Nearly 200 years ago, Alexis de Tocqueville observed the distinctly American tendency to measure the value of everything with one question: how much money will it bring in?
This observation came to life during a 30 minute Zoom call I had with a consultant (referred by a friend) to discuss a TEDx talk.
What was described as an “exploratory conversation” swiftly became a sales pitch for programs costing $15,000 to $25,000. There were promises of a global TEDx stage, guarantees of going viral on YouTube, and a payment link dropped into the chat. After I politely declined, the sales emails continued for weeks, even after “unsubscribing” no less than a dozen times.
Apparently, even inspiration comes with a hefty price tag.
I understand that businesses need to make money and the value of good marketing. But I wonder what is lost when every conversation becomes a sales opportunity and every act of generosity is viewed through the lens of monetization.
For more than six years, I have written a biweekly newspaper column for which I receive no compensation.
Why?
Because I enjoy writing and believe a few well-chosen words might help someone see a familiar problem differently. And a story about quiet courage, an unexpected kindness, or a simple act of integrity might reach someone who needs to hear it that day.
Not every talent needs to become a side hustle, and not every good thing needs to generate a return on investment.
Sometimes, the return is knowing you made someone think, smile, reconsider, or feel a little less alone.
That is enough, for me at least.
In a world seemingly intent on monetizing everything, perhaps you should occasionally do something simply because you love it, because it matters to you, or because it might matter to someone else.
Not everything of value has a price. And not everything worth doing needs to pay.
What might you do this week simply for the love of it?
Own the day. Own the weekend.
Carl
