It’s so true that you never get over being poor.

I remember looking in the refrigerator and seeing nothing but a few pieces of a loaf of white bread.

And I know that people from overall poorer countries have difficulty understanding this, but in rural America where I grew up you absolutely need a car to survive.

I remember my parents getting their car repossessed as they were unable to make payments. Imagine the effect that had on our lives — 10 miles from anywhere, and no car.

I remember looking through the couch cushions to find change to buy food.

My grandparents started helping out when I was 7-8, and life got better after that.

But I’ll always remember the desperation I saw in my parents and felt myself in the darkest times.

Now, I could quit working for years and be fine. If I were careful, I could probably quit working forever.

Now, I buy generally what I like and often don’t even look at the price if it’s something I really want.

But still, there’s always that nagging thought in the back of my head that asks, Do I have enough? What if the worst happens? What if someone takes it all?

Irrational thoughts, but having been poor, and having lived so close to the edge, those thought really never go away.