I've decided I'm not finished talking about Semester at Sea. I guess the point of going is that I'll never be. I keep thinking about it; what I've seen, what I've done, the people I've met, the culture differences. I really thought I would live differently when I came home. But, really, I haven't changed. The only difference is when I think about those people living in Brazil, Namibia, South Africa, India, Viet Nam, China, I feel guilty and cry.
My life is the same except for guilt.
Why was I given this privilege? Why was I born in America instead of Africa? What did (or will) I do to deserve this life that Daniel from Namibia didn't (or won't)? He wants to be a doctor; he wants to cure AIDs. But I wonder if he can afford to ever go to college. He lives in a house the size of my living room with his three siblings (was four, but one died) and parents. They don't have an indoor bathroom. But he wants to save lives, to save his country. I want to teach people how to dress.
What gives me the right to complain that I don't have an iPhone? To complain that I don't have anything besides a roof over my head, clothing on my back and food on a daily basis? I have all those things, and I should know better that they are all I need for happiness. Should I give everything away and sabotage my future? I mean, I'll need the fancy clothes to keep a reputation as a good image consultant.
That is my passion. Gary Vaynerchuck, among others, says to follow your passion. But does it count if your passion is so superficial?
Comments