I was speaking to an auditorium filled with high school students about storytelling. After completing my remarks, I asked for questions. A young man in the front row raised his hand. When I motioned in his direction, he stood and said, “I don’t mean this as an insult…”
I stopped him right there. “I want to hear the rest of your question,” I said. “But consider this a little life lesson. Statements that begin with ‘I don’t mean this as an insult’ are almost always insulting and better unsaid. But fear not. I am impossible to offend, so go right ahead.”
So he did. “So I still don’t mean this as an insult, but your life has been awful. Like really, really hard. How did you manage to survive all that stuff and stay positive and become who you are today?”
Not only had the young man heard some of my stories over the course of the previous hour, but he and his class had studied me online. Watched many videos on my YouTube channel. Read Storyworthy. Even subscribed to my blog. He didn’t know me well, but he knew about some of the struggles of my past. Arrested and tried for a crime I didn’t commit. Homeless. Kicked out of my childhood home at 18. Died twice. Victim of a violent armed robbery. Shared a room with a goat. Worked 50 hours a week while attending college full time. Slandered on a public scale by an anonymous coward in an effort to destroy my career. A lifetime of PTSD. Left handed.
All that messy stuff that has been my life.
When he finished his question, I laughed. “I was wrong,” I said. “That wasn’t insulting at all.”
There were many things I could’ve said to that young man. I could’ve spoken about my desire to do great and interesting things. I might’ve mentioned an ongoing, overwhelming existential crisis that has made me relentless. I could’ve talked about how the struggles of my past have afforded me enormous perspective today, so I’m able to shrug off problems that paralyze others. I could’ve talked about the structure and strategies for productivity and efficiency upon which I have constructed my life. I could’ve discussed how living well is the best revenge – a fact I think about every day when I step into my classroom.
Instead, I said this:
“I never forget how lucky I have been.”
The auditorium erupted in laughter, and I understood why. At that moment, I seemed anything but lucky.
I pressed on. “No, I’m serious. I’m an exceptionally fortunate person. Think about it. I’m a white, straight man living in the United States. Do you have any idea how many advantages those simple things have afforded me? If I was black or gay or a woman, my road would’ve been a hell of a lot harder. If I was born in Mexico or Afghanistan or Ethiopia or Syria, this life that I enjoy today might’ve been impossible.”
I paused to allow this to settle, then I continued. “In addition, I’m healthy – both in mind and body – and reasonable intelligent. I grew up in Massachusetts, which is near the top of the country in public education. I’ve deliberately avoided illegal drugs for my entire life, but I could’ve become addicted to alcohol, but I didn’t. And my heart stopped beating and I stopped breathing twice in my life, and both times, trained medical personnel saved my life with CPR. How lucky is that?”
More laughter. But also nods from the black kids in the audience. The girls, too. Also the female teachers.
I finished with this:
“I’m not saying that your road will be easy, but if you’re a white, straight, American man, you have the easiest road of anyone anywhere. I hear this nonsense about reverse racism. I hear young, white men complaining that they are the victims of a system designed against them. These are stupid people. Try being black or Hispanic for a day. Try being openly gay. Try being a woman. Try being physically disabled or struggling with a mental illness. White, straight, healthy American men have no idea what kind of discrimination and hatred and harassment and obstacles that people unlike us face everyday. Yes, I’ve had a tragically eventful life at times, and yes, I had to fight like hell to get where I am today. I was relentless and positive and forward-thinking and willing to do whatever it took to survive and thrive, but no one was holding me back because of the color of my skin or my sexual preference or my gender. My biology has afforded me enormous privilege, and I’m quite certain that more than anything else, that has been the greatest factor in my success.”
And I believe it.
