I had a conversation today that reminded me of the power of listening.

She was kind—so kind. A woman whose eyes carried wisdom and whose voice held a calm strength that I deeply respected. We didn’t talk about politics or movements or trending hashtags. We just talked. And it was one of the most human conversations I’ve had in a while.

We met at my job. She was making a delivery—just going about her day—and somehow, we ended up in a real conversation. She mentioned that she was recovering from cancer treatments, and I shared that I had lost my mom to breast cancer. That opened the door. Not just to our grief, but to something deeper—our shared humanity.

She was Black. I’m white.

And though we were just two people in a shared space, it wasn’t lost on me how different our life experiences have likely been—how the world has looked at each of us, treated us, or assumed things about us. I wish I could snap my fingers and make racism disappear. I wish I could undo all the harm that’s been done and erase the systems that still tilt the playing field.

But I can’t do that.

What I can do is acknowledge it. I can admit that I was born into a kind of privilege I didn’t ask for but definitely benefited from. I can be grateful for the way I was raised—not to hate, not to judge, not to see color as a barrier—but also be honest about how sheltered my understanding was for a long time.

I grew up thinking racism was just about personal hate. But I’ve come to realize it’s also about systems, assumptions, and silence. It’s about the subtle things—the job not offered, the benefit of the doubt not given, the unspoken fear in someone’s eyes that shouldn’t have to be there.

And so, here I am. A white man in 2025, saying as clearly as I know how: We can become better neighbors.

Better starts with listening. With not needing to be the loudest voice in the room. With sitting across from someone different than you and truly hearing them. Better is humbling ourselves enough to say, “I don’t know what it’s like to walk in your shoes, but I want to understand.”

Better means confronting our discomfort, not defending our innocence. It’s not about guilt—it’s about growth.

I don’t have all the answers, and I won’t pretend to. But I believe in the goodness of people. I believe that hearts can change. And I believe that one conversation, one moment of kindness, one honest post—can be the beginning of something better.

So here’s to becoming better neighbors. One person, one day, one conversation at a time.

—Jeff

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