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How To Recognize Privilege When You’re Living With a Disability
Not quite from riches to rags, but my adulthood has been harder
It’s harder to see you’re in Paradise if you’ve never lived in Hell. I’ve been to both, but I grew up forgetting where I came from. Once plucked from a dysfunctional living situation with my birth mother, I was given a second chance.
In 1984, we landed in the quaint little beach town of Carpinteria, California. My dad and stepmom both found stable, well-paying jobs and moved us 12 miles south of a wealthy tourist destination.
Despite living several miles from Michael Jackson, Jeff Bridges, and Oprah, my stepbrother and I grew up in a modest 4-bedroom home near the 101 Northbound freeway entrance. Although we were a 15-minute walk to the beach and the sun shone at least 300 days a year, Carpinteria seemed like an ordinary town from my perspective.
I was used to living in beautiful places. I once lived in a log cabin in the Sierra Nevada mountains, then moved to Mt. Hamilton, surrounded by half a dozen telescopes and a spectacular view of the Bay Area in Northern California. We made it back to sea level, able to dip our toes in the Pacific anytime.