Introduction

When I was growing up, I was mostly unaware of money, which of course is its own kind of privilege. I certainly never worried that we didn't have enough. But I also never considered that we maybe had more than we needed-which I now realize was part of the magic of my parents and their own approach to money and parenting. They were never showy or out to impress. To the contrary, my dad wore the same red down jacket that my mom made for him in the 1970s from a "sew-it yourself" kit until the coat fell apart in the early 2000s

Although I knew my father was a successful businessman and entrepreneur, I didn't think much about it until the end of my senior year in high school. That is when I had my first taste of how having money can make one feel different in ways that are alternately alluring and destabilizing.

My Shiny, Black Sports Car

When I got accepted to my first-choice, private college and was awarded a fairly significant academic scholarship, my father offered to buy me a car. Brand-new. After all, my father explained, my scholarship was saving them a lot of money. Surprised and delighted, I chose a shiny, black sports car-a significant upgrade from my decade-old, maroon Honda Civic hatchback. (Secretly, I think my father was also excited about the new car-being in my old Civic always annoyed him because the cheap, fuzzy, gray seat covers that I'd bought to hide the splitting faux-leather seats would shed on his black suits.)

I vividly remember the day we picked it up and the thrill that this fancy, fast, eye-catching little car was mine(!). I loved how I felt driving it home . the sunroof open . my music blasting on the stereo . and the power of the engine under the hood. But my feelings of joy and excitement dissipated as soon as I drove it to school.

My high school had two parking lots-one for students and one for teachers. When I pulled up to the school for the first time in my new car, I realized I didn't know where I should park. My car would stand out like a sore thumb in the student lot, but we were forbidden to park in the teachers' lot. To this day, I can still feel the twisting, internal discomfort as I realized that this shiny, new car of mine was going to draw the attention of both my peers and my teachers. And maybe not in the way I wanted attention. Although I'm a rule-follower by nature, I was suddenly so self-conscious and concerned about parking in the student lot that I broke the rules, drove into the teachers' lot, and parked there. I couldn't help noticing that my car stood out like a sore thumb in that parking area, too. I felt a pit in my stomach when I parked in a lot where I wasn't allowed and in a car that was nicer than most of the teachers' cars. I continued to park there for the last few weeks of school, slinking in from the staff lot before the first bell and feeling rotten about it every day.

It was an unsettling experience. But I never considered asking someone to help me sort it out. Who would I have talked to about it anyway? Not my parents. I didn't want them to think I was unappreciative of their generous gift. And not my friends, any one of whom would've happily traded cars with me. This was my first taste of the confusion of knowing I hadn't done anything wrong but was feeling guilty all the same. As it turns out, that was only the beginning of the internal "clutter" I began to experience as a result of what-from the outside-should have been nothing but a blessing: Wealth. Especially gifted wealth.

While every one of us interacts with money every day, the vast majority of us are unaware of our relationship with it at best and have an unhealthy relationship with it at worst. And trying to understand and engage with the abstract concept that is "wealth" is often even more fraught with confusion. How do you build a healthy relationship with something that few people-including your own family members-will talk openly about? How do you build a healthy relationship with something that generates as conflicted feelings within society as it does within you? Most people are both fascinated by wealth and quick to judge those who have it. Many people-particularly those who have not earned their affluence themselves-face a confusing, negative, and privately painful relationship with money.

My story is not atypical-this is a common problem of children of wealth in our society. Perhaps you've experienced confusing narratives too. Or someone you care about, influence, or advise has. You're not alone. Unfortunately, there aren't many outlets to address these problems openly when they begin to arise, so they tend to snowball. One example of this deficiency of resources is highlighted in the informal study that Jay Hughes, one of the preeminent thought leaders in the field of family wealth consulting, conducted with psychotherapists over the course of several years. Hughes asked more than 30 therapists how much training they received on dealing with issues of wealth and money-the majority said less than three hours in their entire graduate program-and how skilled they felt at dealing with issues of money and wealth with their clients-the majority said very unskilled.1 In corroboration of Hughes' findings, most of my rising gen clients say they do not bring issues of wealth and money into their therapy conversations and that avoiding these topics limits what they can cover with their counselors. Furthermore, when preparing to write this book, I studied the competitive landscape and found that there were scarce few published resources that even broadly touched on this topic and no books that spoke directly to struggling next gens with a mindset approach and research-based solutions. While there are general parenting books in the marketplace that address money matters and wealth within families, there are none I know of that help the affluent get unstuck once problems arise. No wonder it feels like there are not many safe places to understand the tripwires that inherited wealth can create. There aren't.

Different and Isolated

While I was in college and deeply focused on all things Kristin, my father had started a new company. As was typical for my dad, he'd gone all in-re-mortgaging the house and putting all his chips on the table. My father's leadership team built a strong company, and with the economic winds at their backs, the business grew quickly. By the time my graduation neared, they were preparing an initial public offering. Enter wealth event number 1. Their second public offering was also successful, positioning them nicely on the NASDAQ. Within a few short years, the business became a very attractive purchase for a bigger company, and by the time I was in my mid-20s, the company was sold. Enter wealth event number 2.

After the company was bought out, my dad retired, followed soon by my mom, and they started doing things that people with a new financial windfall often do. They traveled a lot, built a beautiful home in the mountains, and filled a cellar with great wine.

While I loved learning to enjoy wine, taking special trips with my parents, and spending time with them in the Colorado mountains around their new home, I also started becoming distinctly aware of uneasy feelings emerging, emotions similar to those I had with my shiny, new, black sports car. One moment I might be enjoying these new treats and experiences, but back at grad school surrounded by my public health classmates, I was privately self-conscious about the ways in which my family's money made me feel different from my peers. Isolated. Even at times feeling like I was living a double life. The internal clutter piled up.

"No One Wants to Hear the Problems of a Rich Kid"

This presumption is why I wrote this book. Despite the common misconception that people who are born into wealth don't (or shouldn't) have problems, there is often a quiet suffering that these next generation family members experience. I call this misconception and struggle "the myth of silver spoon." Interviews with people who were raised in wealthy or well-known families often reveal themes of flagging self-identities, fear of failure, isolation, and lack of motivation. These experiences are so common I've dubbed them "the three paralyses": paralysis by predecessor, paralysis by privilege, and paralysis by possibility. Compounding the issue, the roadblocks on their path to a thriving life are often unseen and generally unacknowledged. As one of my consulting clients said to me, "No one wants to hear the problems of a rich kid. I know I'm really confused and totally stuck, but I feel like such an a-hole for not being able to figure it out. I mean, really, I've been given every advantage. Honestly, it just makes me feel even more flawed that I can't figure my life out when I've been given all that I have."

Just like with this client, ultimately, what can look like poor behavior-entitlement, disengagement, apathy, and a lack of motivation-is just camouflaging deeply felt confusion, self-doubt, fear, shame, and anxiety. That's a lot of internal clutter getting in the way of living a robust, authentic, and self-actualized life.

This book is about clearing that clutter-money clutter, self-identity clutter, relationship clutter, and the clutter surrounding our individual work and contribution-and then using the science...