That's the trouble with being me. At this point, nobody gives a damn what my problem is. I could literally have a tumor on the side of my head and they'd be like, 'Yeah, big deal. I'd eat a tumor every morning for the kinda money you're pulling down.'

Success doesn't erase the struggle

There's a dark truth buried in this joke: success doesn't actually make your problems disappear—it just makes them invisible to everyone else. When you reach a certain level, people stop believing you're allowed to struggle. The assumption becomes that money or fame should have solved everything, so if you're still unhappy or scared or sick, well, that's on you. It's a peculiar kind of loneliness that wealth creates.

This hits harder than it should because most of us experience a softer version of it. When you get the promotion, suddenly your stress doesn't count anymore. When you finally have the thing you thought you wanted, admitting you're still anxious feels like ingratitude. There's this unspoken social contract that says once you've "made it," complaining becomes obscene. So people learn to keep quiet about their real struggles, which means they suffer alone while looking like they have it all figured out.

The subtle insight here isn't really about money—it's about how we systemically fail to believe each other's pain once circumstances change. We're all walking around assuming that anyone with more than us has already solved the problem of being human. It's worth remembering that circumstance and contentment are rarely in the same equation.