The Slow Death of My Middle Class Dreams
I’ve become a ‘have not,’ yet my hope for the future persists
“Money won’t solve your problems” is a phrase mostly uttered by people who have never gone without — to loosely paraphrase Jay Z, I’ve got 99 problems and … money would, literally, solve 97 of them. I don’t idolize money, but man, doubling my income would greatly improve my quality of life.
For those of us who don’t earn six figures a year, and see the goalposts of comfortable living move further and further away, money is a dangling neon carrot that restricts our movements, our life choices, and our insurance coverage.
When I give voice to this frustrating need, a burning shame crawls up my neck. I am blessed beyond measure and many people in glaringly impoverished spaces or war-torn nations would happily trade places with me. Nevertheless, the bright, flaming dream of living in the comfortable middle class of my parents’ generation slowly burns out and threatens to extinguish.
It wasn’t always this way. The bowl of tantalizing financial fruit beckoned anyone willing to work tirelessly to meet their goals. And, I have a roof over my head and clean, running water. I perform the Snoopy dance when I have a stocked fridge. I have reliable transportation.
