Today I feel like writing an odd entry. A strange entry that I never saw myself writing, but I feel like the time has come to do it, and that it ought to be said.
What I have on my mind is The Hierarchy Of Suffering which excludes any person who at any given point in their lives have experienced perceived privileges usually associated with the upper-Middle Class or higher.
You will also be excluded from this hierarchy if you look a bit too good, or if you have any talents that are above average.
Just so you know…
It is a strange phenomena that can explain the motto of the late Queen of England: “never complain, never explain.”
To put it simply: my suffering, my troubles, or my challenges will never count. They are in short nothing, because health problems don’t count if they are experienced in a Manor House.
The size of your dwellings are irrelevant. The only thing that matters is the location. And if the location of the crime is a Manor House in The Cotswolds, then the crime will count as nothing. If you were to have health problems in a run down apartment in Luton, now THEN you would be part of the treasured Hierarchy Of Suffering.
I thought a great deal about this during the lockdowns in England, because I was taken by surprise by all the public complaining for the simple reason that you cannot go out and eat, or go to the cinema if you have no money.
So the lifestyle that people lost during “house arrest,” was a lifestyle that you can only enjoy for as long as you can pay… It’s difficult to have an active social life if your bank account is empty.
Yet as it turns out we now have a new group within The Hierarchy Of Suffering: those who did not have a garden during house arrest. Yep. Those of us who abandoned city life many years prior to the lockdowns for various reasons are now disgusting creatures by default.
Those of us who lived far away from London could enjoy a more sophisticated lockdown experience, due to gardens and the occasional country walk… those of us disgusting enough to share living space with our loved ones could enjoy real-life company during our exclusive house arrest experience…
Those of us who were already making money online could emerge triumphant, nullifying any and all personal challenges, or problems…
In fact; if you think about it long and hard enough it does sound like a really mischievous conspiracy… now why didn’t we warn anyone? Since we clearly had prepared for years for what was coming. 🙄
Now my reason for being annoyed is that I’ve always been disgusting… apparently.
You’re disgusting if you’re a woman and you’re skinny for a starter. “How dare you!”
You’re also disgusting if you’d had a really easy ride… And of course that has to be the case since my mother is my manager… never mind my parents getting divorced when I was a teenager and me co-raising my younger siblings. Never mind our challenging socio-economic downgrade, and financial problems. In fact; forget about it all. None of it matters anyway.
I had a lot of time to think about this when I experienced prolonged health problems that lasted from late 2016 to 2020.
I got annoyed about my social situation.
Where were the flowers? The balloons? And the “get well soon” cards? The behaviour that I experienced from contacts in the music industry was deplorable at best.
Other guitar players were clearly relieved that I was down for the count. Not only did I experience health problems, I couldn’t even lift my left arm due to a shoulder injury that I got, like a nice little bonus, during this period. In fact; other guitar players took the occasion to be cheeky, rude, condescending and to send me guitar videos when they knew that I didn’t know if I would ever be able to play my instrument again. No “get well soon” by the way.
This was the moment when it truly dawned upon me that I had ended up in the wrong environment.
Yet for some insane reason, because insanity definitely has to be the reason, I spent my time blogging leaning into my empathy for other people… incredible.
Fast forward to the fiasco of us moving to Italy from the U.K. in 2021. We lost all of our hard earned cash due to a couple of house scams. Nothing went according to plan, but thankfully I managed to sell my Guitar Mentorship Program and that got us out of a horrible situation.
I was laying in my bed, on my phone, promoting my products, when out of the blue I got a furious message from a fan.
He accused me of being too shallow to care about the “hoi polloi.” His threatening behaviour, and accusations of me being a self-centred, indifferent, snob was due to me going silent on the politics front. And his disrespectful behaviour was a confirmation to me that keeping my silence and refraining from any political writing had been a most wise decision.
I was INFURIATED that someone like myself, that has been consistently outspoken when it comes to wrongdoings done by the actual financial elites in The West, would be accused of not caring about “the people,” due to my own alleged “taste for the finer things in life.” I could have taken my phone and thrown it out the window. That’s how angered I was by this accusation.
If I truly cared about “the finer things in life,” I would champion “replacement migration” to lower wages and to make life intolerable for working class people in Europe. I would support terrorist attacks, and I would laugh at English schoolgirls being subjected to hate crimes. If I truly cared about “the finer things in life,” then I wouldn’t have supported any of the politicians that I publicly showed support for from 2016 onwards.
I would never have written any of my blog posts, and I would never have dragged myself down to the Norwegian embassy in London to cast my vote during the election in 2017. If I cared about “the finer things in life,” then I would never have bothered to champion the churches in England, and I would never have done any charity concerts where I made no money, and got nothing in return.
I was LIVID over the accusation. Absolutely LIVID.
To me it was a confirmation that it had been a BIG MISTAKE to ever express my political opinions publicly, and to act on that cursed of all traits: empathy. (Clearly this empathy of mine has to be contained…)
A few months later I received another reminder of the absurdity of human nature, and the cursed Hierarchy Of Suffering.
I was back in Norway after 26 years of living like an expat. My immediate family (and me of course) decided to rent a wonderful farm with a spectacular country house, a huge barn, fishing rights, farming opportunities, wood, outhouses, you name it.
After everything we had experienced in Italy this was a real treat.
Yet, twice I found myself subjected to something that I hadn’t experienced in years. Looks of absolute disgust from a couple of people I ran into while walking my dog.
These two individuals, that I met on separate occasions, were painfully curious about the new people who had moved into the farm.
Because I’m down to earth, approachable, and don’t assume that enemies are lurking everywhere, I spoke with them with my guard down, in the most casual of manners… yet at a certain point as I spoke with these two, on separate occasions, I saw facial expressions of pure disgust, and hate.
The sort that you will be in the receiving end of when people are envious, because they assume that you are filthy rich, and that this makes you a disgusting creature. Shortly after this I also received a rude message from a distant family member, clearly disgusted that I was living at an estate… making a point of it of course, as if thought I am a war criminal…
My dog walking experience takes the cake however, along with the aggressive, angry former fan.
I was standing with my hair in all directions while I was talking to these people, with an unruly dog, a jacket full of pawn marks, and the KNOWLEDGE of everything that I had actually been put through. I probably looked like they had slapped me in the face.
I was completely taken aback, and left utterly perplexed that anyone, anywhere in the world could envy me my situation, but that’s because nobody ever asks you how you are doing if you fall on the outside of The Hierarchy Of Suffering.