Plagued By ‘First World Problems’

Have you ever pulled away from the drive-thru window and then discovered that instead of a glazed cruller they gave you a plain cruller? If you’re like me, you might respond to this calamity by exclaiming, “Son of a bagel!” (or something like that).

Or how about when you wake up in the morning and realize there are no more “dark roast” Keurig K-cups in the house, and you’re somehow going to have to get by drinking the wimpy “breakfast blend”? If you’re anything like me, you might respond by saying, “Ugh! Why is my life so painful?!” (but quietly if other people are still asleep).

Yes, in our high-stress modern world, it can be difficult making it through each day. Well, while on a business trip to Toronto recently, I had a chance to spend some time with a brilliant young man, who truly is an “international man of mystery.” (Although his teeth are much nicer than Austin Powers’.)

He was born in some exotic place, such as Egypt or Argentina. I should have paid closer attention when he mentioned where his is from, but it definitely was not Suburbia, U.S.A., like 99-percent of the people I know.

Anyway, this young man told me that when he was a teenager, he went to live with his uncle in the Sudan for a couple of years. The food and water supplies were unreliable, and practically every day there were rolling blackouts. In other words, they went many hours each day without electricity or other basic necessities.

Today he is a successful young businessman living the good life, with a high-rise condo in downtown Toronto and a wicked fast Audi. But he has not forgotten his roots. He is fond of making a particular comment whenever someone whines about a fairly insignificant difficulty. He shakes his head and says, “First world problem.”

There are many “First world problems” in addition to those which involve coffee and crullers. For example:

You’re at a fancy restaurant and you realize you’ve just splashed a couple spots of tomato sauce onto your white shirt. If you’re anything like me, you groan and say, “Oh shirt!” (or something that sort of sounds like that).

You’re driving in your car, singing along with your favorite song on the satellite radio, but then you drive past some tall buildings or overhanging trees, and the satellite suddenly cuts out during the best part of the song. If you’re anything like me, when you realize you’re now screeching an a-cappella, falsetto solo, you exclaim, “Oh boogers!” Then you say a little more quietly, after the impact of what you just heard sinks in, “Wow, my voice really stinks, doesn’t it?”

You’re getting dressed in the morning and you discover the sock you just put on has a hole in the toe. If you’re anything like me, you mutter, “This socks!” and then you angrily rip that sock off and are forced to choose one of the other 19 pairs of socks in the drawer. Then, of course, you throw the bad sock in the laundry basket because you’re too busy to throw it in the trash, guaranteeing that you will replay this exact same scenario in a couple weeks.

I guess it’s kind of silly to get upset over all these “first world problems.” My friend told me that in the Sudan, people were very grateful for what they had, and generally speaking, they were happier than most “first world” people he encounters. Maybe it’s time to work on gratitude, and stop sweating the small stuff. I think I might be able to do that — but ONLY if my morning dark roast coffee and glazed cruller are correct.