Private Island or Private Jet?

[0:00]Would you rather have your own private island or your own private jet? Option one, the private island. You wake up. The water outside your window is that fake looking turquoise that you used to think was photoshopped. It's not photoshopped. That's just your backyard now. You have a staff of 20 who live in a hidden compound just to make sure everything is perfect before you even think to ask. You have a chef on the island who cooks one thing perfectly, a grilled cheese, and you've never respected someone more. There's a mountain peak where the day starts and a horizon where it ends, and you have a front row seat to both. And unlike your neighbor's island, the only thing getting buried is your stress. You want a 24-hour party? Done. You want complete silence for a month? Granted. This is your kingdom and you are the only law. But here's the thing nobody tells you about owning a private island. Getting there is a 3-hour flight, then a 40-minute seaplane, then a boat driven by someone who is always 20 minutes late. If you need a doctor or if you want something as simple as milk, it's a four-hour boat ride. There is no Uber Eats, there is nothing. You ran out of hot sauce two weeks ago and that is a full crisis. Option two, the private jet. You own a Gulf Stream G700. The world is no longer a map, it's a menu. You never stand in a line again, a couple steps and you're in the air. Airports are something that happens to other people. Your jet is a flying penthouse. Full bedroom, high-speed Wi-Fi, a shower at 40,000 feet. No middle seat, no screaming child kicking the back of your head rest for six hours. No gate agent telling you your carry on is 0.3 inches too wide. The words why not have completely replaced the word can't in your vocabulary. A city gets too cold, you fly south before lunch. You fly to Japan just for an egg sandwich at 7-Eleven because someone on Tik Tok said it was worth it. They were right. You call 10 friends on a Friday and tell them you're doing a weekend in Ibiza. You are the one providing the magic carpet and nobody ever says no to you. But you have been everywhere and you belong nowhere. Every city is just another hotel room, every landing feels exactly like the last one. You have 10,000 people who call you when they need a ride and almost nobody who calls just to hear your voice. So what are you choosing? The private island or the private jet? Comment below.