Make Money, Not Friends
I was driving behind a pickup truck the other day when I noticed a sticker plastered across the back window: “Make money, not friends.” Four words, bold and unapologetic, announcing a philosophy of life to anyone following in traffic. It caught me off guard, not just because of its bluntness, but because of the way it crystallized a worldview so opposite from my own.
On its surface, the phrase suggests efficiency: money over people, profit over connection. In a culture that glorifies hustle and side gigs, it reads like the next logical step of the American dream — success measured by the accumulation of wealth, with friendship dismissed as distraction. For some, perhaps, that slogan is a badge of pride. But for me, it feels like a surrender: to choose money over friends is to choose isolation, to trade community for currency, to measure worth by balance sheets rather than by lives touched.
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I come from a family, and a career, where relationships have always mattered most. My father’s military service instilled discipline, yes, but it also modeled loyalty, camaraderie, and the sense that no mission is accomplished alone. In my own life as a teacher, administrator, and playwright, everything meaningful has been built on connection. My work thrives not because I chase dollars, but because I build communities — of students, colleagues, audiences, and neighbors. I cannot imagine any version of myself that would choose money over friendship.
That’s not to say money doesn’t matter. It’s right up there with air! I understand the pressures of budgets, contracts, and funding. In academia and the arts, resources are always scarce. I’ve spent enough hours in meetings to know that without financial stability, even the most visionary project falters. But the point of money has never been money itself. Money is a tool, one that can sustain a program, enable a play, or keep a family secure. Friends are the ones who give those endeavors meaning, who sit in the audience, who break bread at the table, who call when things fall apart.
Perhaps that’s why the sticker unsettled me. It embodies a worldview I fear is gaining ground: utilitarianism stripped of humanity, individualism without regard for the collective good. We see it in the debates over vaccines, in politics that pit self-interest against communal responsibility, in cultural narratives that tell us we are only as valuable as our net worth. To me, the greater good outweighs the narrow gain. We are individuals, yes, but individuals within a society. And the health of that society depends on the friendships, trust, and solidarity we cultivate.
Driving behind that truck, I found myself imagining an alternate sticker: “Make friends, not just money.” That feels closer to the truth I try to live. Money comes and goes. Friends, community, and shared purpose endure far longer than profit or possessions. The driver ahead of me might never change, but I stay the course: connection first, always, because relationships create the real wealth that sustains a meaningful life.
