To be honest, although I try to stay in touch with concepts like “the shidduch crisis has no mathematical basis” or “it isn’t my fault that I’m struggling so much” or “sometimes we just have to wait for the right time” — I go through these phases when I seriously don’t believe any of the above. This rainy week was one of those times. I don’t know what triggered it specifically, but I was in quite the funk. It’s such a yucky thing to go through because a part of me deep down is afraid of staying there. And that is not an option.
Then I saw a video clip about a boy who grew up in an inner city in a series of group homes, and I felt ashamed of myself. Whatever I’m going through, I am not going through that. And that’s not a small thing. I am safe, healthy, connected to a strong support network, privileged to be able to do pretty much anything I really think I should be doing for myself. I’ve had many opportunities that most people in the world can’t even dream of, by virtue of my living in the freest and most prosperous country on earth. There is so much pain, misery, and suffering in the world that I can’t fathom surviving. It’s easy for me to compare my life to the norms of a certain type of community in a certain geographic area — but the world is a lot bigger, and plenty of people in it would trade their lives for mine.
I’m reminded of a passage in Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are?, by Dr. Seuss:
When you think things are bad,
when you feel sour and blue,
when you start to get mad…
you should do what I do!
Just tell yourself, Duckie,
you’re really quite lucky!
Some people are much more…
oh, ever so much more…
oh, muchly much-much more
unlucky than you!
Certain books have brought this home for me, like A Long Walk to Water, by Linda Sue Park; Inside Out and Back Again, by Thanhha Lai; and if you’re up for something more mature, Hillbilly Elegy, by J. D. Vance.
I’m not a refugee and I have clean water. I’ve never lived through a war, never been hungry with nowhere to find food, never lost family members in an epidemic. I’ve never been forced to go to a failing school where most students don’t graduate and end up in jail. Millions of people in the world, as you read this, can’t say the same. It may feel far away but reading about experiences like this, or watching documentaries if that’s your thing, can bring them to life. And I think that’s worthwhile. It’s hard to pull far enough away from the day-to-day struggle to truly have perspective. But doing so tends to shake things back down to where they belong in the scope of things, leaving me feeling grateful for my life and my first-world problems.
Any thoughts?