How to Live with the Genetic Lottery

I was born in Rochester New York. This means I automatically "won" the genetic lottery. I was one of the lucky few born in the United States. This meant I was automatically eligible for excellent health care, world-class education from preschool through PhD, I benefited from the feminist movement to the fullest, I have access to a massive job-market, endless information, limitless entertainment, and complete freedom of speech, assembly, movement, and religious expression.

I lucked out. And it was beyond anything that I could have every controlled.

But as a global nomad, there are some hesitancies associated with this specific nationality. So many times I have wished I was Canadian because they get many of the benefits without the baggage. It sounds terrible saying "baggage" in reference to your nationality. But there are some challenges that truly make you think twice about how you present yourself.

With an American passport comes decades of baggage from bad international policy. I'm reminded of the wars (not Iraq or Afghanistan...way older then that). I'm reminded the Barak Obama is a Muslim (because that's what it says on the internet). I'm accused of being "easy" (because American women are, apparently). I'm reminded that I'm rich and therefore cheated out of nickels and dimes (because comparatively, I am) and I'm frequently put on the spot and asked to defend America as "a Christian nation" (because that's the perception).

I wouldn't trade what I lucked out with. But like anything in life, there are challenges that come with our blessings. Americans living abroad take the full force of the backlash against America-the-superpower. We tolerate the internet rumors and live in the stereotypes which we can't even begin to correct. But it's people like us that prove to the rest of the world that Americans care about the poor, that Americans are as human as anyone else, and that even though we are flawed, we still try. We try to be open to learning, but yes, at the end of the day, we are probably really and truly food-snobs.

So I tolerate the harrasment that comes with being a 22-year-old white American female, and once in a while I have a meaningful conversation about all those negative stereotypes. It's not a hill I'm going to die on, but sometimes it would be easier to be Canadian.