Messin' with my Head

Every morning I run. I think I've mentioned this.

I start at my house, which is worth $290,000. I'm not bragging... It's just worth that much. And, no, I didn't pay that much for it. Heck, I have a big huge mortgage on it, of which I have paid very little in the 6 years that my wife and I have lived there. Our home has appreciated in 6 years, by nearly $100,000.

Yes. It's wild. Perhaps its absurd (a word I like to use, mostly because it's so fun to say).

I cross over 119th street, where I find myself running past homes that are valued from perhaps $290,000 to $350,000. Now I feel a little bad, because my home, worth $290,000, isn't as nice.

Not long after 119th, I cross over 127th street. Here I find myself in a neighborhood where the homes are worth anywhere from $350,000 to $700,000. Now I feel like a failure, especially when I see a guy, about my age, hop in his 2006 Lexus and speed away from a house worth more than double mine.

No, I am not exaggerating.

BMWs, Lexuses (Lexi?), Cadillacs, Hummers and even a Lotus speed by me as the ants march off to work, in an office somewhere, where their middle-to-upper management job is a religion of sorts. Some of this have 1/2 hour commutes, and others will spend nearly 2 hours going to Chicago. This is how they afford that glorious castle.

Yes, I am bitter. More than I should be, I realize. I am all too well aware of the problems with my thought process, so please don't bother pointing this out to me.

One day last week my wife and I were driving back from a restaurant (Red Robin... Mmmmmm). I took a long way, weaving in and out of neighborhoods along my running path. I wanted to verify that my GPS was giving accurate miles. (In case you're wondering, I found the GPS to be at least as accurate as the minivan.)

We went down some roads that my wife had never been on. "I've never been back here," she said, "I didn't know these huge homes were back here."

"Yeah," I responded, "I don't think it's good for me to run past these homes every day. It kinda messes with my head, ya know?"

How does it mess with my head?

Living in Naperville/Plainfield Illinois has separated us from reality. You see, I, by wordly standards a very wealthy person, consider myself poor. I run past these huge homes and wonder why I cannot provide better for my family. I wonder where I failed... I wonder what's wrong with me.

And it's not just that I happen to be running by these huge homes. The face is, one cannot run or drive anywhere in the area without going past homes worth anywhere from half to one-million dollars. They are everywhere! It baffles the mind.

I think of my children, growing up here. What will they think, when they turn 16, and all their friends have brand new sports cars and SUVs? Will they expect the same? And what will happen when I say no? Will they insist that I am a rotten father? That I am a failure? That our family is poor?

What will they think when they visit Indiana, or nearly any state in the country, and see small homes and simple people? Will the safe life we gave to them cause a dreadful elitism among my own children?

No, it's not good, this life of excess that has engulfed my being.

Today was garbage day. As I ran I looked upon some of the things people throw away. There by the curb sat the refuse of some very fortunate people. Some of this refuse included things that much of the world cannot afford, much less afford to send to a landfill.

But I didn't think so much about the waste. I wondered why my home, worth $290,000, is the best I can do. Why don't I have the $500,000 home? Why don't we have the $2,000 swing set? Why don't I have the Lexus, or the H2 or the BMW?

See how unhealthy it is? It messes with you. This excess... I can't help but think it's not the Jesus-endorsed life.

The argument is to live in this world and not become it, but I don't know if that always holds, or is even possible. I've got a family to consider.

The schools are nice, the roads are nice, the landscaping is nice... Too nice.

Is it nice of me to raise a family in such a sheltered world, horribly imperfect precisely because of it's perfect facade?