Since I wrote a viral article about fear and walking a thousand miles alone across Europe, I’ve had several interesting interviews and podcast conversations with men — a hopeful sign. One time, the interviewer, Paul, asked why I walk long distances. I answered that it gave me a chance to fall back in love with the world, the details of which, when I take time to notice, are stunningly beautiful. “And hilarious,” I said. “People especially.”
“Hilarious? What do you mean?” he asked. I paused for a moment to take in the fact that he had actually asked me a follow-up question. But soon he circled around to the question everyone asks: Was I afraid of walking alone? They mean: afraid of men. But before I could answer this time, Paul jumped in with a story of his own:
“Every night at home, I take my dog out for a walk, and every night one of my neighbors takes her dog for a walk. Whenever I pass by, I can tell she tightens up. I don’t understand,” he said, exasperated. “She’s met me before, once even with my wife. I’m starting to feel a little insulted.”
I heard the unspoken challenge: Weren’t we women taking this a little too far? Hadn’t he proved to his neighbor that he meant no harm? Come on — he was one of the good guys. I considered sighing in disappointment or bristling in outrage — but before his interruption, he had asked thoughtful questions and even wanted me to elaborate on my answers. He was paying attention. That was an open door, and I chose to walk through it.
“Most of the assaults I have experienced,” I said, “were carried out by men I had known for years, who I had been alone with numerous times: my uncle, my college professor, my doctor.
“They didn’t assault me,” I said, “until they did.”
“Ohhh,” he said, the hackles in his voice softening. “What can I do,” he asked me then, “to make things better?”
Because he seemed genuinely open, I decided to go one step further. “Talk to men,” I said. “You teach them.”
When I go on a long hike, I aim to be soft, to allow the soul-clearing scent of pine sap baking in the heat, the sound of wind gathering itself on its way up a hillside, the electrical hum that precedes a crack of lightning on a ridge or the dangerously heavy pull of water on a river crossing to remind me how alive I am and how much my own racing heart is part of the rhythm of the world. I am alert but unafraid.
Men, don’t miss the real opportunity that such a long hike offers: a chance to look beyond your own experience and pay attention to the impact of your words and actions. You can exhibit real bravery by going where few men have tread before you. Ask questions. Listen to our answers, and show us some empathy.
Right now, the stakes for women could not be higher. If you consider yourself a “good guy,” the alarm bells should be ringing in your head, too. It is time for you to stand up and pay more attention. Not assaulting women is not enough. It is time for you to take up the burden of educating your brothers, other “good guys” who think they get it but don’t. The hill we women have been climbing toward full citizenship just got a lot steeper and more treacherous. We invite men to join us, but they are going to have to start carrying their own weight.
Lea Page’s work has appeared in New York Times, Washington Post and The Guardian. She is the author of “Parenting in the Here and Now” (Floris Books, 2015) and is at work on another book about paying attention.
This article originally appeared on HuffPost in December 2024.