Continuing the recent discussion of class (I, II)
More often than not, the last waking thing I do each day is climb into a behemoth of a reclining chair. The AW derisively, if not cleverly, deemed it "Chairzilla." It's quite possibly my happiest place on earth. Bed to my left, TV before me, and Puget Sound to my right, it's where I like to nod off. And when I wriggle under the blankets, I let out an involuntary little giggle. It's the delighted giggle of a poor kid.
I don't know for sure, but I'm betting that most folks don't go to bed giggling over their wild-ass luck. For the perspective it now allows, I'm eternally grateful for my having been that poor kid.
The perspective doesn't just lend to guilty giggles. Sometimes it staves off fear or worse. When tech stocks crashed in 2000 and scores of Microsoft millionaires instantly became Microsoft really-good-health-insuransaires, a pall fell over my peers. Corporate depression set in, and if not depression, anger over a lost entitlement. The company must issue more stock, I heard. Our millions must be restored.
I would have joined the chorus, but I was too busy going "Whoo-hoo! I'm a really-good-health-insuransaire!"
That's an overstatement, of course. I wasn't exactly delighted, but I was far from depressed. It was like for a moment I thought I held the winning lottery ticket, but then it turns out they were holding the ping pong ball upside down and that 61 was really a 19. I never thought I deserved the lottery. I would be fine without it. I was philosophical and shrugged it off. Easy come, easy go.
I still feel that way. If the gravy train is ever discontinued, if I become unemployed, even poor again, I know I'll be fine. I've been fine before. I don't seek it, but I don't fear it. And unlike many of my silver-spoon-suckled peers, I'm certainly not inclined to make myself miserable to avoid it.
I'm sure it wasn't by design, Mom, but that's two I owe you.