I grew up without money. After my parents divorced, we were damn poor. My mom hustled two jobs to keep food on the table, but it wasn’t enough for nice clothes or a nice house. (And we certainly weren’t eating steak and shrimp.)

I stayed poor as a college student, like most students do. I stayed used to not having money to buy things beyond what I needed to survive and succeed in school.

I can’t say I wasn’t envious of all the kids who could afford expensive spring break trips and designer clothes. But it did not eat at me either. I tried to feel fortunate that I was at least on a path to success.

When I went on active duty, all that turned around in a heartbeat. Uncle Sam was paying for a nice place for me to live, my healthcare was free, and since this was back in the good old days, beer and cigarettes at the club were dirt cheap. No way could I spend my whole paycheck on clothes!

Suddenly, I had more money than I knew what to do with. It didn’t take me long to figure out I wasn’t any happier with money than I had been without money.

In fact, I wasn’t often very happy at all.

It took me much of my twenties to figure out that happiness only comes with having a purpose in life. With working toward a goal that leads to fulfillment. Not having enough money to live is a huge obstacle to that, obviously, so it’s not my intent here to dis money. Money matters.

But I don’t think having a lot more money than you need to live is real helpful in finding that path to fulfillment.