Nostalgia isn’t only a hell of a drug, but it’s a hell of an addiction too. Chasing times when you last felt good or when you felt things were right. Getting in touch with old flames that you forgot that there were reasons you moved on from, until you read the painful endings as to why those connections died.
Having those rose-tinted shades aren’t always good for you.
As a white man, even when I’ve got it rough, my life is 20 times easier than if I was anything else. Women can’t even walk down the street without at least the thought a man they walk by might suddenly rape them. A black man can’t walk down the street without worrying about a cop deciding it’s their day to die. Meanwhile, I can walk down the street and not worry about a damn thing other than my heart rate.
It pains me daily that I can’t fix it. It pains me more that men that look just like me have done those awful things and will do those awful things and I’m looked down on by everyone that isn’t a straight white man because of it. And I’m still better off than the vast majority of folks, even though I have trouble paying rent most months.
So, the life lesson I’ve learned? Don’t leave the apartment. Seems to work pretty well for me.
Real heart wrenching moment realizing women fearing being murdered on their walk home is a euphemism for being raped. They’d rather describe being stabbed and mugged.
Being aware of it is the first step to actually helping a little bit. e.g. I’ll cross to the other side of the street if I am walking past a woman at night, but even just not being a total arsehole puts you in the top 50% of the male population.