Privilege

In September, my mom texted me: “No blog since July?!”

Nope. No blog since July.

And, here we are. Not longer in September or October. But, November. And, no blog.

It’s not that I didn’t have ideas or things I wanted to write about. As an introspective person, I have about fifteen essays rolling around in my head at all times. A blessing and a curse, because this kind of brain activity is exciting… and exhausting.

Speaking of exhausting thoughts rolling through my brain, the past four month’s current events have not been easy. There were the many shootings in August. ICE raids. The climate- literal and political. And, the upcoming election.

Like so many, I wrestled with sadness and anxiety. Fear and concern. Heartache and headaches. Questioning myself to try to understand what are my thoughts and opinions… really? What is best… for us all? How do we move forward… better?

In all of this, the polarized state of the nation and its people has been front and center. It feels like you have to take sides. You are this OR that.

And, one thing that it was clear in all of this was that I am very, very privileged.

When “privilege” first hit the mainstream a few years ago, I found the word hard to swallow. 

I wanted to fight back. It sounded like an insult.

The word brought to mind really rich kids. Like the ones you would see on Super Sweet Sixteen back in the day or in a satire about Greek Life.

I never got a new car with a bow on it, let alone my own car until I bought one with the cash I saved up on my own. To have spending money, I got my first job at 15. I had to work for every grade to get into– and out of- college. I was well studied, practiced and prepared when it came time to interview for a job. As a young adult, I opted out of indulgences knowing I should save my money for something meaningful or for a rainy day. I even planted a garden because I wanted to do something good for the planet… and maybe even prove my ability and willingness to get my hands dirty. 

I did things on my own. 

I even did things the hard way.

And, you want to call this- ME- privileged?

I didn’t understand. 

I didn’t understand for a long time that “privilege” actually only has little to do with money. I also didn’t understand that “privilege” doesn’t equal or make me “bad.”

The little bit of privilege that it does have to do with money was easy to learn. And it was easy to see that, yes. Okay. In fact the way I grew up, even with a hand-me-down Volvo, was a privilege.

But, so was opening any story book as a young girl and seeing illustrated characters that looked just like me. To watch TV shows like Full House, Lizzie McQuire, Dawson’s Creek and Friends and see myself, my family, my friends and relationships like my relationships play out on the screen. I could go pick out a Mother’s Day card and find families and skin tones that looked just like mine and my mom’s without thinking about it.

All my life, I could walk into any room and not receive stares. I could play on the playground or walk into the building with ease. I was as normal as “normal” could be. 

I got to live in a house. A house that valued cleanliness and respected bedtime so we could all perform well the next day. To have parents that not only loved me, but also each other. They advocated for me to be in enriched programming, tutoring, and lessons for sports because they could. They had the time and energy to do so.

Once I started to dip my toes into the “privilege” water, the reality of my true privilege came cascading down in front of me. 

I am so crazy privileged. Even that garden. The one that took- yes, work and getting my hands dirty- but, also time, money, space and care to grow? Privilege.

And, oh my gosh. Just the ability, time and freedom to write and be a little introspective in the pursuit of passions, purpose and joy is privilege. 

So, in the last four months, thanks to books, podcasts and even a few hard, uncomfortable conversations I have gained new awareness of systemic racism, minor everyday aggressions, and my own many advantages. 

It has been good… and crushing. 

There have been times I have wanted to- and have actually- chimed in when I should have just listened. It’s wrecked things I thought I knew to be true… both good and bad. And, been so eye opening.

But, then came something else: Shame.

Shame for being so wrong. Shame for living so long completely clueless. For not seeing these things in our everyday. For even perpetuating some of these things without even realizing it.

Then, the embarrassed, “Oh my gosh. I did nothing to deserve all this!” kind of shame. 

The shame in thinking for so long that many of my achievements were achievements of my own accord, when really they were the success of the community around me. I was dealt a good hand when it came to family. I grew up in a place and time that was built for someone like me. Many of the things that I thought were my own personal successes, were a society in favor of a white, upper middle class, straight, able bodied and able minded, female.

All of this new awareness also led a desire for action. To make change, impact and deserve this life I have by doing good.

But, how?

Advocate? Influence? March in the street? Say and write profound things? Foster kids? Provide jobs? Create a farming program? Run for local office? Give time? Money? Both?

See? My brain has been busy.

On top of everything in the last couple months, my grandmother also passed away. 

As death goes, her’s was the one we all wish for: Peacefully, in bed, at 90, in the loving presence of her kids… with the “I love you’s” said, loose ends tied up and wishes put on paper years ago.

Death is sad 100% of the time; but, as death goes, what a privilege.

We celebrated my grandmother and the life she lived as a family last weekend. It was great. I loved to hear the stories about her life, even the ones that I already knew well. 

She had this photo album that I first discovered when I was in college. It was of her high school and college days. I loved it. 

She attended a girls school and then Carnegie Mellon where she studied music. There she was a Delta Gamma and had a very active social agenda- made very clear in this album. 

