All the best wars are fought internally
I think my childhood might have left me with some issues.
Of course, everyone's does. In my case, my parent's total lack of monetary sense, combined with a healthy helping of bad luck and a little sprinkling of depression meant that I grew up in poverty. We were always on the verge of losing the house, or getting evicting, or not being able to pay the light bill. We ate at food banks, from time to time, and were regularly dependent on aid from family or friends to make it through the month. It was never dire--I had enough to eat and access to a computer--but it was always sort of a lingering shadow of fear. It is definitely left its mark on me, in subtle ways. For example, I hoard food. It's not Discovery Channel special bad, but I have at least three months worth of dry goods, just in case. I feel guilty over even minor splurges, like buying asparagus for dinner instead of squash.
Now the situation: I drive a super beat up, old-enough-to-vote Honda Civic. It is a good car, especially by the standards of the cars I grew up with*. I could certainly get another three to five years out of it before it becomes completely undriveable, and maybe another 6 months after that. (I have low standards.) However, my grandmother wants to buy me a car for graduation. A really nice car, a 2007 Honda Accord EX-L.
I realize, rationally, a four-year-old Honda is hardly a luxury vehicle, it is very safe and reliable, it is a good investment, and so on...but...well...it has heated seats! What in heaven's name would I do with heated seats? No one in my social circle drives a car with heated seats. I can't help but feel like some sort of class traitor, ridiculous as it sounds. Heated seats are for posh investment bankers with Ivy League educations* and $500 shoes.
Don't get me wrong, I am very grateful. My grandmother is awesome! I just really wish she had bought me a shittier car. Is that crazy?
*This means that is has brakes, functioning gauges, travels above 55, and nothing important is held on by duct tape.
**Yes, I know Scripps is practically Ivy. It's irrational, okay?
Of course, everyone's does. In my case, my parent's total lack of monetary sense, combined with a healthy helping of bad luck and a little sprinkling of depression meant that I grew up in poverty. We were always on the verge of losing the house, or getting evicting, or not being able to pay the light bill. We ate at food banks, from time to time, and were regularly dependent on aid from family or friends to make it through the month. It was never dire--I had enough to eat and access to a computer--but it was always sort of a lingering shadow of fear. It is definitely left its mark on me, in subtle ways. For example, I hoard food. It's not Discovery Channel special bad, but I have at least three months worth of dry goods, just in case. I feel guilty over even minor splurges, like buying asparagus for dinner instead of squash.
Now the situation: I drive a super beat up, old-enough-to-vote Honda Civic. It is a good car, especially by the standards of the cars I grew up with*. I could certainly get another three to five years out of it before it becomes completely undriveable, and maybe another 6 months after that. (I have low standards.) However, my grandmother wants to buy me a car for graduation. A really nice car, a 2007 Honda Accord EX-L.
I realize, rationally, a four-year-old Honda is hardly a luxury vehicle, it is very safe and reliable, it is a good investment, and so on...but...well...it has heated seats! What in heaven's name would I do with heated seats? No one in my social circle drives a car with heated seats. I can't help but feel like some sort of class traitor, ridiculous as it sounds. Heated seats are for posh investment bankers with Ivy League educations* and $500 shoes.
Don't get me wrong, I am very grateful. My grandmother is awesome! I just really wish she had bought me a shittier car. Is that crazy?
*This means that is has brakes, functioning gauges, travels above 55, and nothing important is held on by duct tape.
**Yes, I know Scripps is practically Ivy. It's irrational, okay?