It’s Sunday night, time for primetime television to hit us with the best of their best. It’s the last block hour carved away for happiness before the work week claims its bounty. Why would our family want to follow up Emmy-nominated “Ray Donovan” with reality television?


Last night, our house got a little crazy. We tuned into the season two premiere of “Rich Kids of Beverly Hills” only to find ourselves wondering not about how much money we wish we had, although the impulse kept fighting it’s way in. It was actually a rather strange experience watching the rich kids. The impulse was there to want to hate them, but we also found ourselves exchanging laughs and having serious fun commenting over the plot line. Selfies with Confucius, anyone?


All play time aside, a bad feeling kept nagging inside. Although we weren’t hating the cast throughout most of the hour, we did have to fight back against a sense of lacking. Could this actually be a danger to our own self worth, watching this gang feel like “death” because they had to endure jet lag on a trip to China? With millions (ahem, billions) stashed in trust funds, savings accounts and plastic, platinum cards, how could they even joke about feeling like death?  One of the cast members later commented on her anxiety about not measuring up to her Chinese builder/retail royal father’s success.  Cue the judgmental gah. “What about choosing a worthy charity and completely devoting yourself to it?” This writer wanted to shout at the glowing embers wafting from a Louboutin-enhanced screen.


But what’s the point really? Her life is not mine; her inherited wealth won’t prevent me from making my life something to smile at. Now is when escapism reminds us to politely replace angst with silence if we dare watch at all.  I wanted to hate them for being mediocre and fabulous all at the same time, but I recognized my insecurity in doing this.


The “Rich Kids” are people I still can’t make sense of. Maybe I never will. Come to think of it, I can’t. Their life experiences differ splendidly from mine, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.


My life’s successes and securities will depend wholly on me, not my Daddy. Our worries will never be the same. We can, however, laugh at the same things and enjoy life to its fullest because of who we choose to surround ourselves with. That type of joy is not based on what’s pending in our checking accounts. That might be the only thing this writer has in common with that percent, but this time, I’ll take it.


What do you think of the “Rich Kids of Beverly Hills?” Is it cool to have fun watching them or does the green-eyed monster take its turn too soon? I’d love to hear what you think! Share your thoughts in the comments or tweet me @Kelseymbro