Class Mobility, and Success Guilt
Oct. 13th, 2012 02:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
softpawI've completed my first week at my new job, and it's fantastic. My coworkers are insufferable conservative dicks, but aside from that, it's as close to a dream job as I could realistically hope for.
I've moved into my new apartment, and while I'm still setting things up, it's pretty awesome. A luxurious condo within easy everyday walking distance of a subway station and a classy shopping center. The price is a bit high relative to my income at the moment, but within reach and, to me, worth paying for.
So, things are pretty freaking awesome right now. But I'm discontent.
A big part of it is that Foxcub spent the week with me, after doing way more than his fair share of work to help me move, and he left last night. So I'm a bit lonely right now, which has put me in a contemplative mood. But on top of that, I've been thinking a lot about how much my life has changed in such a short time, and I'm not sure how to process it.
I grew up in a small town, where the median income is and has always been rather low. I lived my entire life there, up to this point. When I was in school, even long before income inequality really became an obvious thing, there was a pretty stark contrast between student income brackets. Being in the middle of nowhere, no one was truly super-wealthy, but there were a lot of kids whose parents were doctors, lawyers, professors, and other upper-middle-class professions with financially secure households. True poverty wasn't super-common (it's Virginia, not Michigan), but the majority of kids were from blue-collar lower-income families. There was almost no middle ground between these two groups, but there were a few such kids/families. I was one of them, as well as one of my closest friends at the time.
After high school, those income differences continued to shape futures. The richer kids, whose families usually had funds saved up for full or partial higher education, went to four-year universities. A few who didn't fit that description also went to universities, with the help of student loans. But all of the kids I went to high school with who went to a four-year university had one thing in common, every single one of them came from a family where the parent(s) had university degrees. As for everyone who didn't come from such a family? Some attended the local community college for awhile, but relatively few graduated. Most attended vocational schools for skilled labor certifications/training. Some never went beyond high school. In my case, my family wasn't as poor as some, but we were hardly doing well, and with no one in my direct family tree (parents, grandparents, siblings) having a university degree, I didn't really have the proper guidance to pursue it in a way that would lead to success. I went to the local community college, and dropped out after one semester.
So where is everyone now? Almost everyone I graduated with who achieved a university diploma now lives in a major metro area (most of them here in the DC area), working an upper-middle-class career (or being a stay-at-home parent in an upper-middle-class household), like their parents did. Those who didn't are, for the most part, still in Harrisonburg or similar towns in VA, with careers ranging from skilled labor, to lower management, to entry-level service positions and dead-end high school jobs, to long-term unemployment. There's a little bit of middle ground, a handful of teachers and such with a middle-middle-class lifestyle, but they're a very small number.
What's truly interesting is that, out of a graduating class of ~250, only one person has made any sort of meaningful income or lifestyle upgrade. Me. I didn't go to a university, I don't have a degree, I really don't have any specialized certifications, and I spent my entire life living in Harrisonburg, working dead-end jobs. Statistically, I should still be doing that right now. And while I've spent most of my adult life pushing for this, I'm not sure how to process the fact that I actually did it.
I've been down this road before, in 2008 when I got my first real web developer gig. In hindsight, it wasn't as great as I thought it was, and part of my problem is that my employer and I had very different views of what sort of job it was. But I felt like this back then, and never fully sorted out why. And really, not much changed back then. I travelled a little more, went to a con I normally wouldn't, and bought a little more stuff, but overall, my lifestyle was the same. I still lived in Harrisonburg. This time, there's no question about it, and no qualifying statements required, I have a truly good job, with a massive upgrade in living conditions. And that feels weird to think about.
I'm aware that I'm in a fairly unique position, in the sense that despite not attending college long enough to matter, and having no formal training or certification in anything remotely relevant to a modern workplace (I have A+ and Microsoft certifications several generations outdated), I was able to take a hobby of mine (building websites) and develop it into a marketable skill on my own. And I was able to do it well enough to impress a relatively prestigious employer. From that perspective, I have to admit I'm pretty proud of this, a pride that carries over into my work. It takes a lot of work to prove you're a competent programmer, or a competant designer, without degrees in each field. I did both simultaneously, and for the first time in my life, I feel truly validated, like my skills really are as strong as the fluff on my resume says.
But when I look at how much of this was pure luck, I start to feel guilty. Among my current peers and friends, I know a staggering number of talented artists in the same boat (developing their craft outside the system), who deserve this success, but have not achieved it. Among my high school classmates, I remember a staggering number of people with dreams of moving up in the world, many of whom had more clearly-defined goals than I did and more tangible motivation, and most of them are in Harrisonburg, toiling away at minimum-wage jobs worse than my terrible jobs (this is why I've been referring to Harrisonburg as "the town where dreams go to die" lately), having given up those dreams years ago.
