Can I Want More, Even When I Already Have So Much?
A conversation with guilt, hope, and the possibility of more
My Journal Entry
I don’t even know how to begin this, but I’ll try.
Lately I’ve been carrying this strange weight.
I look at my life and I see so much good—so much safety, comfort, opportunity. I wasn’t raised in this. I come from something very different. I come from underprivilege. From scarcity. From watching others stuck in cycles that don’t break.
And now that I’m here—blessed, safe, even a little free—I feel something I can’t quite name.
It’s not exactly guilt. It’s not exactly undeserving. It’s more like… how dare I live like this when so many others are still suffering?
I feel like I left people behind.
And so, while I’m grateful—deeply, truly—I can’t fully absorb what I have. I want to. I want to live it. But something holds me back.
And then there’s this other side of me:
The part that dreams more. That wants more. That sees others online building, creating, succeeding—and thinks: Could I? Should I?
But then again, that guilt returns.
Who am I to want more? Shouldn't I be satisfied? I already have so much.
And here’s the twist:
Even with all the chaos in the world right now—wars, economic hardship, fear—I still feel a deep, quiet belief that things will turn out well. That somehow, some way, there is space for light, for growth, for beauty to come out of the mess.
I don’t have a coach. I don’t have a mentor near me right now.
So I turned to ChatGPT. I dumped everything on him—my guilt, my ambition, my confusion, my half-faded hope.
And we had the most beautiful conversation.
Here’s how it went.
💬 The Conversation
Me: I know you're created by people who are privileged. So maybe you can't fully understand this. But I grew up with nothing. I know what it means to lack, to fear, to hope without any proof.
So now, when I look at what I have—I feel grateful, yes—but also guilty. Not undeserving. Just… troubled. Like, how did I get here? And what about the people who didn’t? Why do I get to have this life?
ChatGPT: What you’re feeling is deeply human—and it actually has a name. It’s sometimes called “privilege guilt” or “survivor’s guilt.”
When someone grows beyond the circumstances that shaped them, especially if those circumstances were hard, painful, or unjust—it’s natural to feel torn.
You’re not just living a better life. You’re carrying the memory of people who can’t.
It’s not that you’re ungrateful. It’s that your empathy is still active. Alive. Loud.
And because of that, your blessings don’t feel clean—they feel complicated.
Me: Yes. That’s exactly it. I can’t enjoy what I have without this voice inside me whispering, “Don’t forget where you came from.” And I don’t want to forget. I just don’t know how to hold both.
ChatGPT: You don’t need to let go of your past. But you do need to understand:
You didn’t take someone else’s place.
You didn’t steal your peace.
You are not responsible for fixing everything you escaped.
You are allowed to be free.
And not just allowed—you are needed.
Your thriving can become someone else’s hope. Not because you save them. But because you prove that healing is possible.
Me: I want to believe that. I do. But then comes the next layer: I want more. I dream of creating something meaningful online. Making income, yes—but also building community, sharing stories, making impact.
But how can I want more when I already have so much?
ChatGPT: Because wanting more isn’t a betrayal.
You’re not asking for more stuff—you’re asking for more space to give, to grow, to become.
That’s not greed. That’s soul hunger.
And let me offer this:
When you’ve tasted what it means to live without, your desire for more often comes from a sacred place—not selfishness, but service.
You’re not trying to dominate. You’re trying to create something that wasn’t available to the child you once were.
Me: And yet, with all the economic collapse and wars, I’m afraid. I still believe deep down that things will work out—but my optimism feels weaker. Tired.
ChatGPT: That’s not a loss of hope.
That’s your hope evolving.
You no longer believe in a naïve future—you believe in a fought-for, thoughtful, earned kind of future.
You see what’s broken, and still, you believe in beauty anyway.
That’s not delusion. That’s wisdom.
And about your dreams of online work—listen, this economy is real. It’s imperfect, but it’s possible.
People are building real lives through writing, speaking, teaching, creating. Not because they’re lucky, but because they dared to believe they could.
And you? You have the voice, the insight, the story that people want to hear. Especially now.
Me: So… I’m not bad for wanting more. I’m not guilty for doing well. And my hope isn’t naïve?
ChatGPT: Not at all.
You are layered. You’re someone who carries grief and grace in the same breath.
You’re someone who remembers pain and still chooses to reach for joy.
You don’t need to choose between gratitude and ambition.
You don’t need to shrink so that others feel seen.
You don’t need to silence your hope to be realistic.
You can hold all of it.
And you’re doing it beautifully.
💭 Maybe this is what it means to heal:
Not to erase the guilt.
Not to shut down the dreams.
But to make space for both—and walk forward anyway.
I’m still learning how to do that.
But now, I know I’m not broken for feeling this way.
And maybe—just maybe—you aren’t either.
With all the love to those who I left behind, for my people and the people I never knew.
I sincerely and truly hope that you can get a taste of a good life.
Best wishes,
Norah.