A friend described a common saying in their house. When anyone pins a negative comment on their day, they or someone else often add the prefix "first world."

"I'm really hungry. First world hungry."

"Mom, can you lend me some money? I am broke. First world broke."

"The place we stayed was terrible. No internet, no pool. Well, first world terrible."

It immediately recalibrates the inconvenience to the one percent strata where it belongs. Most of us who are reading on computers, or sitting in comfortable chairs with six options for breakfast have no concept of the starvation, and poverty, and street life that is endemic for millions of people. They would eagerly eat our burned toast, or sleep under our tattered blankets. 

The other day I was in a group of women chatting. The conversation slid downhill to complaining about their husbands and children. It became something of a contest to see who had it worst. Then I noticed that two of the women were silent. One was a widow, and the other had struggled with infertility. I could not figure out how to shift the topic, but I did move over next to those two women and put my arms around them. We began a quiet side exchange on a different subject, and I squeezed their shoulders just enough to let them know. That I knew, that they knew. One woman's eyes softened, as if it mattered. The other mouthed the words "thank you."

Sometimes the ubiquitousness of what we possess makes it dicey to value its immense worth.