a day in the life of a (P)WM
I walk down the street. The sun has stopped smiling long ago. A car whizzes by. I pass it without a second look. It passes me without a look at all. Stomach grumbling, I duck into a convenience store. I linger in the store, eyes closed shut from the cold. The cashiers are alert but their eyes are directed elsewhere, downward in trajectory. I make it to my friend’s house, feeling the warmth of the lobby blast into my pores. I’m free at last from the frigid night air. Hopping onto the elevator, I see a stranger. We exchange polite smiles. She’s relaxed. The only thing I can think about is the beauty of the warmth. White privilege. The idea of it initially stung me. Because I’m white I have some sort of advantage? I didn’t ask for this gain. Yet that’s no excuse to ignore the benefits of being a (Privileged) White Male: I walk down streets alone without cops even glancing at me. I enter stores and the cashiers aren’t suspicious of me. I share confined spaces with others and they are...