Living broke on rich campus

I have to admit that sometimes it’s really hard for me to hang out with rich kids. As Kevin Hart says, you’ve got to stay in your financial lane.

I’m paying for college myself, a fact I’m simultaneously proud of and a little terrified by. My parents are too hard up themselves to help me, and they have my little sister to worry about.

I’m up to my ears in student loans, and even paychecks from multiple jobs and all of the Ebay hustling I can do aren’t helping me out much.

When you don’t know if you’ll be able to make rent for the month, or even afford to come back to school next year, you’re filled with a sort of abject terror, a dull despair that’s quite different from your daily struggles.

It’s easy to feel helpless. It’s impossible to not be overwhelmed.

I know there are people who are worse off than me and that being a poor kid in college is still a first-world problem, but it’s a problem that’s on my mind a lot.

I took out my first private loan during winter break with the cosigned help of a very kind uncle, and I’m scraping through this semester after having to completely change my living situation because I just couldn’t afford the greek system.

I’m definitely happier now, but I often wonder if it’s because I actually do better unaffiliated, or because not having to worry about almost $1,000 a month in room, board and assorted fees has literally taken a load off of my mind.

I think it’s probably a bit of both.

When you’re struggling between measly paychecks, trying to keep up with people wealthier than you is one of the most difficult things you can do.

In the greek system, I was surrounded by privilege. Girls spent freely and often. Checks were sent to parents for payment, and life went on without a snag.

But wealthy people aren’t just in the greek system. They’re everywhere.

They’re reading this right now. If you’re going to college and your parents are paying for it, I consider you privileged.

Lots of well-off kids work just as hard or harder than poor kids, and vice versa. All I can hope for anyone is that they feel that they’ve earned the amount of success they have. I think that’s what we all want when our college days are done.

I’ve lived and been close friends with many affluent people in the past few years. The majority are responsible with their money.

Those who did flaunt it were often unaware of it. When money is constantly on your mind, however, it’s hard not to resent the signs of privilege.

I can’t go out to dinner every week or order boxes of brand name clothes online. I can’t afford to go to most concerts or even to go out to the bars.

I can’t afford almost any experience that isn’t free, and I often feel that it takes a toll on my friendships.

Friends are already hard to make and keep in college, and when you can’t find the cash for bonding activities, it’s that much harder.

My friendships with people who are better off than I am have slowly begun to deteriorate. I feel like we can relate to one another less and less. My lack of money is becoming a barrier.

Part of it is embarrassment. I don’t want to always need charity, and I hate having to say no to doing things.

Saying you’re broke is funny once, but when you have to say it all the time, it gets awkward.
I sometimes feel like my wealthier friends feel sorry for me.

The dynamic of our friendships shifts. It’s no longer an even playing field, but instead one person aware of the plight of another.

Some friendships simply can’t sustain it. More often, I can’t personally sustain it.

It’s easier for me to be around people with whom I can sympathize. I understand the struggle to find money for groceries or a new pair of socks.

Talking about things related to any amount of extra money, such as vacations and houses and luxury products and even financial security, is very difficult for me because I’m so alienated from it.

If you’re richer than I am, I don’t hate you for it. It’s pure chance that you were born into a wealthier family than I was.

You literally can’t help that you’re rich. Some would argue I can, in fact, help that I’m poor. If you have a higher paying job than my current gig, let me know. I’m working my ass off to stay afloat as is.

As far as I’m concerned, I’m doing all I can to help it.

Don’t feel sorry for me, and don’t treat me like a charity case. Just be my friend.

I’m almost certain most of us have more in common than similar dollar signs. I’m sick of letting uneven incomes affect my personal relationships.

This is the most cliché phrase I will ever write, but: You really can’t buy a great friendship.

The best ones have nothing to do with it.

­— kelfritz@indiana.edu