I read an
article about white privilege. I thought I already had a serviceable idea about what those two words mean, but the author took it to another level by comparing it to the experience of riding a bike in a car
centric world. Just for the record, I give bike riders a wide berth and have never hurled a cocky word to one. Earlier this summer I enjoyed riding a bike along the piers at Ocean City and suffered no ill will from passersby.
But the author described the every day slog of gravel in his face, rude comments, and dangerously close semis as he follows his daily commute. He rides two wheels in an environment that vastly favors four wheels. There are risks, and inconveniences
that are his to bear, that folks in their air conditioned, air-bags-at-the-ready, seat belted mini vans are oblivious to. Like me.
Reading about his experience helped me climb into his bike shoes, which in turn took me a step closer to understanding what it is like to be black in a world that favors whites. Of course this is all hypothetical. I am not black nor do I ever plan to mount a racing bike in Lansing. But empathy is not a third string pastime on this
planet. It is why we are here at all.
Life affords us a string of opportunities to empathize with people whose path differs from ours. The person who struggles with addiction, the one with mental illness, the one with autism or seizures, the divorced single mom, or the person with food disorders deserve their spot on the planet too, and have things to teach us. It is not necessary to actually experience those conditions, but it is
our task to imagine what life is like for them.
Marriage is an invitation to try to understand another person's experience. John is male, and I never will be. Each day that he reacts in a way that differs from my feminine tendencies I get to try one more time to not make him wrong for his silence, or his needs, or his penchant for fixing when I want him to listen.
Because he deserves his spot on the planet
too.
