I Just Found Out I’m Entitled.
What I’m Learning about Myself as I Deliver Groceries
Two weeks ago, I found out that I am what I hate — entitled. I realized it while sitting in congested city traffic, panicking over whether my next Shipt delivery would be on time. It had been an awful day for tips and I reeked of sweat. I was hungry, thirsty, and totally flustered. It didn’t help that my anxiety disorder was operating at full throttle. That’s when this outburst came bubbling up from my soul:
This is RIDICULOUS! I have my Master’s degree! I am a teacher! I’m not supposed to be doing this kind of work! I can’t believe I’m working this hard for eight puny dollars! My time and skill are worth so much more than this! What am I even doing?!
It was quite a temper tantrum, but I’m glad it happened because I got to see what really lurks in the caverns of my heart. I am disturbed by what I saw.
Unemployed with a Master’s Degree
This article has taken forever to write, not only because of my rambly, over-thinking, introspective nature, but also because entitlement is tricky. Like most dangerous beliefs, there is sweet truth mixed into garbage, which makes garbage sort of appealing.
The Truth is that diplomas and degrees do require hard work and sacrifice. In deciding to take the college path, a sort of social agreement is made: tuition and mental marathons are exchanged for a higher quality of life later on. And that is generally how it works out. It worked for me for eleven years, which was apparently enough time to settle into the belief that I am entitled to make good money doing work I (almost) love.
Then life proved me wrong. After teaching English at the same high school in the San Francisco Bay Area for 11 years, my husband’s career took us to San Diego. I assumed I’d get a teaching job as easily as I did when I started my career. I was wrong. Teaching in San Diego is highly impacted and positions are ridiculously competitive. I landed part-time gigs two years in a row, and then a year of nothing. And now that it’s Covid, extra nothing.
My unemployment funds are almost empty, so I started earning money with Shipt, which landed me in that sweaty traffic jam.
Confessing My Privilege
My entitlement surprised me because I thought I was aware of my privilege — I know that life has been unfairly good to me. I was born with a huge boost of advantage: Nobody’s path to college is easy, but mine was far more accessible and smooth than most.
I was raised by two loving, educated parents in an affluent suburb. By a dad who comes from a long line of optometrists and ophthalmologists. He is everything anyone could hope for in a father, and he has an MBA to boot. My mom, who was able to stay home and take care of me and my siblings, is the most generous person I know.
Humbled by My Students
I don’t deserve any of this privilege more than Joey does. He is an old student of mine whose dad challenged him to fist fights. His mom lived on the streets. I’ll never forget the silence as Joey and I walked to the counseling office after class; together, we called CPS on speaker phone with his counselor. It was nothing new to him, nor was it new to me. He tried to shrug it off: “No big deal, I’m used to it.” But that only made it more tragic. Coming alonside teens in crisis never gets any less heavy.
It’s not fair that when I was Joey’s age, instead of doling out punches, my dad was coaching me through trigonometry and walking me through how to use pro/con lists to make good life choices. Rather than being MIA, my mom was taking care of my laundry and attending my soccer games, even in frigid rain.
I did not deserve the opportunity to focus on my education any more than Jose. He was a quiet, kind, and respectful student. His mom worked at the gas station nights and at Wendy’s during the day. When he wasn’t at work to help his mom pay the bills, he was helping raise his little sisters. College never crossed his mind, because who has time or money for college when you need to make money to keep the lights on this week? His family depended on his income, small as it was.
As for me, I was expected to go to college. My parents even started paying for it before I could apply; they required me to meet with a private college admissions coach throughout my junior and senior years of high school. The importance of education was never questioned. My parents’ resources are the reason I graduated college and graduate school sans student-debt, and they are the reason I was able to purchase a house in California before I was 30.
It’s safe to say that the road I traveled toward my profession was paved and smooth, while many others face a mess of dirt and rocks, littered with trash, used needles, and scraps of barbed wire. Not to mention the dangerous people yelling obscene lies at them as they try to take careful steps forward. Neither of those kids knew anyone who’s earned a college degree, so there’s a serious lack of guidance, save for a few overworked, overloaded teachers and counselors.
I don’t know what all of my old students are up to, but they could all very well be working for Shipt, like me, and who am I to say that I deserve better than they do? Just because I started life with a leg up doesn’t mean life owes me more than it does anyone else.
A New Gratitude
I’m ashamed that I threw a temper tantrum because I haven’t used my degree in a year (and change). I have a degree, and not only was I guided toward it, I was given the money to pay for it. I have had 13 good years doing work I’m passionate about with people I love. Few people ever get that kind of opportunity.
Since my entitled temper tantrum, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking and writing about my privilege and others’ lackthereof.
This past week, when I’ve sensed entitlement creeping my way, my younger friend, Sara, has come to mind. She is one of the most impressive people I know, and she’s only 21. A few years ago, her dad committed suicide after a battle with mental illness.
Although she has a car, she doesn’t drive it, because her mom needs it more than she does. So she takes Uber to the discount store she works at, and uses her income to help her mom pay rent. She is a second mom to her much younger siblings, and she volunteers as a Young Life leader at the the high school she graduated from. And she is on track to be the first in her family to graduate from college.
She is steady, wise, and courageous. The bravest thing about her is that she is facing her trauma in therapy. She inspires me.
Meanwhile, I have a car that enables me to make money on my own terms, and I’m complaining about it.
She and her friends inspire me to see life through a different lens, one that isn’t tainted with entitlement. Instead of being frustrated about my current job, I am rediscovering the fact that life owes me nothing, which makes me more grateful for what I have been given, which is a lot, including a job that’s preparing me for a glorious victory on Supermarket Sweep.
For the record, working for Shipt isn’t horrible; most of the time, it’s actually fun. It’s giving me a sense of purpose, free workouts, and like I said — the opportunity to get paid for pretending to be on Supermarket Sweep.
As I mentioned earlier, I have an anxiety disorder. When that badboy is turned on, anything I do is horribly stressful — whether teaching, writing, delivering groceries, or sitting in church.
Neither my anxiety nor Shipt is to blame for my entitled outburst. My human nature is. Our culture nowadays seems hell-bent on this belief that we’re all beautiful. It seems to have forgotten that we’re also all ugly in our own ways. Being an entitled suburbanite is one of mine. Thankfully, I’m a work in progress.
