There’s this strange phenomenon that occurs when people receive money. It’s almost like a temporary amnesia—a momentary blackout of self-awareness.
They forget who they were before the transaction, before the paycheck arrived, or before their mobile money balance changed. This isn’t merely about greed; it goes deeper. It’s as if money envelops the ego and numbs parts of the brain that were previously anchored in humility, caution, or gratitude.
In a world that idolizes wealth, remembering who you are might just be your greatest asset.
Perhaps that’s why ATMs are designed to return your card first—before dispensing cash. Even machines seem to understand human behavior better than some individuals do.
The system recognizes that once money enters your hands, your mind might wander. Your focus shifts. You might walk away, believing you’ve taken everything, only to leave behind the very tool that provided you access.
If banks wanted to maximize profits by reissuing cards, they could simply reverse that process: give people the money first, then wait. Imagine the number of cards left behind—queues of regret forming at customer service.
However, I wouldn’t necessarily say that money changes people; rather, it exposes them.
It strips away polite facades and amplifies both ego and insecurities. It reveals what someone values, what they fear, and what they conceal. In reality, money doesn’t create character—it reveals it.
So perhaps the quiet genius in the ATM’s logic is this: Hold on to your identity before grasping your money. Because once the money hits your palm, it might become the only thing occupying your thoughts.
In a world that idolizes wealth, remembering who you are might just be your greatest asset.