9 a.m. felt early to me, especially on a Saturday. At 3-years-old, I remember digging my toes into the torn, brown, carpet in the living room of my mom’s apartment on Rainbow Dr., which is arguably the coolest street name a toddler can say she lives on. On this particular morning, life was not a rainbow, though. My mom announced we needed to clean the apartment, and I was ticked. Why should I put away my toys if I am going to play with them again later? Why do I have to clean any surface outside of my bedroom?
As I get older, I find it interesting which childhood scenes I remember, particularly the ones I carry with me from when life was so carefree in my mom’s two-bedroom. There was the time I was watching a TLC wedding show and decided to escape my playpen by lifting my body over the fence and toppling on my head while my mom was blow-drying her hair before work. I remember my Candy Land birthday cake that was identical to the game-board with a colorful path made using Starbursts. Also, I remember my bedroom, which had one window that faced the next-door apartment complex where I could sometimes stick my head out to yell hello to my uncle, who lived across from us and a couple of stories below. I could barely see into part of his messy apartment, which I only visited to judge and raid his carpet for silver and bronze coins.
A messy space was no place I had room to criticize, though. My bedroom was a wild stuffed animal zoo with an Easy-Bake oven, books, blocks, and Barbies sprawled across the ground. It was a child’s Heaven, until night when I remember accidentally stepping on a Lego in the dark. But overall, the apartment life with my mom was superior. Until, you know, she told me to clean.
“It’s not fair,” I dramatically screamed after she told me to get to work one last time.
“Life is not fair, Maggie,” my mom said.
Her words hit me like Katniss shot an arrow through my little soul. I was known as a smart kid who always asked questions or the kid who would never shut up, whichever way you want to look at it. But I was curious about learning how and why everything happened. So, when my mom stuck me with the “life is not fair,” saying for the first time, my mind felt jumbled and weak. I talked back, knowing I had already lost the battle. “Why isn’t it fair?” I asked. “It’s just not,” she said. And I slowly began to pick up my mess.
The next 20 years have brought on many more reasons for me to question life. Why is this happening to me? How is that possible? It’s not fair that they get that, but I don’t? And the answer from my mom continues to be the same as when I was three. Life is not fair.
This answer, though it solves no personal problem, somehow seems to simmer my anxiety for these “why” questions. Maybe it is because even though it is not the answer I want to hear, it is at least an answer. And when my mind spirals down a path of uncertainty or anger at the universe, my mom’s voice is there to remind me that it is OK. Life is not fair.
I have learned to translate this to meaning life is not supposed to be fair. We were not born into a fair life, so I should stop being disappointed in expecting it to be. So, I remind myself, I am not experiencing a fair life, and neither is anyone else in the world. We all face different challenges, each at different intensity levels, some face more, and some face harder ones than others, and it is 100 percent not fair.
Even though a sickening amount of inequality derives from human actions, there is an amount of unfairness that comes from external factors out of people’s control. Consider a tornado striking a town, an illness causing the loss of a loved one, and in most recent times: a worldwide pandemic.
It’s not fair that graduating high school students do not get to spend their last semester or sporting season with their friends.
It’s not fair that graduating college seniors do not get to spend one last night at the library or celebrate with a last drink at their favorite college bar.
It’s not fair that teachers have to educate children completely online. And it’s even more unfair for the estimated 14 percent of children in the United States who do not have access to the internet.
It is not fair to women in abusive relationships who have no shelter to turn to for help because the risk of COVID-19 seems to be worse than the risk of being beaten by a domestic partner, again.
It’s not fair to those who struggle with mental or physical health issues that doctor and psychiatrist appointments are being postponed six months for safety measures.
It’s not fair that I have to pay $60,000 in loans for college when some receive higher education for free. And it’s even more unfair to over 90 percent of people in the world who do not have a college degree for reasons such as the lack of resources or because of the expense, which makes me realize I am privileged.
It’s not fair that my mom, a hairstylist, is not able to work without risking getting her license revoked along with a fine for cutting hair when it is legal for dogs to get their fur professionally groomed. It’s even more unfair that she has received no income or government support in 6 weeks because a hairstylist is considered a small business owner, and no plan is finalized for that classification yet.
It’s not fair. Life is not fair.
I wish I could go back to the year 2000 when I was watching TLC wedding shows trapped in my playpen instead of breathing this 2020 air where I spend the majority of my time looking at my phone trapped inside my house during this quarantine. Then again, maybe these situations, 20 years apart, are similar? After all, I wanted to escape the playpen, which is why I held onto its memory. I remember the pain. Trying to get out ended with me falling and bonking my head hard on the old ugly carpet that caused tears to emerge in my eyes.
Maybe at the time, I was tired of watching the wedding series on TV, which is how I feel with social media that has consumed me more than ever during this quarantine. I am constantly scrolling through news posts, each handing out extremely different opinions on what is happening in the world. I continue to add to my mental file cabinet of conspiracy theories. I have no trust in our government or in its ability to make decisions that are best for our community. Pre-quarantine, I spent my nights at the gym, whereas now I mainly watch videos of other people working out on my phone in bed. Sponsored ads continue to pop up to remind me of every skill I haven’t perfected with discounts for programs so I can learn more to finally become the profound creative I have always aspired to be. Pictures of beautiful women I wish I looked like appear on my Instagram feed advertising clothes I can’t afford. Online stores try to sell me on the idea that buying a beautiful dress in a floral pattern will make this depressing reality go away. But the reality is I have nowhere to wear a dress, and even if I did, buying clothes doesn’t make the world a better place (don’t watch documentaries on fast fashion if you love outfits like me). Good looking men, too, from shows such as The Bachelor and Love is Blind scream, “why haven’t you found someone like me?” When the reality of dating is downloading an app, again, then deleting it after realizing you are too judgmental to meet a guy online and are sick of first messages asking for nudes. And the worst part about social media for me has nothing to do with seeing other people happy, beautiful, or successful, but it’s seeing other people in those highlighted states and wondering why I am not like them. I am a supportive person, and I love watching others succeed, but often scrolling through my social media leads me to feel like I am not good enough. I am not doing enough. Then, after I subconsciously beat myself up over these superficial and fake problems, shit gets real when I see an article about a new murder bug found in the United States that is followed by a video post of another devasting shooting of a black man. The evil actions of others along with these uncontrollable outside forces make me feel as if I will witness humanity’s end. Even more frustrating, it feels like there is no hope. That humanity will end on an unsuccessful and unfair note.
Some people are being hit harder than others during this crisis, but remember everyone is struggling because of it. Some people are dealing with horrific issues not related to COVID-19 at all. It is easy to compare situations, but I encourage you to recognize how harmful this practice is and try to escape from doing it. It’s not rational or productive. There are bigger issues in the world. At the end of this pandemic, whenever it will be, we will face additional severe effects, especially the unpredictable long term effects on generation z.
While saying “life is not fair” is not a solution, it is a realization people must come to terms with at some point. Once you realize life does not happen to make you happy, you can stop having your expectations crushed when a situation does not turn out to be the rainbow you envisioned.
Like an addict must admit he or she has a problem, a person must admit life is not fair before he or she can heal to then work to make it better for others. Even then, parts of life will remain out of human control. However, it is important to accept the current condition and strive for advancement in the small areas we can control, even if that means starting with a tiny action such as letting go of the evil in comparison.
If life were fair, what would motivate us for improvement each day? Maybe it’s time I try to escape the playpen and risk hitting my head again.