I don't know how to end this post. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this.
I've moved into my new apartment, and while I'm still setting things up, it's pretty awesome. A luxurious condo within easy everyday walking distance of a subway station and a classy shopping center. The price is a bit high relative to my income at the moment, but within reach and, to me, worth paying for.
So, things are pretty freaking awesome right now. But I'm discontent.
A big part of it is that Foxcub spent the week with me, after doing way more than his fair share of work to help me move, and he left last night. So I'm a bit lonely right now, which has put me in a contemplative mood. But on top of that, I've been thinking a lot about how much my life has changed in such a short time, and I'm not sure how to process it.
I grew up in a small town, where the median income is and has always been rather low. I lived my entire life there, up to this point. When I was in school, even long before income inequality really became an obvious thing, there was a pretty stark contrast between student income brackets. Being in the middle of nowhere, no one was truly super-wealthy, but there were a lot of kids whose parents were doctors, lawyers, professors, and other upper-middle-class professions with financially secure households. True poverty wasn't super-common (it's Virginia, not Michigan), but the majority of kids were from blue-collar lower-income families. There was almost no middle ground between these two groups, but there were a few such kids/families. I was one of them, as well as one of my closest friends at the time.
After high school, those income differences continued to shape futures. The richer kids, whose families usually had funds saved up for full or partial higher education, went to four-year universities. A few who didn't fit that description also went to universities, with the help of student loans. But all of the kids I went to high school with who went to a four-year university had one thing in common, every single one of them came from a family where the parent(s) had university degrees. As for everyone who didn't come from such a family? Some attended the local community college for awhile, but relatively few graduated. Most attended vocational schools for skilled labor certifications/training. Some never went beyond high school. In my case, my family wasn't as poor as some, but we were hardly doing well, and with no one in my direct family tree (parents, grandparents, siblings) having a university degree, I didn't really have the proper guidance to pursue it in a way that would lead to success. I went to the local community college, and dropped out after one semester.
So where is everyone now? Almost everyone I graduated with who achieved a university diploma now lives in a major metro area (most of them here in the DC area), working an upper-middle-class career (or being a stay-at-home parent in an upper-middle-class household), like their parents did. Those who didn't are, for the most part, still in Harrisonburg or similar towns in VA, with careers ranging from skilled labor, to lower management, to entry-level service positions and dead-end high school jobs, to long-term unemployment. There's a little bit of middle ground, a handful of teachers and such with a middle-middle-class lifestyle, but they're a very small number.
What's truly interesting is that, out of a graduating class of ~250, only one person has made any sort of meaningful income or lifestyle upgrade. Me. I didn't go to a university, I don't have a degree, I really don't have any specialized certifications, and I spent my entire life living in Harrisonburg, working dead-end jobs. Statistically, I should still be doing that right now. And while I've spent most of my adult life pushing for this, I'm not sure how to process the fact that I actually did it.
I've been down this road before, in 2008 when I got my first real web developer gig. In hindsight, it wasn't as great as I thought it was, and part of my problem is that my employer and I had very different views of what sort of job it was. But I felt like this back then, and never fully sorted out why. And really, not much changed back then. I travelled a little more, went to a con I normally wouldn't, and bought a little more stuff, but overall, my lifestyle was the same. I still lived in Harrisonburg. This time, there's no question about it, and no qualifying statements required, I have a truly good job, with a massive upgrade in living conditions. And that feels weird to think about.
I'm aware that I'm in a fairly unique position, in the sense that despite not attending college long enough to matter, and having no formal training or certification in anything remotely relevant to a modern workplace (I have A+ and Microsoft certifications several generations outdated), I was able to take a hobby of mine (building websites) and develop it into a marketable skill on my own. And I was able to do it well enough to impress a relatively prestigious employer. From that perspective, I have to admit I'm pretty proud of this, a pride that carries over into my work. It takes a lot of work to prove you're a competent programmer, or a competant designer, without degrees in each field. I did both simultaneously, and for the first time in my life, I feel truly validated, like my skills really are as strong as the fluff on my resume says.
But when I look at how much of this was pure luck, I start to feel guilty. Among my current peers and friends, I know a staggering number of talented artists in the same boat (developing their craft outside the system), who deserve this success, but have not achieved it. Among my high school classmates, I remember a staggering number of people with dreams of moving up in the world, many of whom had more clearly-defined goals than I did and more tangible motivation, and most of them are in Harrisonburg, toiling away at minimum-wage jobs worse than my terrible jobs (this is why I've been referring to Harrisonburg as "the town where dreams go to die" lately), having given up those dreams years ago.
I don't know how to end this post. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this.