Sisterhood events at the lake. Clippings from classmates on Homecoming and spring carnival courts. Playbills from productions and dates. Formal invites for Proms and from fraternities for parties. Her bid day card and thank you’s for her help with they rush events. Love letters from boys at other colleges. Telegrams and small cards from florists noting which of the many men in her life sent what on Valentine’s Day. Even just napkins from a night out at a bar and a bundle of tissue paper confetti from a New Year’s Eve with a young man’s name written next to it.

I loved this peak into her life as a young person. It was exciting. Full of life, love and fun. Different- obviously- to my college years, but also very much the same.

Over the weekend, my mom gave me the album. Now, nearly 80 years old, it kind of stinks and is falling apart. She knew I liked it and she told me it was mine, even if I just threw it away.

I gently turned the deteriorating pages. I studied the images of young people at the peak of their life. Living well. Attending football games and dances. Decorating floats for homecoming parades and sending chocolate for Valentine’s Day.

Then, I read the dates.

They stuck out to me because I had just finished reading “The Tattooist of Auschwitz,” a gripping, true story of the years a young man spent in the concentration camp. (Highly recommend.) The years of my grandmother’s album overlapped with the operation of Auschwitz. My grandmother was living a wonderful, young, white American existence at the same time her peers in Europe were facing beyond horrifying realities.

But, then, there wasn’t social media. In fact, little was known about Auschwitz at the time. It’s even been deemed a little controversial that the Allies did not act, despite reports of it. And, even after it was liberated, the atrocities of Auschwitz received little Western press.

I can’t help but wonder… What was it like to learn about this when she finally did? Did she feel the shame of her privilege? Shame for living a wonderful existence in a time of such pain? Shame for being completely unaware of it? 

Did she feel like me? Like a bit of a jerk for being so clueless? Did she feel clumsy in trying to do better after her awareness grew? Did she also feel called to act?

But, in the years that followed, my grandmother didn’t run for office or speak out about injustice or foster kids.

Instead, she sang.

She sang at church, at luncheons, and in her home for guests. But, she also sang for volunteer organizations around Pittsburg and often for the blind.

It wasn’t playing big as far as action goes. But, was also not shrinking back in shame of her talents, abilities, advantages and privilege trying to make them smaller. That is not, as I am learning in real time, productive or engaging with privilege the right way. 

Instead, it was taking her talents, privileges and gifts out into the world. 

Giving them back to the society that helped shape her, her comfort, her belonging and happiness to making things better, happier, and more beautiful. 

And also, using them to make life just a bit better for the people that are not seen, heard or afforded those gifts or even just given recognition. 

To plant a seed for awareness, compassion and, perhaps, even some change. 

Also in the years that followed, my grandmother shared her love of music with me. We played and sang at the piano. She taught me to love musicals like Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music. In 2018, I was able to see Wicked with my sister’s in law and I cried a little as Glenda performed. Her style, spunk, snark, and “popularity” matched my grandmother’s diva-ness and I thought, “Dang. She would have been perfect for this role.” 

My Grandmother took me to see Beauty and the Beast when I was five years old. In the theater. I was so excited. Hello? Five. Disney. That night out with her will always be a special memory to me.

As it turns out, the music from musicals like Wicked (and Hamiltion and The Greatest Showman…) and Disney films like Beauty and the Beast (and Frozen and The Lion King…) are what I find that both my kids and I can agree on. (These… and Taylor Swift.) And, just this morning, the updated version of “Tale As Old As Time” came across our playlist.

I have heard it a million times. And, I really do love the version with Ariana Grande and John Legend. But, for the first time, one line stuck out and gave me chills.

“Bittersweet and strange, 

finding you can change. 

Learning you were wrong.” 

It was her.

Speaking to me in a song. A song I first heard with her. Answering the questions I wondered all weekend and have asked myself for a while.

It is strange and uncomfortable, but that is what growth is. I need to continue to push through that discomfort. To not spiral in shame and inaction.

It was her telling me to use my talents to plant seeds for others in my community- the one that shaped me, my skills and success- to do the same.

So maybe for you, your talents are as a leader and that looks running for school board to make sure the playground is wheel chair accessible. Or, to have conversations about what can be done to ensure African American students in your district are graduating at the same rate as their peers. 

Maybe, your talent is your selflessness and it is fostering to be that warm, quiet home for a child that has only known chaos and noise.

Maybe you are a talented cook and it’s picking up a cookbook from a culture that you know nothing about in an attempt to learn and understand more.

(Fun Fact: I did this recently with Priya Krishna’s “Indian-ish” and learned within seconds that I had been calling dishes “curry” when curry- in this context- is not a thing. It’s definitely not an Indian thing. I was embarrassed and ashamed that I have said on multiple occasions- even written it here- that I like making “curry.” Now, I know better and will get it right.)

Maybe it’s just time spent in your mind and your past. It’s coming face to face with your privileges and looking at them with a new set of eyes and doing some work on you. To see them for what they are, not as something “bad” or shameful. But, rather decades of a system that perpetuated a reality that lead to advantages for people like you.

For today, for me, it will be with words that hopefully have you think a little more, embracing that you were maybe wrong. And, let you know that seeing that will be strange. Hard even. That is okay. I will write words that will help inspire action and helping you find that you can also change. We all can move forward better… for good.