I had hoped I would become the most nonmaterialistic human of all time, so at home on the earth that Andean poverty would no more affect me than New York City wealth. I wanted to be zen above it. Floating above the trappings and hardships of human life. Well, that didn’t happen. I was sick and tired of all the poverty. I felt bad for the thousands of souls that lived in mud. But the charm wore off, and I knew I could bike away and enjoy my good fortune of being born white in the world’s richest country. I still don’t know what to do with all that. The hardened soul of reality, dividing rich
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