I grew up in an average house. I had average clothes and average stuff. My parents worked hard for everything we had, and while we were far from wealthy, we were never without. We never went hungry. We always had what we needed. And every once in a while, we got to splurge on something we really, really wanted.
As an adult now, I feel like I’ve landed in a similar place with my own kids. I cover the necessities, and every so often there’s room for something a bit more expensive — usually as a gift or a reward for something they’ve worked hard for. I’m not rich, but I can confidently say I’m giving them a childhood that echoes the one I had: stable, cared for, and sprinkled with the occasional treat.
But lately, I’ve started wondering, does the environment we grow up in shape what we believe we deserve?
This all started when I attended a high school girls’ swim meet in a wealthier area of Kansas City. It was held at the district’s middle school — and my first thought was, Wow.
My kid’s high school doesn’t even have a swimming pool, and here these students have one tucked between their junior high biology lab and Algebra I classroom.
My own high school wasn’t even big enough to have a football team, let alone a swim team. And as for swimming? We had the YMCA, or we waited for the city pools to open in the summer.
Sitting there in those really nice bleachers, in that fancy, brand new school, I started to wonder what kind of lives these kids were living. No doubt, I’d be impressed by their houses, the cars their parents (or maybe even they themselves) drove. I could already imagine my daughter turning green with envy over all the cute, expensive clothes and trendy jewelry.
This was definitely a different life.
Then I started thinking about the ripple effects of growing up in a different income bracket. How does it shape your view of the world? If you’re raised in comfort, do you grow up expecting the same for yourself—and eventually, for your own kids? And if you don’t achieve it, does that make you feel like a failure?
On the flip side, if you grow up in struggle, does it normalize hardship? Does it make it easier to settle there, or does it spark a fire to chase something better? Or… maybe both?
And what about the average kids—like I was? What about the average adults—like I am now?
Have I quietly settled into an average life because it’s what I saw modeled? Has it limited how hard I push? Or has it given me room to dream big while still finding peace in where I am?
Generationally, it seems like we take the environment we’re shaped by, carry it with us, but also layer on new perspectives as we encounter the world beyond what we were taught. I grew up in a small school where there was a lack of diversity in terms of race, culture, and even sexuality. I didn’t meet anyone who was openly gay until I went to a public university. That exposure to people from all walks of life completely expanded my view of what “normal” is and what’s possible in the world. It was eye-opening in a way that my parents, who came from a more isolated environment, never had.
I look at my own kids, who have access to technology that connects them to the world every single day. They go to a much bigger, more diverse school than I did. I can’t help but wonder how this will shape them. They’ll grow up with ideas about what they deserve or what is possible for them that will likely be vastly different from mine. Does this mean they’ll aim higher, expect more, or challenge norms in ways I couldn’t even fathom at their age? It’s fascinating, and, honestly, a little intimidating to think about.
Of course, it’s not just the size of the house or the type of car that shapes a child’s sense of what they deserve. It’s the people inside that house — the way we talk about money, the way we handle setbacks, and the way we carry ourselves even when things aren’t perfect. Our kids are always watching.
If I complain about money constantly, they’ll grow up feeling like there’s never enough. If I act ashamed of our circumstances, they might believe we’re lacking something — even when we’re not. But if I model gratitude, resourcefulness, and take pride in what we’ve built, maybe that’s what sticks.
Trying to teach your kids to dream big, but also stay grounded is a strange responsibility. To reach higher, but not measure their worth by material things. I’m still figuring it out, but I think what we model matters just as much — if not more — than what we give.
As an average person, I think I grew up assuming that “average” was enough — that I didn’t need to try harder. My mom worked at a factory for most of her life, and my dad stayed with the same company until he retired. That was the model I saw: work hard, stay steady, and life will sort itself out.
But things are different now. I took a break from college, went back to finish my bachelor’s degree as an adult, and then went on to earn my master’s — just because I realized I could. I spent almost 20 years in one job before I finally reached for something that felt more fulfilling, something that gives me a sense of purpose and allows me to help people — something I love.
Maybe that’s the generational layer I’ve added to my story. Maybe that’s the shift I made. And now, I wonder what my kids will choose to change about their story. What will they see in our life that they’ll carry forward, and what will they grow beyond?
Because in the end, we’re all just building on the lives that came before us — trying to carve out something better, even if it still carries the shape of where we began.
One response
What a nice reflective post! I heard once that you always hope the next generation has things a little better and I seem to reflect on this often. I hope I am helping to do the same. Congrats on going back to school, that’s impressive!