rediscovering.
It began with Sam Polk's op-ed in the New York Times, "For the Love of Money."
In my last year on Wall Street my bonus was $3.6 million — and I was angry because it wasn't big enough. I was 30 years old, had no children to raise, no debts to pay, no philanthropic goal in mind. I wanted more money for exactly the same reason an alcoholic needs another drink: I was addicted.
Polk, as they say, knew of what he spoke: he was "a daily drinker (hey!) and pot smoker and a regular user of cocaine, Ritalin and ecstasy," and had been suspended from Columbia for burglary and arrested twice. The only thing important to him was his girlfriend. "But even though I was in love with her, when I got drunk I'd sometimes end up with other women."
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