You can make a lot of money in this game. Just ask my ex-wives.

In the lore of the fairways, where laughter often hides deep truths, there arose the voice of Lee Trevino, the Merry Mex, a man of wit as sharp as his swing. With a smile upon his face, yet a weight of wisdom beneath his words, he once declared: “You can make a lot of money in this game. Just ask my ex-wives. Both of them are so rich that neither of their husbands work.” What seems at first a jest, a line meant for laughter, is in truth a parable of wealth, of loss, and of the fleeting nature of worldly gain.

For in these words, Trevino unveils the paradox of money. The game of golf, played by kings and commoners alike, can indeed yield riches beyond measure. But riches, once earned, do not always remain with the earner. They scatter like leaves before the wind, carried into hands unexpected, spent on lives no longer one’s own. Thus Trevino speaks with irony: though he made fortunes, it was others who sat secure in its shadow. The lesson is not bitterness, but clarity—money is powerful, but not eternal in its possession.

The ancients knew this truth well. Consider the story of Croesus, king of Lydia, famed for his wealth. When he sought assurance of his greatness, the oracle of Delphi reminded him: riches do not guarantee happiness, nor do they shield against ruin. And indeed, his kingdom fell to Persia, and his gold could not preserve his crown. Like Trevino’s ex-wives who prospered from his toil, so too did others inherit Croesus’s fortune. The wisdom is the same: what is gained in coin is not always kept, and what endures is not the treasure, but the life one has lived.

Trevino himself embodied this paradox. Born in poverty, raised near the cotton fields of Texas, he rose from humble beginnings to the heights of golfing glory. He earned millions, yet his humor reveals that much of it slipped through his grasp. Still, he did not despair, for he understood that his true legacy was not in the dollars spent or lost, but in the joy he brought, the victories he claimed, and the laughter he shared. Wealth may vanish, but spirit endures.

This teaching carries into every walk of life. Too many pursue money as though it were the highest crown. They sacrifice time, health, and love to heap riches upon themselves, only to see those riches scatter when life turns its wheel. Trevino’s jest is a warning: money alone cannot secure peace, nor can it guarantee fulfillment. It can be lost in divorce, in folly, in the passing of time. But the virtues of resilience, humor, love, and integrity—these cannot be taken away.

What, then, should we learn? Labor not only for wealth, but for wisdom. If money comes, use it as a tool, not as a master. Build relationships that outlast fortune, nurture joy that survives even loss, and craft a spirit that cannot be bankrupted. Let your heart remain light, as Trevino’s remained light, able to laugh even at the irony of his own riches. For he knew that laughter itself is wealth beyond measure.

So let Trevino’s words be carried forth: money may pass from your hands, but the life you build with courage and humor is yours forever. Do not cling to gold as though it were eternal, but grip instead the virtues that endure. And when fortune leaves you, as it left Trevino, let your spirit be so free that you can still smile, still teach, still play the game of life with joy.