February 2 has always been a strange kind of checkpoint. Somewhere between winter and spring, we pause to watch a groundhog decide whether discomfort is almost over or if we’re still in it for a while. Superstition dressed up as tradition, a quiet ritual built around waiting.

In 1986, that same date carried a different kind of meaning. Congress formally designated February 1986 as National Black (Afro-American) History Month, turning decades of community observance into an official national recognition. President Reagan’s proclamation invited the country to mark the month with ceremonies and activities, acknowledging histories that had always existed, whether or not they were publicly centered.

So there we were in early ’86. A culture willing to pause for a groundhog’s shadow, while entire stories, bodies, and contributions had spent years waiting to be named out loud. February 2 wasn’t just asking about the weather. It was asking what we were ready to see, and what we were still trained to overlook.

Take a breath. Let’s get into it.

This Mixtape Memory Lane is sponsored by 50 Ways to Keep Your Lover.

“How Will I Know” — Whitney Houston
Bright, buoyant, and full of nervous energy, it captured the excitement and uncertainty of wanting clarity without quite knowing how to ask for it. Joy and hesitation lived side by side.

“Broken Wings” — Mr. Mister
A quiet, reflective moment on the charts, it lingered on the idea that some things need care, not force. It moved slowly, inviting patience instead of urgency.

“Take On Me” — a-ha
Pure momentum. Big synths, bigger hooks, and a video that made escape feel cinematic and possible, at least for a few minutes.

“That’s What Friends Are For” — Dionne Warwick
A collective moment. Familiar voices coming together to reassure, support, and soften the edges of the moment.

“Part-Time Lover” — Stevie Wonder
Upbeat on the surface, complicated underneath. It explored emotional gray areas with charm and precision, reminding listeners that not everything fits neatly into labels.

👇 Watch the full throwback video playlist on YouTube Music.

https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAP5Oj7iUBp3XbSK3pSMgicxL32KsSSUe&si=Jsf8aSxBkvifrFfg

Early ’86 theaters balanced grit and spectacle. Rocky IV leaned hard into bravado and Cold War symbolism, turning boxing into something almost mythic.

The Color Purple offered something quieter and heavier, asking audiences to sit with resilience, pain, and transformation.

Meanwhile, Back to the Future was still pulling crowds, proof that adventure and optimism could coexist with nostalgia.

At home, action dominated weeknights. The A-Team delivered dependable chaos and clever escapes, while MacGyver made ingenuity the hero, solving crises with household items and calm logic.

Family sitcoms like The Cosby Show rounded things out, presenting polished living rooms and conversations that resolved themselves neatly, shaping a shared sense of rhythm even when reality looked very different.

This Life Reboot is sponsored by La’Merde Designs apparel.

Many of us were raised with the idea that pain was something to push through, not listen to. Scraped knees, exhaustion, hurt feelings, fear… it all landed under the same instruction. Keep going. Don’t make a fuss.

“Walk it off.”
“Suck it up.”
“Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

These weren’t just phrases. They were lessons. Each one taught the body that discomfort was inconvenient and expression was risky. Physical pain became a test. Emotional pain became something to hide.

For many GenX kids, discipline came with physical consequences and very little space to process what followed. You might have been told what you did wrong, but not why your chest stayed tight afterward or why your stomach flipped hours later. Tears were often treated as disrespect, not communication.

Over time, the body learned compliance. The mind learned silence. The feelings didn’t disappear. They just went underground.

Bodies remember. The tension you carry in your shoulders or jaw didn’t come out of nowhere. Neither did the constant alertness, the guilt around rest, or the instinct to say “I’m fine” while running on empty. What once kept you safe can quietly become the thing that wears you down.

This isn’t about blame. Most of our parents were repeating what they’d been taught, in a world with even less language for emotional health than we have now.

The reboot starts with noticing what your body still believes it has to survive. When you pause instead of pushing, when you listen instead of overriding, you teach it something new. Not everything that hurts is a test. Some things are asking for attention.

This week’s challenge:
Once a day, notice one place you’re holding tension. Don’t fix it. Just notice it.
When discomfort shows up, pause for 30 seconds and ask, “Is this asking for endurance… or attention?”
Answer gently.

Black History Month didn’t begin in 1986. Its roots go back to 1926, when historian Carter G. Woodson established Negro History Week as a way to preserve and honor Black history. Over time, that week expanded through schools, communities, and cultural practice into a full month of observance, long before it was formally recognized by the federal government.

In 1986, Congress passed Public Law 99-244, officially designating February as National Black (Afro-American) History Month and authorizing an annual presidential proclamation.

This short ABC News piece walks through how February became the month of remembrance and why that recognition still matters.

Life Reboot is sponsored by La’Merde Designs.

Mixtape Memory Lane is sponsored by 50 Ways to Keep Your Lover.

So here we are, decades after February 2, 1986. A date that sat at the crossroads of superstition and overdue acknowledgment. We grew up in a country where a groundhog’s shadow could make the news, while entire histories and whole bodies learned to carry pain without much public mention.

The cycles were always there.
Seasons repeating.
Rules repeating.
Reactions repeating.

What’s different now isn’t that everything has changed. It’s that we’re finally allowed to look twice.

In The Color Purple, released just months before that February, there’s a line that quietly captures what this week has been about:

It’s not about guilt. It’s about attention.

If this edition resonated, share it with someone who grew up mastering endurance and is just now learning how to listen. Not because they need another thing to work on, but because their story… and their body… deserve to be noticed.

The GenX Edit is a weekly place to slow down, look back, and make sense of what shaped us… the music, the moments, and the things we were taught without realizing it. If you haven’t already, subscribe so you don’t miss the next one. It shows up once a week, no noise, just perspective.

Until next time.