Amplifying What’s Already True

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What would you do if you won the lottery?

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Well, I’d be shocked for a start, because I’ve never bought a lottery ticket.

I’ve just never been drawn to it. Even with a ticket, there’s more chance I’ll be killed by a vending machine than I’ll win a major lottery jackpot. When I was a kid, lotteries felt like a public-spirited way of raising revenue. The Sydney Opera House lottery helped fund the construction of something we all still benefit from. Those days are long gone. Now it mostly feels like a very efficient way of moving money from ordinary people to large corporations. So I sit that one out.

But let’s imagine someone gave me a ticket as a gift, and it won.

First, I wouldn’t do anything dramatic. I’d tell my wife. I’d get proper advice. I’d keep it quiet. I’d put time between the win and any major decision, because money has a way of making people rush, and rushing is how people make bad choices and lose good relationships. I’d want to protect the things that matter before I started buying things that don’t.

So, before spending a cent, I’d name what I already have.

A good family. Deep friendships. Work that still feels meaningful. A roof over our heads. The quiet gift of enough. If I won the lottery, I wouldn’t want it to replace my life. I’d want it to amplify what’s already true.

My wife would probably like something a little more spacious than the small apartment we’ll likely move into in a few years. Fair enough. We’d look for a home that gives us room to breathe and room to host people. A place that serves the life we already live.

And the bigger decision would be this: I’ve spent my whole adult life helping people grow. If money suddenly turned up in obscene quantities, I’d want it to become a quiet engine for that same work.

So I’d set up an endowment with one clear purpose: to fund postgraduate research scholarships that make full-time study possible for people who otherwise couldn’t afford it. Something that keeps giving after the buzz of the win is gone. I’d want students to have time to think properly, to write properly, to finish well, to contribute something sturdy to the world. (And if you’ve ever tried to do serious research while also juggling survival, you’ll know why that matters.)

In other words: I wouldn’t want a lottery win to turn me into a different person. I’d want it to let me be more consistently the person I’m already trying to be—steady, grateful, and useful.

Money can buy options. It can’t buy meaning. But it can, if you’re careful, remove some obstacles so meaning has more room to grow. That’s what I’d hope a lottery win would do: not rewrite the story, just give the best parts more oxygen.