Examining my privilege
I don't typically think of myself as "rich." Comparatively speaking, financially, I'd say I'm comfortably middle class, if such a thing still exists in these United States. Every now and then--such as my trips to Kenya or Europe--I am reminded that my self-perception isn't wholly accurate in the context of the larger world, that I have resources others don't partly because I'm single, partly because I attempt to be careful with money, partly because I work in high tech, and partly because I go without some things so I can have other things. And partly because, well, I'm white, American, well-educated, and was born into a family that valued me, that valued education, and that valued finer things even if we couldn't always afford them. I know that compared to many places in the world, I live like a princess in my spacious condo with more clothes than anyone really needs, my own car, clean water, ample food, and loving friends and family.
I had two encounters recently that made me extremely aware of my privilege, though, and they got me squirming a little bit, and trying to figure out how to be more aware.
The first was at the nail salon. Now, first I should say, the fact that the phrase "nail salon" just rolls out of my fingertips without a second thought is just plain bizarre in my life. Up until my brother got married, I think I'd had maybe one manicure. In the wake of my cousin Paul's wedding in August, though, I've been getting them regularly, once every two weeks, because I've found that I enjoy the results in a way I never expected that I would.
Of course, what this means is that once every two weeks, I sit opposite one of the manicurists at my salon for a half hour while she works on my hands and practices her English with her American client. All of the manicurists at the salon I go to are young Vietnamese women. None of them wear wedding rings, though the three I've spent time with at the manicure table all have asserted that they're married and that their husbands are still overseas. The sameness of this story between the three of them makes me wonder if it's a safety thing; after all, they're all young, attractive, living in a country not their own, and don't speak English very well. Marriage offers a certain protection socially, and it's an easy place to begin conversation: Are you married? Do you have children? What does your husband do? The girls are always stumped when I tell them I'm not because a woman of my age usually is. They ask about work. They ask where I'm from, and suddenly we're talking about travel. Which is expensive. And suddenly I find myself embarrassed, talking about going to New York regularly to visit friends and family, and how it's a great city but very expensive . . . and then I'm stumped because I feel enormously self-conscious talking about expensive travel with women who are probably paid minimum wage to make my hands look pretty and who probably haven't seen much of the world.
Of course, that's a tough assumption as well. These women have traveled at least from Vietnam to Seattle. Insert glyph of my head exploding for lack of a gracious way out of a conversation I'm not sure how I got into in the first place. By the time I get to this place in the conversation, I try to deflect by asking them about their experience and how they like Seattle and the weather and how many dogs there are in the neighborhood and any damn thing I can come up with that doesn't ostentatiously emphasize my social advantages.
My other experience was with a woman I'm trying out as a new cat sitter. My sitter of 20 years retired this year, much to my dismay and sadness, though I wish her well. This new person was recommended by two friends who spoke quite highly of her and so I thought I'd give her a shot. I opened the door to find a woman of a certain age in a Doctor Who tee shirt, jeans and thick boots, with badly damaged and graying hair. She was grumpy and very just-the-facts-ma'am in her approach but she clearly was interested in the cats . . . and in the use of my wifi. When she asked about what happens if the cats need vet care while I'm gone, without thinking I said I'd reimburse up to $1000 of care without her even needing to call me, which was the arrangement I had with my previous sitter. And that was when she said she doesn't have $1000 and that wouldn't work. She only pet sits for a living, has a 56K internet connection at home, and couldn't possibly lay out $100 much less $1000. And sitting there in my kitchen, I looked around at my home with its well-upholstered easy chair, its fireplace, its myriad books and my porcelain cat collection, and wanted to crawl under my bed and die of embarrassment for my lack of awareness.
I'm not sorry for or ashamed of the things I have, the place I live, or my advantages. There's no question I started in a privileged place in life. At the same time, I've struggled getting to where I am now, I've overcome some pretty tough stuff over the years, and I've achieved a lot of it on my own. But encounters like this are good, if uncomfortable, reminders that I do need to be more aware. I need to maintain some perspective. Maybe I need to come up with a roster of neutral conversational topics so I don't inadvertently flaunt my advantages. I don't know. What I come away with from all this is that I need to be more aware. I guess I'll just keep figuring it out as I go along.
I had two encounters recently that made me extremely aware of my privilege, though, and they got me squirming a little bit, and trying to figure out how to be more aware.
The first was at the nail salon. Now, first I should say, the fact that the phrase "nail salon" just rolls out of my fingertips without a second thought is just plain bizarre in my life. Up until my brother got married, I think I'd had maybe one manicure. In the wake of my cousin Paul's wedding in August, though, I've been getting them regularly, once every two weeks, because I've found that I enjoy the results in a way I never expected that I would.
Of course, what this means is that once every two weeks, I sit opposite one of the manicurists at my salon for a half hour while she works on my hands and practices her English with her American client. All of the manicurists at the salon I go to are young Vietnamese women. None of them wear wedding rings, though the three I've spent time with at the manicure table all have asserted that they're married and that their husbands are still overseas. The sameness of this story between the three of them makes me wonder if it's a safety thing; after all, they're all young, attractive, living in a country not their own, and don't speak English very well. Marriage offers a certain protection socially, and it's an easy place to begin conversation: Are you married? Do you have children? What does your husband do? The girls are always stumped when I tell them I'm not because a woman of my age usually is. They ask about work. They ask where I'm from, and suddenly we're talking about travel. Which is expensive. And suddenly I find myself embarrassed, talking about going to New York regularly to visit friends and family, and how it's a great city but very expensive . . . and then I'm stumped because I feel enormously self-conscious talking about expensive travel with women who are probably paid minimum wage to make my hands look pretty and who probably haven't seen much of the world.
Of course, that's a tough assumption as well. These women have traveled at least from Vietnam to Seattle. Insert glyph of my head exploding for lack of a gracious way out of a conversation I'm not sure how I got into in the first place. By the time I get to this place in the conversation, I try to deflect by asking them about their experience and how they like Seattle and the weather and how many dogs there are in the neighborhood and any damn thing I can come up with that doesn't ostentatiously emphasize my social advantages.
My other experience was with a woman I'm trying out as a new cat sitter. My sitter of 20 years retired this year, much to my dismay and sadness, though I wish her well. This new person was recommended by two friends who spoke quite highly of her and so I thought I'd give her a shot. I opened the door to find a woman of a certain age in a Doctor Who tee shirt, jeans and thick boots, with badly damaged and graying hair. She was grumpy and very just-the-facts-ma'am in her approach but she clearly was interested in the cats . . . and in the use of my wifi. When she asked about what happens if the cats need vet care while I'm gone, without thinking I said I'd reimburse up to $1000 of care without her even needing to call me, which was the arrangement I had with my previous sitter. And that was when she said she doesn't have $1000 and that wouldn't work. She only pet sits for a living, has a 56K internet connection at home, and couldn't possibly lay out $100 much less $1000. And sitting there in my kitchen, I looked around at my home with its well-upholstered easy chair, its fireplace, its myriad books and my porcelain cat collection, and wanted to crawl under my bed and die of embarrassment for my lack of awareness.
I'm not sorry for or ashamed of the things I have, the place I live, or my advantages. There's no question I started in a privileged place in life. At the same time, I've struggled getting to where I am now, I've overcome some pretty tough stuff over the years, and I've achieved a lot of it on my own. But encounters like this are good, if uncomfortable, reminders that I do need to be more aware. I need to maintain some perspective. Maybe I need to come up with a roster of neutral conversational topics so I don't inadvertently flaunt my advantages. I don't know. What I come away with from all this is that I need to be more aware. I guess I'll just keep figuring it out as I go along.