OPINION

White men in America have a lot of advantages and yet we are dying by suicide in record numbers. The expectation for success is crushing.

Randy Essex | Opinion contributor

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Last month, a reliable family guy with a big laugh became a news story when he didn’t show up for work. A week later, he was found dead of what authorities are confident was a suicide.

It’s not uncommon. Like people I've known who have taken their lives, he was a hardworking, middle-aged white guy with a solid track record — exactly the kind of American most likely to die by suicide.

Each case is heartbreaking and haunting.

I blame, in part, the American Dream.

Suicide is steadily increasing, from 10.5 deaths per 100,000 Americans in 1999 to 14 in 2017. Statistically, in an area roughly the size of metro Detroit, Michigan, that means about 600 people killed themselves in 2017 — about 150 more than in 1999.

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While research shows that the vast majority of suicides involve substance abuse and/or mental illness, diagnosed or not, it leaves me with a lot of questions:

► Why do white males, with all the advantages we are afforded in American society, account for around 70% of suicides?

► Why is suicide suddenly rising among women 45-64 (though it remains three times higher, at 9.7 deaths per 100,000, for women and 30.1 for men of the same age)?

► Why is the rate highest in the Mountain West, a vacation haven and outdoor playground?

I'm not an expert. But I've known a handful of men over the years who took their own lives. I'm in the prime demographic myself. And I spent three years as an editor near Aspen, Colorado — as strange it may seem, an area plagued by suicide.

Broken dreams and unmet expectations

For all the glamour and freedom of ski towns and the West in general, it was easy, up close, to see how broken dreams breed a sense of hopelessness.

Roy Holloway, chaplain of the Aspen Volunteer Fire Department, operates an emergency suicide hotline. He put it this way to National Geographic: "The (ski) season goes by and people think, 'I didn’t meet the girl of my dreams. I got laid off. I don't have any more money. I'm embarrassed, and I don't want to tell my family that I didn't succeed.'"

In Aspen or Detroit or little red-state towns like the one in which I grew up, it's about how we measure failure and what we decide to do about it.

And that takes me back to my indictment of the American Dream.

The idea that this nation affords each of us the opportunity to be whatever we want comes true for many, but certainly not all. Unspoken is the converse implication — especially for white men, born with advantages conferred by race and gender: If you can't make it, it's your fault and you are a failure.

Individuals can define success differently, but our upbringing and cultural norms teach us to keep score, and that we define winning in America in dollars and creature comforts.

If we are not born into money, it can be freeing and motivating to believe our lot is not cast, that America affords us the chance to attain meaningful employment and have enough money to live comfortably.

That's really my story.

Toxic expectations

Public education lifted me from childhood poverty. I had good teachers, good parents and got a couple breaks, particularly being born a white male American. While I had to learn to act like I belonged at, say, college banquets with odd place settings and food dishes I couldn't pronounce, I never had to deal with racism or sexism.

Today, I have love, rewarding work and a great deal of fun and fulfillment in my life. And still, at times, I feel inadequate, a condition that I know is wholly ordinary but can feel profoundly shameful when it is happening to you.

I do not know all of the toxic expectations put on little girls or non-white Americans, but I know that little white boys learn that if they don't succeed, it's because they aren't smart enough, savvy enough, determined enough or hard-working enough.

This implicit message can be crushing if, as adults, we fall short of our expectations.

I do not suggest that white men are oppressed or that America's inexorably changing demographics are depriving us of success or anything else. I do think that fear of these changes is harming our politics and civility.

And I think it's past time that we look at the difficulty and myths of the American Dream. That includes how much we value "rugged individualism" — advice I recently gave a college friend who's in a rough cancer fight about the value I found when I had cancer in letting people help rather than trying to be tough.

It is healing to reach out or to listen. None of us should feel alone or terminally unique.

Suicide Lifeline: If you or someone you know may be struggling with suicidal thoughts, you can call the U.S. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) any time of day or night or chat online.

Randy Essex is a senior news director at the Detroit Free Press, where this column originally appeared. Follow him on Twitter @randyessex.

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