I’m reminded, almost on a daily basis, that I led a privileged life as a kid. It’s something that I didn’t always recognize but I’m conscious of now.
It seems I can’t tell a story that isn’t dripping with privilege.
You worked at an ice cream shop? Oh, we had an ice cream maker.
You don’t know how to swim? I had to learn, otherwise sailing camp wouldn’t have been an option.
You like horses? I used to ride. I actually owned a horse (though that is a long and tragic tale) but I gave it up because my allergies got to be too bad.
I don’t mean to do it, and I definitely can’t help how I was raised, but I hate feeling guilty because she feels that I’m ramming my (perceived) wealth down her throat. We had two very different upbringings.
The thing is, she’s in the minority. It just sucks being the odd man out – it’s just especially hard to be (comparatively) poor when you work in fashion.