There are certain conversations that never seem to leave us.
Politics.
Religion.
Money.
And race.
Every few months, something happens that pulls us all back into the same discussion. Sometimes it’s because of a heartbreaking act of racism. Sometimes it’s because of something someone said online. Sometimes it’s because a company gets diversity wrong. Sometimes it’s because a celebrity opens their mouth when they probably shouldn’t have.
The conversation begins again.
As it should when real injustice happens.
But I’ve often wondered something a little different.
Why does race continue to occupy so much space in our minds, even when we’re not talking about blatant racism?
That’s the question I’ve been sitting with.
Now before anyone rushes to the comments, let me be very clear.
Racism exists.
It hurts people.
It changes lives.
It closes doors for some while opening them for others.
That isn’t what I’m questioning.
What I’m curious about is why race, as an identity, continues to carry so much emotional weight in everyday life. Why does it so often become the first thing we notice about one another? Why does it remain one of the easiest ways to separate people before we’ve learned anything else about them?
Maybe there’s no perfect answer.
I’m only 21… blinking, winking.
Just kidding.
But I have lived long enough to notice something.
Growing Up Between Worlds
I grew up in a predominantly white community.
People hear that and sometimes assume they know my story before I’ve even told it.
Some imagine I wanted to be white.
Others assume I rejected my own culture.
Neither is true.
I have always loved being Black.
I’ve never wished to wake up as someone else.
I’ve never believed my culture was something to escape.
What growing up where I did gave me wasn’t confusion about who I was.
It gave me exposure.
It meant that many of the people I laughed with, learned from, argued with, and shared everyday moments with happened to look different than me.
After a while, you stop thinking about skin color because you’re busy thinking about whether someone is funny, trustworthy, kind, annoying, generous, selfish, or simply human.
That doesn’t erase racism.
It just reminds you that people are far more complicated than the labels we give them.
We All Notice Differences
Here’s where I think people sometimes struggle with these conversations.
Noticing differences isn’t the same thing as assigning value to them.
Humans notice everything.
Hair color.
Accents.
Height.
Clothing.
Age.
Where someone grew up.
Whether they smile a lot or never smile at all.
Our brains categorize information constantly. That’s part of being human.
The problem begins when those observations become judgments.
When curiosity becomes prejudice.
When assumptions become policies.
When stereotypes become someone’s entire identity.
There’s an enormous difference between recognizing difference and believing difference determines someone’s worth.
The Danger of Assuming Intent
One thing I’ve learned is that people can hear the exact same sentence and walk away with completely different interpretations.
Some people are genuinely prejudiced.
Others simply grew up differently.
Some ask awkward questions because they’ve never been exposed to another culture.
Others ask questions to belittle.
Intent matters.
Impact matters too.
The hard part is learning how to tell the difference.
If we assume every uncomfortable conversation comes from hatred, we lose opportunities to educate.
If we assume every offensive comment is harmless, we ignore real pain.
Both extremes leave us stuck.
My Experience Isn’t Everyone’s Experience
One thing I’ve become careful about is assuming my life represents everyone else’s.
It doesn’t.
I know people whose experiences with racism have been far more painful than mine.
Their stories deserve to be heard.
I also know people of every race who have shown incredible kindness, generosity, and compassion.
Their stories deserve to be heard too.
Life is rarely as simple as social media makes it seem.
Maybe the Better Question Is…
Instead of asking why we’re still talking about race, maybe the better question is this:
How do we talk about race without forgetting the humanity of the person sitting across from us?
Can we acknowledge history without assuming every individual is responsible for it?
Can we confront injustice without believing everyone is our enemy?
Can we celebrate culture without turning culture into a competition?
Can we be honest enough to admit that we’ve all made assumptions about someone before we knew their story?
I know I have.
Not because I hated them.
Because I’m human.
The difference is whether I’m willing to challenge those assumptions once I know better.
MY HOPE…
I don’t believe the goal is becoming “colorblind.”
Our cultures matter.
Our histories matter.
Our differences matter.
What I hope for is something better.
I hope we become story-conscious instead of stereotype-conscious.
I hope we become more interested in listening than labeling.
I hope we stop expecting people to fit neatly into the narratives we’ve already written for them.
Because if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s this:
The most interesting thing about someone has almost nothing to do with the color of their skin.
It’s the story they’ve lived.
And that’s the story worth getting to know.
If this conversation resonated with you, you may also enjoy my perspective on race, culture, and what the Morgan Wallen concert at the University of Michigan’s Big House revealed about America today.
Brilliant image presented by artist, Markus Spiske.
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