When I had money in the past, I would always travel rather than

In the words of Robin Wright, spoken with clarity and resolve, we hear the wisdom of one who has measured wealth not by possessions, but by experience: “When I had money in the past, I would always travel rather than spend it on big apartments or cars. And I still feel exactly the same way.” These words carry the weight of choice—of a life that values the fleeting beauty of moments over the cold permanence of objects. It is the voice of one who has chosen the road, the horizon, and the memory over the glitter of material excess.

To prefer travel over possessions is to understand that the soul is nourished not by walls of stone or engines of steel, but by encounters with the world. An apartment may provide comfort, a car may offer status, but neither can match the richness of walking through a foreign city at dawn, or hearing a language that awakens new ways of thought, or standing before mountains that silence the heart into awe. Wright’s words remind us that true treasure is not stored in vaults, but within the memory of lived experience.

The ancients too praised this wisdom. Diogenes the Cynic, who lived in poverty, mocked the vain pursuit of luxury and declared that happiness lay in simplicity and freedom. For him, like Wright, wealth was best spent—or not spent at all—on the freedom to live authentically, unchained by the burden of possessions. Likewise, the Stoics taught that riches should serve as a tool, not as a master, and that what truly enriches the soul is what it learns and experiences.

Consider the life of Ibn Battuta, the great Moroccan traveler of the 14th century. Though not wealthy by noble standards, he spent his fortune and his years journeying across Africa, the Middle East, India, and China. He left behind not mansions nor treasures, but a chronicle of his experiences that still inspires wonder centuries later. His life, like Wright’s declaration, shows that the true legacy of wealth is in the breadth of experience, not the weight of possessions.

The apartments and cars that Wright rejected stand as symbols of the material world’s temptation. They glitter with promise, yet they tie their owners down. The larger the home, the heavier the anchor. The grander the car, the more fleeting its shine. But travel liberates, even when costly, because it gives more than it takes. It opens the mind, humbles the ego, and reminds us that the world is wider than our own desires.

There is also constancy in her words: “And I still feel exactly the same way.” This is not a passing youthful fancy, but a lifelong conviction. To remain steadfast in valuing experience over possessions reveals a soul that has found true wealth in simplicity. It is a rejection of the restless consumerism of the age, and a reminder that joy is not in what we own, but in what we live.

The lesson is clear: choose to invest in what enriches the soul, not what merely decorates the body. Spend not your wealth on things that rust, depreciate, or imprison, but on journeys, encounters, and memories that grow richer with time. A car may break, a house may crumble, but the memory of standing on a distant shore, or meeting a stranger who became a friend, will live as long as you draw breath.

So I say to you: when you hold money in your hand, ask not, “What can I own?” but rather, “What can I live?” Let your wealth serve your soul, as Robin Wright has chosen. Let it take you to new lands, teach you new lessons, and remind you that the greatest treasure is not in the walls we build, but in the horizons we seek. For when the end comes, no one remembers the car you drove, but all will remember the life you lived.