An Escalade Addiction
It’s an unlikely addiction. Probably one you’re not familiar with. The addiction I’m talking about will only resonate with a select few of you. I understand that. I also understand the blowback I’ll probably receive for making some of the comparisons I’m about to make. Fortunately, I’m not writing this for those who’ll be so quick to dish that blowback. I’m writing this for the people, however few there may be, that are struggling with what I struggled with for so many years without the words to identify it. Even if this only resonates with one person, my writing will have been worthwhile. The addiction I’m talking about is my Escalade Addiction. It probably sounds crazy. And, I’ll spend little time arguing that it isn't. But, as crazy as it may be, it’s real. I know it’s real because I suffered from it for many years. And, through those years, I had no idea what I was suffering from. Unlike many traditional sources of addiction, my Escalade Addiction was difficult for me to identify because, for much of my life, I had no idea that I was addicted. While most of us are familiar with traditional manifestations of addiction such as alcohol, drugs, porn, sex, and other unlovely affixations, I’ll argue my Escalade Addiction shared many similar characteristics and resulted in much of the same despair without the obvious cause. I’m not writing to compare the pain and suffering associated with the different forms of addictions that exist in the world. I can’t see how that’s productive. My intent is to share what I went through, attempt to acknowledge its absurdity, and share how I’ve begun to overcome it.
My Escalade Addiction probably started well before this, however, I assert that it started around the time I got my driver’s license when I was 16 years old. My parents bought me a brand new Toyota FJ, which is considered a high-end SUV. I can’t be sure of its exact cost, although I believe it was somewhere in the low $40k range. Suffice to say, any teenager without a job of their own should be lucky to see one of these roll into the driveway on the day they pass their driver’s test. Most teenagers would be ecstatic to have a brand new vehicle like the Toyota FJ my parents bought me. However, when my dad pulled into the driveway, my face must have been less than enthused. I hung my head and slouched my shoulders as I walked a few circles around the vehicle, then told my parents I didn’t like it and I thought it was ugly. Looking back, it makes me sick that I felt comfortable enough to say this to them. Not sure why I thought this was ok. I imagine there are examples of similar situations throughout my childhood where I voiced my displeasure towards a display of generosity my parents made towards me where I ended up getting something better than what was originally presented to me. If you already hate who I was as a kid, keep reading. It gets worse. I had no idea that by telling my parents I didn’t like the vehicle they bought me, they’d turn around and purchase me a nicer, more expensive vehicle than the one they already bought me. Within a day of telling my parents I didn’t like the original vehicle they purchased me, it was returned to the dealership, and, when I got home from school, a brand new, polished, shiny, black Cadillac Escalade was sitting in the driveway. I was ecstatic. Yet, I wasn't surprised. As much as I’d like to say I never thought they’d buy me the Cadillac Escalade I told them I wanted, it wouldn’t be true. I always knew it was in the realm of possibility, which is probably why I pushed for it. It’s probably why I was so dissatisfied when my dad came rolling into the driveway in the Toyota FJ that I never in a million years pictured myself driving.
In case you’re unaware, Cadillac Escalades are beautiful vehicles. Even the least vehicle-savvy among us recognize their marvel. With a front end more masculine than a greek god’s chiseled jawline, sleek exterior lines sexier than a Victoria’s Secret model, and an overindulgent V-8 engine equipped to bully any and everything in its way, it’s no surprise that, in America, the Cadillac Escalade has long been symbolic of financial of success.
My parents handed me the keys and told me the Escalade was mine. I ripped open the driver’s side door, slid my chubby 16 year old ass across the patent leather driver’s seat, thrust the key into the ignition, and cranked it til the engine roared. It immediately felt as if I mainlined this sense of pleasure, excitement, and self-importance I’d never experienced before. This is the moment, I do believe, my Escalade Addiction began.
