I grew up in an emotionally abusive, low-income family and never thought of myself as privileged. In fact, I joined the Army at age 18 to get away from that mess and jumpstart my life. It worked.
These days, my husband and I are not particularly frugal, but we aren’t particularly extravagant, either. It’s a sweet life, and we are indeed privileged. I enjoy writing about retirement and aging and the simple things that make us happy … nothing life-changing but sometimes funny and hopefully entertaining.
Privilege is relative, and I now understand even my rough start was like a rocket launcher compared to what some people are born into and how they live. I had parents, a home, clean clothes, safe places to play, food, good schools. Intellectually, I understand what it means to not have those things, but I have no real concept of what life is like outside the bubble.
I’m inspired to expand my thinking after reading an exceptional book about racial conflict in Los Angeles … Your House Will Pay by Steph Cha. The novel starts when a black teenager is killed by a Korean shop owner, and it cascades into the stories of their families – how they are impacted and how they intersect. My words won’t do it justice, so I’ll borrow from the jacket, with these words by Viet Thanh Nguyen:
“This suspense-filled page turner about murder, repentance, and forgiveness draws from the fraught history of Los Angeles, where America’s immigrant dream bleeds into America’s racist nightmare.”
In the book, everyone is angry and social media is a feeding frenzy, but the families actually living through the tragedy are ordinary people doing the best they can. We see lots of devastating stories in the news, but this book reminded me you have to look beyond hashtags and viral tweets to find the humanity that brings us together and propels us forward.
Such a powerful read that left me wondering if it’s silly or insensitive to tell stories about my cushy retired life when other people are suffering. But the truth is I’m in no position to write about what it’s like to grow up black and poor or a victim of violent crime any more than I’m going to write about what it’s like to grow up rich. Those are not my experiences.
What can a retirement blogger possibly add to the conversation when there are such eloquent voices to be heard?
Then I thought about how grateful I am for this little online community – readers and writers alike. I don’t think we have to change the world one blog post at a time or one comment at a time, but I believe there’s value in listening and sharing so in some small way, we understand each other better or something positive happens, even if it’s just a new recipe, a travel tip or a funny tale about life in the slow lane.
Everyone is shaped by their unique experiences, and everyone has a story to tell. For whatever it’s worth, this is mine.
I agree. We may not be changing the world one blog at a time but I have found over the 8 years I’ve been blogging some great people and ideas. I have to say I learn a lot from other people’s perspectives ( ok, maybe not the Trumpsters) but in general. I especially love blogs from other parts of the world UK and Wales as I’m sure I will never see these places but I feel I can see them through these blogger’s eyes.
Exactly. It’s amazing what we can learn if we stay open to learning. Eight years! Congratulations. I enjoy your blog very much.
I often feel the same way, Donna. Other than being a woman in a patriarchal society, I am near the top of the heap when it comes to privilege. But also like you, I think we all have a story to tell, about being human. A story that can touch others or at least make them laugh or give them something to think about regarding their own lives and dreams.
So often I feel like I need to apologize/acknowledge (and often do) before I go into what I hope will be a humorous story about one of my first-world problems. Other bloggers do the same. Does that mean we don’t get to complain? I don’t think so and I don’t want to turn into my mother or grandmother who didn’t allow any belly-aching because there is always someone in the world worse off than ME! True, but how that does help me or anyone else?
Keep writing, and I will do the same!
Deb
You described it perfectly. We are privileged, but we have voices, too. I kind of follow the “do no harm” model. If I’m not hurting anyone end engaging in respectful dialogue, then it shouldn’t be an issue. Your blog is great! I agree. Let’s keep writing.
Dear Donna – everyone has a story to tell – I once worked with a man whose whole family were criminals, mostly petty stuff but you did not mess with them. He was tough also but was polite and respectful and had somehow managed to avoid jail and he was a diligent worker. On the night shift it was often quiet in the Control Room and he would read – books about old Chess games. He was a Chess Master and studied the games to improve his play. In his spare time he worked for a charity. For Christina – I live in deepest, darkest South Devon in England, the land of King Arthur, legend, a magical place.
He sounds like a character you could develop in a story. Interesting!
I haven’t checked in on this blog in a while, but the other day — maybe the exact day your post was written — I was just thinking how grateful I am that at least one of the things I have to read about retirement is written by a person who is actually retired. So much of the stuff (I’m looking at you NY Times) is written by people who aren’t and yet who have some lunatic idea about how it should be based on a fantasy of what money/health/luck you have. I want to hear from people really doing it, on the other side. After all, I can come up with my own lunatic fantasies from this side.
Privilege. My mother was an English beauty and my father was an American judge: daddy rich and my momma good looking. College was expected and paid for. That’s where I was, in the dorm one night, when the whole thing imploded due to one of them’s suicide and both of their alcoholism. And I still know I am luckier than a lot of, maybe most, people. I’m certainly luckier than most people who get stage 4 cancer.
As for your blog specifically, I think you know what your writings have and do mean to me. Everybody does have a story. And I need to hear them because I’m forever trying to figure out what is going on in this life.
Maru, I’m so sorry about your parents. You really are a survivor. And you always make me feel warmly connected. It’s one of your gifts, and it’s part of the reason you survived. And you are so right about the NY Times retirement thing. Lame.