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At about 7 p.m., after my first job out of grad school, I walked down a staircase to a semi-deserted parking lot in Fort Worth, TX. About halfway down, I saw a young black man walking up the stairs two at a time. I felt a jolt of apprehension, but I continued. Just before he reached me, I looked up, smiled, and watched as he pulled a knife from his pocket and grabbed me by the arm. “Walk like you’re my girlfriend,� he said, pulling me close. When we came to the bottom of the stairs, I saw a car idling with three of his friends inside. He nodded to them, they pulled away, and he pushed me, telling me to take him to my car. I froze. To goad me, he plunged the knife into my side. Prodded like a calf, I stumbled over to my car. Inside, he forced me to drive, with the knife pointed at my stomach. I was too scared to feel the pain from the stab—until I saw the wound later, I didn’t even realize I’d been cut.

...(bad stuff happens)...

For now, all I can do is walk to my car with my keys out, pointing like a weapon in my hand.

the author of the article wrote:I realized I no longer needed a gun to feel powerful. If anything, my willingness to be vulnerable makes me stronger. My newfound ability to live in the moment, rather than in perpetual, agitated anticipation — and dread at maybe having to put a bullet into someone — gives me more joy.

There's a well-known saying in the pro-gun world: "It's better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it." I understand why that makes sense — as long as it's referring to umbrellas and tampons. As for a gun, I've come to believe that not having it and not feeling like I need it is, by far, the best way to be.