A Privileged Dilemma

It was 2:00AM. We were sitting on the roof of that Manhattan apartment building as the last illuminated Upper West Side apartments went dark. It’d been two years since we’d seen each other but over 30 years since we first referred to one another as “best mate”. Forced niceties weren’t necessary but I was still caught off-guard when he turned to me and declared, “I feel like I haven’t achieved anything.” The words erupted from his mouth like water being coughed up by someone rescued at sea. He’d obviously never said this out loud before and surprised even himself with the weight of the statement. “One day, my grandkids might be bored enough to ask me about my life,” he continued, “And I can’t imagine having a single meaningful thing to share.” It was a grim admission but in some strange way I understood exactly where he was coming from. Our parents and grandparents came to Australia around the time Hitler started shouting from balconies and convincing his minions that Jews were the enemy. In turn, they gladly traded labor camps and gas chambers for a secluded country notorious for its vast uninhabitable land and deadly wildlife. They arrived as broken versions themselves having had their families, possessions and innocence ripped from them. But there was no time to wallow in victim hood, not when there was so much work to be done. So they built synagogues, Jewish day schools, opened kosher grocery stores, butcher shops, restaurants, and established Jewish cultural organizations. Now Australia is home to many thriving Jewish communities—built off the backs of people who could never say, “I feel like I haven’t achieved anything” with a straight face. They may not have lived in opulent homes, owned multiple vehicles or enjoyed extravagant family vacations each year, but they had achieved plenty. They built sustainable communities that my generation could thrive in without sacrificing much for the privilege—and therein lies the problem. One of life’s cruelest jokes is achievement that only comes through great pain. The kind of pain that leaves you permanently scarred. That leaves you with a shoebox filled with fading, dog-eared photographs instead of living family members. That leaves you thousands of miles away from a place you once called home. Achievement in the face of painful setbacks like these ironically build character and ensure that when the grandkids come asking for stories, there’s an endless supply. My friend ought to be thankful for his privileged life but instead feels unfulfilled. The good news is he is clearly motivated to truly achieve something without it being handed to him on a silver platter. The bad news is it’s tough to commit to doing all that’s necessary to make a real difference—especially when you have options.