It was spring break. The normal northern weather of chilly Massachusetts was starting to shed its winter layers and adorn its flip flops and shorts. I had been staying on my university campus as any typical freshman would, hopping from one friend’s dorm to another, making memories that you remember forever. Amidst the parties, late night movies with friends and weekend football games, I had slipped into a state of perpetual ease. I was young, dumb and having fun so much so that I hadn’t even realized the change in scenery as my friend pulled up to the apartment building of my childhood.
While unloading my suitcase and college trinkets from the car, my friend asked to use my bathroom, to which I said “of course”. She had driven me all this way, and even though we called the same city home, I was thankful for the ride to this side of town and wanted to show it. As I walked into the dingy green foyer of my building and up the stairs, that always seemed disproportionate, I couldn’t help but notice the unknown brown substances and dried up blood that stained the stairs.
Coming to the second landing, the flickering hallway light that had always brought me a sense of homely familiarity filled me with nothing but ghastly perturb. As we crossed the threshold into my quaint section 8 apartment, the home I had known for 19 years, all I felt was embarrassment. The rooms felt smaller, the lighting dimmer and the faint smell of cigarettes and weed from downstairs neighbors filled the space. I had some understanding of my family’s economic standing in society being raised by a single mother who didn’t have the luxuries of college. I knew we didn’t have a lot of money, but for the first time in my life I realized I was poor.
The poorness of my youth didn’t come in the ways of homelessness or hungry nights thanks to my hardworking mother, but rather the silent thievery of poverty. Not having the luxuries to have the clothes you wanted and participate in fashion because money needed to be allocated elsewhere. Or rarely going on vacations longer than a weekend to visit relatives because my mother needed to work. Rarely seeing my mother free of worry and anxiety, living in a violent drug infested neighborhood and making do with what I had vs having what I needed became my norm, and that is the silent killer. Until returning home from college, I didn’t notice these cracks in my world because I thought my world was the world. That my life and circumstances were normal. But they weren’t.
Now an independent college student close to graduating, living in a better building and neighborhood, financially stable (to a degree), and striving for a successful career, I realize that growing up poor leaves an inevitable mark on one’s life. No matter how much money is in your account or how secure your dwelling is, you always wonder, is it enough? Will I be able to continue to pay bills? Am I saving enough? What if there’s a rainy day I can’t see myself through? This constant fear and anxiety of going back to a life of poverty creates a drive and hustle that might render big opportunities and internships but ultimately is one that is unhealthy. This mindset of always thinking what’s next and living in the next problem robs you of current joys and luxuries. Robs you of the blessings sitting right in front of you.
So it is true. Sometimes you will have to work harder than your peers to maintain the life you have built for yourself. It is true that you won’t be able to go to every weekend football game and eat out all the time because you have to work and be conscious of spending. But an important part of shaking the effects of poverty and truly living in the luxurious life you want to build for yourself, is releasing a spirit of lack and adopting a mindset of gratitude and abundance. Through appreciating the life you have, the money that’s in your account, your current job opportunities and the everyday things you’ve worked so hard to get you remind yourself that your life is good. That there are no dingy hallways or blood stained stairs but rather receptionists to welcome you home and janitors that make sure you have a clean building. That you have a new normal and a new role to adopt. The generational strive for wealth after poverty for a long time made me feel that I am still that poor child who can’t eat out and who has pinch every penny they earn. But the truth is I’m not. We’re not.
Past poverty experience can define you but only if you let it. True financial freedom and living a life unburdened by fear and anxiety not only comes in the form of gaining better finances but also in the form of embracing a new mindset. Living out of a place of the abundance you created and gratitude for your current luxuries aid in not only emboldening you to continue to strive for the life you want, but also continues to empower you by the life you have. It allows you to develop new freedom dreams for yourself. Ones that don’t revolve around your potential problems, but rather around your current aspirations and desires. Ones where rest is a necessity. Where play is an option. Where all the things you wanted as a child are free to exist and worthy to be manifested in reality.
So this spring break, I’ll return to my home, that I’ve created, and sleep in. I’ll enjoy my weekends with friends and loved ones. I’ll work my weekdays at my job that fulfills me and sets me up for future success. I even might vacation enjoying a trip to an island or a warm weathered state. But what I will not do is stay trapped by the poverty of my past. As I climb the ladder to generational wealth, I will continue to remain driven and hustle, but I will always stop and appreciate my distance from the ground and the landing I’m on.
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