I am not a reliable narrator. Not because of any particular intent to mislead, but rather as a consequence of filtering memories through the unholy trinity of privilege: white, straight, and male. Since I spent the majority of my life not knowing what I didn't know and being resistant to what I was being told to see, I've developed a series of permanent blind spots with regard to the past.
Ironically, my lack of awareness makes me the least likely person to see my lack of awareness. I just thought I was doing great and succeeding on the merits. Conversely, everyone traditionally burdened by the lack of privilege bore the brunt of convincing me that that which I couldn't see was really there. And I couldn't see it because it didn't exist at a fixed point in the distance-but rather-was so all encompassing that it was water to a fish; something that was so everywhere that it was nowhere. Can't imagine how much that must have sucked-painstakingly pointing out something to my dumb ass. Honestly, I just thought you all were crazy.
Of course, I would imagine that it's worse to live without the benefit than to carry the additional explanatory burden. However, maintaining your composure while explaining this to a group of unaware, unearned, and often hostile beneficiaries can't be too far off. All of which is a long windup to an unsatisfying answer: which is, I'm trying. I can't eradicate my past blind spots-they're more like permanent gaps-but, I can strive to prevent their future development.