My life is awesome. I’m not ashamed or too modest to admit it. Through a combination of luck, merit, and effort, I have it very well.
Sure, I’d like a house, but the houses I want cost $1.2 million. It kinda sucks that I lost most of my hair already. And I’m fatally unmotivated to do anything outside of my narrow care-radius.
But I have my dream job, I’m marrying my dream woman, and I live in the nicest suburb of the best city in the world. I make enough money to afford a great lifestyle and a few expensive hobbies. I don’t have to be at work until 10, and with the exception of when servers explode, I usually don’t need to take work home with me.
There are so many people out there who can’t even afford food. Of the lucky ones who can, they’re usually working in awful jobs that they hate, and they can’t leave because they’re buried in debt, can’t go without their job’s health insurance (if they even have health insurance), and have never been paid a high enough salary to build up any meaningful savings.
They can complain if they want to.
I have nothing to complain about.