From that point forward, I drove through town with more arrogance and hubris than I’d like to admit. I tried my best to act humble, but I imagine my act was easier to peer through than the crystal clear windshield of my new $65k+ luxury SUV. Everyone was talking about me and I knew it. Instantly, I assumed the label of the kid whose parents bought him the Cadillac Escalade for his 16th birthday and, disturbingly, I was ok with it. It was a quick and easy way for me to garner more recognition than I ever could have created through anything else I had going on. Upon receiving my new vehicle, any ambition I had of making something of myself through effort, hard work, dedication, and determination became the vapor evaporating out of my Escalade’s exhaust pipe. I had been given a vehicle that most people sacrifice copious amounts of time, focus, and energy to get, and all I had to do was mope around my driveway for a few minutes to get mine. I interpreted the attention I was getting as admiration and importance. By driving a vehicle that cost more than the vehicles that most of my friends' parents drove, and often double what most of the teachers in my high school drove, I solidified my status among the social elite. I had life figured out. In order to get the attention, respect, and admiration I wanted, all I had to do was drive expensive vehicles. Or, wear designer clothes, go on nice vacations, and maintain my identity as a person who does all of these things. Seems simple.
Shortly thereafter, I made the connection that my family’s business was the reason I had access to this excess in resources. My family purchased new vehicles, frequently went on expensive vacations, and generally lived a lifestyle in excess of many of those around me. I began noticing the correlation between the excess with which I lived and the success of my family’s business. I realized my family’s economic freedom was all supported through my family’s business which was something most of my peers didn’t have. Therefore, I decided that it made perfect sense to outwardly commit my allegiance to my family’s business. In my mind, I had a life plentiful in resources and I was becoming known as the person who lives a life in congruence with these resources. The only way I could ever imagine maintaining that lifestyle and upholding that identity would be to work for my family’s business. Subconsciously, I reasoned there’d be no other way for me to afford the luxuries and lifestyle that my family’s business provided me. So, I professed my commitment to my family’s business and dug my heels into the idea that taking over my family’s business was a dream I’d had since birth. All while I really had no idea what I wanted to do.
To provide some context, it’s important to know I began working for my family’s business when I was a sophomore in high school and continued to work there through college graduation and up until I was 27 years old. Throughout high school and college, I never received paychecks for my work. I preferred it that way, although I knew there was something inherently unfair about it. I had an unwritten agreement with my parents that essentially said, I’ll work for you, as needed, and, in exchange, you’ll continue to support the lifestyle you introduced me and I’ve grown accustomed to. Clearly, I got the better end of the deal. I worked irregularly, but not significantly less than the majority of my peers. I was also involved in sports throughout high school which prohibited me from working a full schedule. Throughout college, I continued to work and decided to stay near my hometown so I could continue to work throughout the school year. On the outside, it looked admirable. However, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. But, most importantly, it needs to be made clear that I was not doing jobs or working enough hours to support the lifestyle I was living. I knew it was a raw deal, but I didn’t care. I lived a life that far exceeded reality.
Between the time I was 16 years old and the time I graduated from college, I lost count of the number of brand new luxury vehicles I was given. If I had to guess, I probably had access to at least ten brand new vehicles over that period of time. Not to mention all of the other resources I had access to like money, clothes, food, and anything else I wanted to buy. I felt like I deserved it. Unfortunately, I had no idea how this overconsumption affecting my work ethic, self-esteem, and self-confidence. Each time I took a superfluous handout from my parents, I cheated the work/reward receptors in my brain and I loved it. I was getting all the rewards without having to actually do any of the hard work to get them. Life was great. Until, it wasn’t.
With any addiction, from what I gather, the fun part is the part where you’re getting what you want, when you want it. But, I assume, the not so fun part about addiction is the part where you have to look yourself in the mirror and reconcile how you achieved that short-term pleasure. Then, the even less fun part is when you realize that what initially made you feel that sense of pleasure is no longer pleasure enough. For me, the really not fun part of my addiction was the part where I realized that, around the time I grabbed that set of Escalade keys, I exchanged any idea I had of myself outside of my family’s business for a lifestyle that was ultimately unfulfilling. I was trapped. Addicted.
