How did I get to be so lucky?

I'm typing on a very expensive, brand-new computer that my dad gave to me when I started college. I have a glass of soy milk and a bag of organic cookies next to me. I'm in clean, comfortable pajamas and my hair smells like Sweet Pea from Bath and Body Works since I just got out of my long, hot shower. I live in a safe neighborhood with my mother. My dad, stepmother, stepsisters and brother live only a few streets away. My mom and I have a car to share.

I was born into privilege. I truly was. Though I'm poor by some people's standards, I am wealthy beyond all reckoning to many. I may not be able to afford a bicycle of my own, but I have school within walking distance of my apartment.

I cannot feel truly guilty for my riches because I did not ask for them. I was born into them through no control of my own. And I give back whenever possible. However, when I stop and think about how fortunate I am to have a full belly and a soft bed, I feel sick and angry that so many do not. So many children are hungry and aching and tired and sick, and here I am, relatively healthy and very happy.

It's dumb luck that I am where I am. It's dumb luck that I am here in America, living in safety. I wish I could say otherwise, but I cannot. All I can do at this point is use my dumb luck to help others.