In considering the latest twists and turns of our pop-culture circus, it occurred to me that a certain bit of Longfellow could use a good dusting off, with a few “Chris’isms” thrown in for good measure. Not that old Longfellow needs any improvement, but I suspect he wouldn’t mind a little creative tinkering, especially to shed light on the curious habits of us modern folk. The moral of this ramble, dear reader, is a many-faceted thing, like a prism catching the absurdity of our times from different angles.

First off, it must be said: while you may be hurting, be it individually or collectively, which seems to be the fashion nowadays, history will always have its winners and losers. That’s just the way of it. But here’s a gentle nudge: the fact that history isn’t kind to everyone doesn’t mean we should try and rub it out like a chalk mark on a slate. History belongs to us all, even to those of us it never treated particularly well. Sure, it isn’t perfect, no family album is without its black sheep or embarrassing photos. But that’s the point. We need those awkward snapshots to remind us what happens when we grow reckless or arrogant.

You see, the thing about history is, it’s like a stubborn relative at a family reunion. The kind of uncle who insists on sitting in the same spot every year, telling the same stories, reminding us of things we’d rather forget. But it’s not in our best interest to pretend he never existed, even if his tales make us cringe. We learn from him, both in what to repeat and, more often, what to avoid. If nothing else, he serves as a cautionary tale that saves us from repeating certain ill-advised antics.

And therein lies the truth of it: one person’s triumph is another’s burden. Our proudest moments are often shadowed by someone else’s misery. A statue that stands tall and proud to one person might cast a long, ominous shadow for another. If your instinct is to run from the past, it’s important to remember that the next person might be running towards it, arms wide open. But here’s a thought, if the weight of history crushes you, maybe it isn’t the history itself that hurts. Maybe it’s you, wrestling with something within. The pain doesn’t come from the pages of a book or the carved face of a statue; it comes from the heavy burden you place upon yourself.

Now, we seem to be dabbling in this curious notion of “erasing” history, as if the human race were a schoolchild who could simply cross out a misspelled word and rewrite it neatly. But by erasing what offends us, we’re robbing our children of lessons we’ve paid dearly to learn. History, whether it’s good or bad, is the very teacher we need, precisely because it makes us uncomfortable. And if we’re not careful, we’ll leave our young ones to face dangers we had already figured out, only to forget out of sheer stubbornness.

Here’s the last bit, and it’s a notion that seems to have gotten lost somewhere between the cracks of social media debates and TV soundbites: if you can’t find even a sliver of empathy or logic in someone else’s beliefs, you’re probably not thinking hard enough. Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean you have to agree with every wild idea thrown your way. I’m talking about understanding the “why” behind it. Most folks have a reason for thinking what they think, even if that reason is as crooked as a hound’s hind leg.

Let me tell you, there’s a curious freedom in admitting you’re wrong, now and then. It takes a special kind of courage to look at your own argument, poke it with a stick, and say, “Well, I’ll be, looks like I’ve been backing the wrong horse all along.” Most people avoid it, seeing it as an embarrassment. But I tell you, there’s a certain thrill, a lightness that comes when you stop wrestling with your own pride. Admitting you’re wrong means you’re still willing to learn, still curious enough to grow, and that, my friends, is worth more than a thousand echo chambers filled with nodding heads.

So, take it from me, and from Longfellow too, wherever he may be, history, empathy, and even being wrong all have their place in this strange pageant we call life. Life isn’t tidy, and it sure doesn’t tie itself up with a neat little bow. It’s messy, awkward, and full of potholes we stumble into. And sometimes, it’s downright ridiculous, which is exactly why we need those awkward uncles and those uncomfortable truths. They remind us of what we are, flawed, hopeful, sometimes foolish creatures, stumbling our way forward, one hard-learned lesson at a time.

So go ahead, listen to the voices you don’t agree with. Sit with the discomfort of history, warts and all. And if you happen to find yourself proving yourself wrong, take a deep breath, smile, and tip your hat to the adventure of being human.