In a world filled with women being attacked randomly on the street and people who feel the need for anti-rape apps and nail polish, I want to share a story. I’ve always refused to refrain from doing what I wanted to do because it was late, dark outside, or because I was alone. I’ve always attended to my daily business with the belief that most people were not out to hurt me.  That said, I’ve heard different stories, even from friends.

If you’re a friend of mine you’ve probably seen the stink-eye I give anyone who tells me to text them when I get home or wants to walk me to my car “because it’s not safe.”  You may have heard me refuse the good natured offers of letting me borrow a pepper spray or maze.  You probably heard me doubt its justification.  A friend of mine boasts that her spray reaches seven feet.  I think that’s not only paranoid and unnecessary, I think that’s actually dangerous.  I am terrified of the day something falls out of her purse and she pepper sprays the poor fella who picks it up and runs after her to give it back.

Too many women live their lives filled with fear of an attack. They are afraid to walk down the street, afraid of darkness and shadows, they will walk in the middle of the road instead of on the sidewalk in fear of being jumped at from the alley/house/car/bush on the side. To me that’s just paranoid and irrational (of course, you’ll always find an outlying case, but I bet that they’re more likely to be hit be a car because they’re walking in the street and being preoccupied with the fear of perverts lurking on the edges). Every time I find myself walking down a deserted street at 2 AM and feeling this fear, I suppress it by imagining an attacker who spends hours crouching in the bushes just on the off-chance that a lonely woman will walk by.  Statistics indeed show that such cases are rare.  Of course, rare and non-existent are two different things, but my choice is to focus on the good and do as I please.

There is one other thing I always remind myself of when I’m feeling alone and at risk: most people are far too self-involved to be interested in me. I find this to be a useful perspective in other situations, too–for example when I take things personally that were probably never aimed at me. Next time you hear somebody huffing and puffing behind you as you walk down the street, maybe take a careful peak and see if he’s not just a dude out on a jog, trying to lose some weight, before you hit him with a pepper spray.

I know that to some this is deadly naivety but I prefer it to mind-numbing paranoia. I choose to live my life this way because I refuse to give up my autonomy for the illusion of safety.

Sure, you might argue that I don’t need to go see a movie by myself at midnight, do laundry at 2 AM or go for a run at 10 PM.  Maybe I also shouldn’t leave the house without a male chaperone and walk around in shorts.  You know, for my safety. The truth is that the world is a dangerous place.  Everything is potentially dangerous and, while we can take some reasonable precautions, we never know what will happen, so there is no point in giving up the things we love for the illusion of safety–because it’s always just an illusion.  This is why I wear a helmet when I ski and a seat belt when I drive, but I don’t just stay at home because skiing and driving are dangerous.  For all I know, if I stayed at home, the house would fall on my head or I would be killed by a burglar.

Before I get too philosophical on you, I’ll end this post with a story that just happened to me and that inspired me to write this in the first place:

I’m going out for a run in my new neighborhood. I moved here a week ago and only vaguely know my way around. It’s 9 PM, dark. Towards the end of my run, with most of my form and will gone, I come up to a bar on the corner.  There are smokers standing outside and I feel a pinch of concern as I notice one of them staring at me. I try to convince myself that he isn’t staring at me, just gazing in my direction for some other reason, but as I get closer he raises his hand above his head. I give him a shy wave and look away as I grow more concerned. But he holds his hand still. I finally catch on! I pick up my pace and give him a high five. We grin at each other and I keep running, feeling a bit more awesome.

I offer you this story as an alternative narrative about what happens to women who run alone at night, as an alternative way of perceiving the world. Use it at your own risk.