At a certain point, around the time I graduated college and started working for my family’s business full-time, I began feeling miserable. In reality, I knew it long before I started working full-time for the family business, but I realized that working in my family’s senior living business was never something I was interested in. The work was unfulfilling and totally irrespective of my interests. However, unfortunately, I didn’t have the emotional tools or courage to walk away from the lifestyle I’d grown accustomed to. I also didn’t have any other paths I was emotionally connected to, so I stayed. I was terrified of what people would think of me if I no longer lived the lifestyle that everyone was accustomed to associating me with. So, I sunk deeper into my Escalade Addiction. I continued to work for my family’s business, riddled with unhappiness while living the lifestyle that became as much of my identity as that of working for my family’s business.
And, so, the same way an addict of ‘traditional’ avenues pursues pleasure through synthetic means, I continued to use the identity my family’s business created for me as a fix for my misery. I had this idea that I somehow deserved the life of excess I enjoyed from such a young age just because it was what I’d always known. The same way many addicts identify so intimately with the identity of being an addict to alcohol, drugs, sex, and other unlovely acts, I leaned further into my identity as the heir of the family business, not knowing who I was without it. I was being suffocated by the idea I had of myself and I saw no way out.
I struggled with the conflict of feeling like I deserved the lifestyle I was living yet being dissatisfied with working for my family’s business for the better part of my adult life until I finally decided that I could no longer take it. Through the help of people I trusted, I made a plan to cure myself from the Escalade Addiction. No longer was I willing to accept the short term gratification in exchange for long-term fulfillment. I was ashamed of what I’d become and I knew I needed to change.
Similar to the way a recovering addict comes to the realization that if they’re ever going to rid themselves of the addiction that plagues them, they’re going to need to swallow their pride and kiss the short-term highs goodbye. They’re going to need to realize that taking a step down from the person they thought they were is going to hurt and they’re going to have to accept that. At least, that’s what I did. I realized I needed to leave the life I thought I needed behind. I needed to shed the idea of myself that I used to have. I had to leave the Escalades behind, too.
By now, you might’ve gathered that I was never really addicted to an Escalade at all. Nor was I addicted to any of the other material goods I became so accustomed to. Rather, I was addicted to my inflated sense of self-importance, my identity, my entitlement, my arrogance, and everything else my childish ego clung to so tightly to try and shield me from the realities of the world that the Escalade told me I needed.
So, at 27 years old, I decided to leave my family’s business and the only life I’d ever known. I forewent my business and social status in pursuit of a life that seemed real. I moved to a new city, found a new job, and a social circle that accepted me regardless of my professional occupation. I found an apartment I was able to afford through the money I was making at a job I got on my own. I still drive a vehicle that’s over 10 years old with 140,000 miles and I have a grocery budget that’s a fraction of the budget I used to have. And, the most surprising part about all of it is, I’m much happier. I’m happier because I know I’m earning it on my own. I’m happier because I realized I don’t need an Escalade to be me.
When life gets tough, I imagine I’ll be tempted to return to my family’s business and the financial resources it could undoubtedly provide. I assume I’ll deal with that temptation for the rest of my life, the way many addicts do.
And, before you start to think of this as an indictment of the way I was raised, please save yourself the time. I’ve already considered that and, please, know it’s simply untrue. It’s no one's fault. Neither my parent’s fault, nor mine. This messy situation is the byproduct of a pair of parents who tried to give their son a better life than they ever could have dreamed of when they were kids. There are no fingers to point. And, before you try to tell me how ridiculous this all sounds, please, know that I know. I’ve sulked in enough shame to know just how crazy this all sounds and I don’t know that I have much care left to give in that regard. However, I do accept responsibility for being the person who must figure it out. It’s no one’s struggle to deal with except mine. I had choices and I made them. The same way I had the choice to walk away from my family’s business and all that it provided for me to find a path that works.
Finally, I suspect there are a few others out there with situations similar to mine. Even if your addiction doesn’t come in the form of an Escalade, I might be able to relate. I love to talk. Please, reach out. It’s never too late.
