During one of my usual morning commute space out “mediation” sessions I had a mini revelation. To be honest, I’m not sure if I should feel sad, disappointed or good.
I wasn’t born in the United States, but arrived as I was turning five years old. I became a naturalized citizen later in life, but consider myself to be a New Yorker more than anything else. As an immigrant with a first-generation immigrant mentality (yeah, that’s a thing), I came to the realization that, I have internalized my parent’s idea of success as a template.
Let me take a step by and break a few things down. The majority of immigrants that arrive in the United States, work exhaustively in jobs that may not necessarily reflect their natural aptitude/capabilities. For example, cab drivers in the States who are certified accounts back home. The mentality, particularly in New York is, take what you can, make the best of it and set up a solid foundation for your child. Out of necessity, most suppress their natural abilities in order to help their children along in life.
First generation immigrants know first-hand their parents’ struggles and are working towards the American Dream with less restrictions, mainly, they speak the language and adopt the best of both worlds to their character. This comes with challenges of upward mobility that may be met with resistance from family members. Think, college educated children dealing with corporate world social structures and managing traditional issues at home. Finding the balance between the two worlds can be challenging.
Although I’m not born here, my upbringing and frame of mind is definitively American. This is not to shun my birthplace and roots, but let’s just say that my expectations of how things should run and social norms conform more so to an American way of life than any other.
This brings me to my “mini-revelation”, as Americanized as I claim to be, my idea of success is deep rooted in an immigrant mindset. Meaning, I’ve internalized a glass ceiling towards my success that in all honesty shouldn’t exist. My mantra since I became pregnant has been, my best in life is her starting point. As I’m currently struggling with my definition of success (first generation privilege), I’ve come to realize that I’m settling.
As of now, I’m in my late thirties, with a mediocre job that pays my mortgage and doesn’t leave room for much else. My family insists that I should be happy. I’m better off than my parents and should be pleased. As immigrants, we are conditioned to accept that we’re in a “better” position than our parents and shouldn’t rock the boat. Decent job, decent pay, health insurance, you’re good. You shouldn’t complain or are unappreciative.
I’ve always questioned why? Why should we be satisfied? Now, as a single mom with a five-year old girl the question has so much more weight. For the last two years I’ve been stuck. This mini revelation may hold the key. In some ways, I’ve settled. At least, now, I know why.
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