Because I’m a nerdy millennial coming of professional age in the Covid era, I recently spent a Saturday in a hip coffee shop virtually “attending” an engineering conference. I sat down, sipped my cold brew* and spent a few hours listening to different speakers talk about a plethora of technological innovations.

*The aforementioned shop was so hip that when I tried to order a cup of drip coffee, they informed me that they “actually specialize in cold brew” which is really just code for “we don’t sell hot coffee”. Although I'm typically a hot coffee kind of girl, this ended up working out just fine; it was a hot day and the iced beverage was rather refreshing.

If you have read this far and are thinking “I have no interest in the technical intricacies of an engineering conference that took place in Missouri a few weeks ago”, you’re in luck because this post has nothing to do with such technical intricacies. Rather, this post is a reflection on a single sentence I wrote down whilst listening to one of the talks.

Laurel Lawson is a choreographer, dancer, and engineer who is disabled and during her presentation, she spoke about the work she does to make theatre, film, and dance performances more accessible for non-visual audiences. Her app, Audimance, is super rad and I encourage you to read more about it here. When talking about her mission to expand resources for those with disabilities, Lawson said:

“Sometimes people are hesitant to provide access because they don’t want to acknowledge the access that has been given to them.”

As someone who has more access to the world than pretty much anyone ever in human history, this made me stop and think.

Is this true of me?

The short answer is, “of course”. But that would make for a pretty lackluster blog post, don’t you think?

Sometimes people are hesitant to provide access because they don’t want to acknowledge the access that has been given to them.

I don’t think this hesitancy is always intentional or even conscious. We don’t tend to think about (or even understand) our own level of access because often, we’ve never known anything different. We are born into a particular time, place, and family, and our perspectives on the world are shaped accordingly.

There are so many things I take for granted simply because I’ve never experienced lacking those things.

The need for an app like Audimance was not always obvious to me because I have full access to all of my senses. When I enter a performance, it is catered to me and how I experience the world. I can simply sit down and enjoy.

The need for more educators of color was not always obvious to me because I have access to a network of teachers who look like me and expect me to succeed. When I enter a classroom, it is familiar to me and how I experience the world. I can simply sit down and learn.

The need for affordable healthcare was not always obvious to me because I have access to comprehensive insurance and the financial resources to pay for whatever isn’t covered. When I enter a doctor’s office, I can simply sit down and be treated.

Sometimes people are hesitant to provide access because they don’t want to acknowledge the access that has been given to them.

So, what is it about this access that makes us so averse to acknowledging it?

I think a lot of it boils down to insecurity. We’ve all overcome obstacles and I think there is an underlying fear that acknowledging our own level of access – access we did nothing to “earn” – somehow invalidates our accomplishments and successes. Saying “I made it here because of factors I had nothing to do with – factors that may have elevated me at the expense of others” means that I don’t actually deserve to be here, that I am a fraud.

However, this perspective – the idea that acknowledging our own access discredits what that access has afforded us – limits our potential, both as a society and as individuals.

When we live in systems that benefit us, we start to believe we deserve them. And when anyone begins to question our place at the table, we become defensive. We believe that there is only so much room and, quite frankly, our position there is rather comfortable. We are proud of our growth and accomplishments and for some reason, we fear that expanding the guest list will take away from our own feast.

And maybe it will.

Logistically speaking, if there is a specific amount of food and more people arrive, there will be less food available for each individual person. Moving chairs around and adjusting to different guests might get awkward or uncomfortable. Growth often is.

But this perspective does not take into account the diverse array of benefits each additional guest provides. Perhaps we lose some of the comfort and autonomy we had grown accustomed to believing we deserved, but there’s potential to gain so much more.

I have learned a lot about stock options recently (have you heard that I work for a “thriving start up in the heart of St. Louis”?) and I would like to make a very rugged comparison between stock dilution and this admittedly cheesy image I am creating.

For many startup companies, employees receive stock options as a part of their signing deal. At any point in time, there are X options in existence, distributed between founders, employees, and investors.

Each time the company raises a round of funding, the total number of shares increases and each individual share, therefore, represents a smaller percentage of the company. However, startups go through funding rounds in order to grow and the idea surrounding this dilution is that even though someone may own a smaller percentage of the pie, the pie has become so much bigger that their ownership is still more valuable than it was before the expansion.

Unlike in our rugged analogy, working to expand access will not always provide a financial benefit to those of us already comfortably seated. However, a table filled with a diversity of backgrounds, experiences, and abilities broadens our worldviews, brings new perspectives, and reminds us that our way isn’t always the right way or the best way or the only way – and that’s okay.

Acknowledging the access that has been given to me is humbling; it requires me to admit that I am overwhelmingly dependent upon others and that my life is not my own. It requires me to recognize that “my” success and “my” achievements have been possible due to so many factors outside of my control or abilities. It brings me face to face with the reality that the systems that have benefitted me have often done so at the expense of others.

I am not at the table simply because I was able to pull myself up from my bootstraps and find my way there (I live in Southern California – very rarely do I wear boots). I am at the table because I worked my way down a relatively narrow conduit while others hacked their way through swamps and jungles only to be denied a spot and told that they are not dressed for the occasion. Coming to terms with this chasm of discrepancy is uncomfortable, but if we have any intention of using our power at the table, it’s important to honestly acknowledge how we got there.

Sometimes people are hesitant to provide access because they don’t want to acknowledge the access that has been given to them.

Laurel, I wholeheartedly agree.