I’m sitting here watching the Facebook guy testify before congress, looking justifiably exhausted and terrified. They’re talking about Russian meddling in the 2016 election and the security of the American public’s personal information, two things his website somehow became deeply involved in. We’ve seen the movie; this guy was just trying to create a little network for his college that would help classmates get to know each other and—much more importantly—get him laid. Now he’s being grilled by senators about how he is sort of responsible for the downfall of America. Talk about a situation getting away from you.
The thing I don’t get is why the guy is still doing the job in the first place. I’ve wondered this for a while, long before his website helped elected presidents and that sort of thing. My friend, you’re insanely rich. You’re successful beyond most measures of human comprehension. Why in the sam hill are you still working?
I’ve never understood this about most uber-successful businesspeople. When you make that much money, and build a company that powerful…you’re done. You beat the game. You don’t need to work anymore—ever—which is literally the dream of most of America. And yet they keep working. They keep putting on suits and going to meetings! Of all the things there are to do on God’s great earth (and you can do every single one of them), you choose to go to meetings. It boggles my mind.
Take Zuckerberg. Here’s a guy who’s worth $64 billion. Read that number again. Sixty-four. Billion. Dollars. Can your brain wrap itself around that? Mine cannot. And it isn’t the scotch; a number like that is so out of whack with what the rest of us have access to, it might as well be infinity. Mark Zuckerberg’s money goes on forever.
He’s one of the few people in the world with the actual cash to buy an island, and yet he does not. Well, he bought part of one, and then screwed it up and started suing people and generally making life difficult for everyone, including himself. It seems to be a hallmark of his kind; making things difficult.
I look into his pale, meerkat-like eyes as he sits on a phonebook and tries to convince congress that he’s not completely dicking over the whole country in one way or another, and the same question persists: Mark, why are you even dealing with these people? Why are they worth your time? Why is any of it worth your time? Why are you selling your users’ shoe-buying preferences to increase your bottom line when you don’t even spend the inordinate amount of money you have now?!?
Okay, that’s more than one question, but you get it. Wealth is wasted on the wealthy, I tell you. Mark, go buy an island—a whole one—and leave all this bullshit behind. You can still do things—you can learn to surf and roast pig and brew beer and, hell, start another company. Start a dozen of them! Just try not to get so far down the rabbit hole this time. Because what ever you were shooting for, you achieved it. You, my friend, can be done.