the kmart bag

This morning I grabbed a plastic grocery store bag from underneath the sink for my tupperware lunch, pulled out a Kmart bag and instantly was transported to an era of class shame from my youth that I had not thought about for years, if not decades. Family outings to Kmart abounded for us during my coming up years. Each trip instigated in me great shame and fear of being discovered by classmates who, I was convinced, would run to school the next day and shout throughout the hallways my immigrant family’s shopping locations. I am pained by this for many reasons now as an almost 40 year old adult. My class shame at being associated with what Kmart apparently represented in the late 70s and early 80s makes more sense to me when I remember the shame and fear that permeated much of my youth, not just around class issues but around gender, sexuality, and race. All were inchoately working together to stunt and disgrace and embarrass. I do not remember ever hearing the words class, race, or gender until my first year of college—concepts that structured my world in its gripping silence and lack of open discourse. How might my life have been different if my family, ethnic community, school, teachers, counselors, or other adults had given words to the contradictions and complications of mine—and so many youths’—reality?

Being rich: dollars and friends

I spent this weekend visiting a friend who lives in Sun Valley for a weekend of skiing. I don't travel for skiing very often, I do most of my skiing at Stevens Pass, thanks to a weekday ski bus. If you've got a flexible schedule, weekdays are great because hardly anyone is there. The biggest reason I do the bus is that if I wasn't pre-paid and pledged to show up, it would be all too easy to hit the snooze two or three times when the alarm went off at 6, worry if the conditions are good enough, and end up not going.

That context alone might seem pretty soft to some, but it's not what inspired my recent experience of gratitude. I left my packing until Thursday morning and then had to rush to throw my things together. I took the ski bags down to the car where my gear was still from my weekday skiing. I bagged my skis, grabbed my helmet and then had to pause… something was missing. My boots!! I had left my boots on the ski bus! With less than an hour to pack and get to the airport, there was no way I could call the bus company, track down someone to find my boots and get them. Instead I'd just have to wait until the next week. Meantime, I'll have to head off to a rare out-of-town trip and not have my equipment but instead plan to rent. I emailed my friend a rueful heads-up, took a deep breath and let it go.

When I landed in Sun Valley, my friend picked me up and we went to a gear shop and just rented a package for 4 days. We didn't try to figure out what days we were going to ski or not, and I didn't worry about the price I just handed over the credit card and voila, the hassle of not having my gear was erased. In fact, they gave me a performance package so I actually got to try out some fun new gear. Before I had easy cashflow this sort of thing would have ruined my trip – the sub-optimality of paying for gear when I already own gear, the extra cost, the stress over trying to figure out how to spend the least amount of money. To just let it go, and pay for convenience, and get what I want without worrying about the price, was really nice, and that's what inspired my feeling of gratitude – it's good to be rich.

Having money was helpful, but the positive experience wasn't just about money – part of it too was having the local friend who could pick me up, and take me to a shop and say "this is the place to go". She also assumed the right thing to do was rent the fancy package for the length of my visit and not worry about it. Being able to let go of doubt and feeling a sense of belonging were things that I probably could have gotten another way, but dollars can definitely smooth hassles.