First World Is the Problem

No one today or this week has said to me, “Sounds like a first world problem,” so this is not a response to anyone in particular. I grow increasingly confident that the first world is the problem is usually the right response for me to that comment. On the surface it may sound ungrateful, but I will explain. This morning I was riddled with resentment for how saddled I felt by the mountain of frustrating things necessary to engage with to support my kids and run a household in an affluent American suburb. It seems like a good moment to share my perspective.

I knew my 22 year old’s college tuition was coming due for the fall, so I called his school to find out the exact date, after searching on DuckDuckGo, then Google, with no luck. It’s due today. I have many options. I realize that most people can’t say that and for most of my life, I would not have been able to either. I understand how fortunate I am. I decided to do a payment plan, make the first payment, and apply for a small student loan on behalf of my kid, which I would cosign for and pay down starting right away. I asked the man on the phone if he would please take my payment over the phone, but he could not.

I needed to check my finances and go online to the payment site, which meant going onto my bank’s website, the college website and from there, their payment portal, apply for a loan, and use my work computer to go into my work website to get details of pay. The bank and college websites were relatively easy to manage, although my Comcast connection drops periodically. I can speed up the refresh by turning wi-fi off and on in the computer settings. That is no big deal, but at some number of clicks, my peace of mind erodes. I was pleasantly surprised that the college site did not insist on texting my kid a notification code for me to gain access, as it usually does — tender mercies. From there, things got tricky.

I bought a new phone Friday. My authenticator and student loan apps didn’t transfer and both confused me with options for multiple same-named apps, but only one right for each. I needed to elicit the help of my 17-year-old for that. And it wasn’t clear to them either, but they got me into my work site. 

I’d get to one place, need to look up something else, time out, lose internet, login again. All of this — a function of modern “first world” society, not even taking into account the inherent, timeless challenge of math. In the meantime, my car’s in the shop. It’s the most reliable car I’ve ever had and I’m lucky to not wonder each morning if my car will start. Not having a mechanic right now, I took the AAA operator’s suggestion of a shop. Well, they haven’t looked at it yet. I called to follow up, went through a menu with an annoying automated voice, then another, then bad music. Someone finally answered. With impressive calm, I asked, “Do you have a direct number to the shop and, if so, can you please give it to me? I can’t stand going through that computerized voice and music again. It’s probably not a big deal in the big scheme of things, but really hard for me to navigate now.”

The attendant said, “Can you repeat that?”

“No, no I can’t. How’s the car?...”

All resolved satisfactorily. Disposed to Taoist beliefs, I understand that it’s often hard to discern what outcome events may lead to. In the case of my car still being in the shop, this played out beautifully with a friend offering to pick me up for lunch. And what did she arrive in? A little red Corvette! I hadn’t imagined my day would include a top-down ride in a sexy little manual and it was as fun as it sounds. 

But my point is, in part, that left to my own devices I am content in this world — reading, writing, window-staring, singing, dancing, poking around…, but I spend an inordinate amount of time frustrated with essential things that seem needlessly complicated. I accept that chores and jobs need be done. I’m not complaining about dishes, laundry, or covering what I can of my kid’s tuition. I’m glad I can do those things and like things a little hard, but not in the tedious, too-many-hoops, incomprehensible way.

When I bought my new phone, I thought about how it cost nearly as much as some cars I’ve owned. I thought about how relatively easy it was for me in my ‘20’s, to streamline needs and get up and go. At one point, I drove cross country, living in my ‘78 T-bird for a month, with everything I owned in my car and less than $1800 to my name. My primary concern was getting an address and phone number to put on job applications once I landed somewhere to settle. These days, I’d need a cellphone and a cellphone plan. I could probably do without a computer, as long as a library was accessible, but would need email. Today, where I’m living, we need more things and to attend to more items.

To be honest, that month in my T-bird represents one of my favorite times. It wasn’t as much a hardship to have so little as it was liberating. The simple ability to rise when I wanted (I mean end my nap in the driver’s seat); find a lake when I wanted; write when I wanted… afforded great freedom. Not being beholdant to a clock is a gorgeous dream! Also, I found likable things about being poor. It’s easy for me to romanticize. Having things tight makes one really need to set priorities and that alone is a gift that teaches much.

In addressing first world problems, I’m not just talking about technology. In 2018 a guy asked me, “Do you have any pet peeves?” At the time, I considered myself laid back and couldn’t readily identify any. (I have since learned.) I sought the counsel of my then-15-year-old who provided me with a litany of things that irritate me, number one being “the burden of choice.” I love having the freedom to have choice, but so often in this first world community, there are so many things to choose from, I barely know how to decide. Take, for instance, coffee. In many grocery stores, a wall of shelves provides a variety of blends, flavors, forms and prices. How might one know, except to try them all? But before trying them, how does one choose? (Well, naturally by what’s on sale, but the question was intended to be rhetorical.) Over time, I have settled on three brands, so buying coffee is no longer daunting, but most of all other things can be equally overwhelming. 

That so many elements are required in the day-to-day; that things are so big and expensive; that so much feels impersonal and hard to navigate (i.e. paying bills, checking on my car, calling Comcast…); that there’s an overwhelming number of choices to make that often necessitates research in things I ultimately care little about (i.e. phones), feels oppressive to me. With that said, I’m grateful I can feed my family; we have shelter and creature comforts a’plenty. I’m grateful that I’m not living in a war-torn country. I inhabit no lack of gratitude. Every time I turn on the sink, I’m grateful for running water. Every time I turn on a heater, I’m grateful for heat and electricity (although I do pine for a fireplace). Every time I see either of my kids, or think of them, I’m grateful. I love my job, for which I’m delighted and thankful. When I think of things that didn’t work out the way I wanted in preference to my becoming who I am, despite myself, I’m grateful. But there’s a considerable amount of angst and hours wrecked from circumstances of living in a first world country for me.  

This post is just a personal reflection. Global thinking would have me consider the amount of resources the first world uses, the amount of waste we produce, and the impact that has on countries that are growing. That would be a dispiriting, although illuminating and important analysis. Knowing that also adds to the climate of feeling the right response to “first world problems” is that the first world is the problem.