Many years ago I met a mindfulness teacher/nutritionist/improv artist who shared my love of games. Parlor games, board games, crafty games, running around games, word games. I mentioned that for me, there's nothing like the feeling of joy, exhilaration, and embodiment I experience when I play. She explained, "Games hold our attention. When we play them, we give them our singular focus, like in meditation. The benefits are the same."

When I first heard that Israel declared war on Gaza in response to Hamas' horrific attack on Oct 7, I felt (among other things): concern (for lives lost), frustration (for violence being considered a viable option), and detachment (I don't know a lot about what's going on over there; I don't have a stake in this).

Then the body count grew, the neighborhoods crumbled, the safe zones were bombed. It didn’t take long for my feelings to change.

All lives matter. I believe this, fervently, and regardless of how the phrase has been used by others.

I believed this before the tragedy of what's happening in Palestine/Israel, yet the situation there and what I'm learning about it is heightening my perceptions of mattering, and sensitivity to it.

I'm seeing a pattern: in myself, with my friends and acquaintances, and in the folks I work with. It goes like this:

  - An act of oppression, harm, or inhumanity happens. We want to Do Something about it.
  - While we contemplate what that action is, we find ourselves awash in guilt, shame, fear or doubt.
  - And then, we end up doing nothing. Except perhaps to feel bad about ourselves.

While I still experience some combination of guilt, shame, fear or doubt regularly, I’ve figured out how to not be paralyzed; how to Do Something anyway.

Today, October 1, is the 20th anniversary of my breast cancer diagnosis. On that day, my kiddos were 14-months and 4-years-old. I didn't know then that I'd have to wean my baby so my milk ducts could shrink enough for a mastectomy. I didn't know I'd go through four months of chemotherapy. Or that twenty years later, I'd be a healthy 61-year-old disinclined to wearing what my kids used to call my Foob—my prosthetic false boob.

I also didn't know that I was white…

Recently, I found myself in a situation that called for an apology. The one I got surprised me. It was…perfunctory. Rushed. Delivered with downcast eyes. And totally dissatisfying.

This wasn’t a racialized moment or an interaction that had anything to do with racism. My surprise, however, was because of my racial equity work.

I’ve always been drawn to geometric order. When I see colors repeated systematically within shapes across a surface, I get a warm, soft feeling in my sternum, somewhat fluid & definitely comforting, surrounded by a deep breathy “ahhhhh”. I get the same sense of comfort from the smoothest, lowest physical effort to move my body—which also makes for speed. Do I love a low effort sequence of movements because it feels good, or because I’ve received so much reinforcement about the glory of productivity, the joy of efficiency, the beauty of a smooth running system?

Recently, I have been asking “white” coaching clients as well as caucus, circle, and workshop participants how many times a day they think about being “white”. I posed this as the Anti-Racist Action in a newsletter a few months back. Responses have been fascinating. This little research undertaking is helping me better understand how to cultivate a practice of attention to "whiteness", and the system of white supremacy culture, in all its wily ways.

The trifecta of white supremacy, capitalism and patriarchy work to keep us apart: the rich from the poor, the privileged from the disenfranchised, U.S.-born from immigrants, aggressors from victims, young from old, me from my Black neighbor.

Together, these three forces form white supremacy culture, and through this culture, we disconnect from each other.

The trifecta of white supremacy, capitalism and patriarchy work to keep us apart: the rich from the poor, the privileged from the disenfranchised, U.S.-born from immigrants, aggressors from victims, young from old, me from my Black neighbor.

Together, these three forces form white supremacy culture, and through this culture, we disconnect from each other.

I am part of a recent phenomenon: the burgeoning of white anti-racist "practitioners”. It's an imperfect label, but I like how it suggests the minute by minute practice of staying awake to the obfuscating racist structures of our culture.

You’re probably familiar with some of the risks associated with this new industry…

My writing this month is geared toward white folks, or anyone wrestling with internalized whiteness. Let’s say you’ve read a few books & listened to some great podcasts about how white supremacy culture works. You want to do something to make things more equitable, more humane, less unfair.

But what do you do?

I don't remember when I became a Stevie Wonder fan. His album Talking Book came out 50 years ago, when I was 10. His music accompanied my childhood, teen years and young adulthood. It's still part of every road trip & dance playlist I'm part of.

It might seem weird to do an end-of-the-year reflection at the end of October, but I have good reason. Almost exactly a year ago, james boutin & I decided to do something together, as longtime educators, for white people, about whiteness. That was November. In January, we launched our first workshop. Coming up next week, we'll hold our last workshop of the year. What a year it's been!

Along these lines, recently a Black woman, a white man and a white woman each asked if my work as a white antiracist facilitator with groups of white people reinforced segregation. It's an important question. I find the answers important, too.

I can't count how many times have I said (or thought), "But I didn't mean to!". The issue of course has nothing to do with my intentions—it has to do with the harm I've caused.

As a middle-aged, middle+ class white woman, I've been spared the ravages of poverty—living it, living next to it, or simply witnessing it. What I haven't been spared are assumptions, biases and blindspots about poverty. This goes for most (not all) white Americans, and is entirely by design. So I'm trying to bust out of the mold.

I'm planning a vacation and thinking about it in terms of how white dominant culture works – how my choices benefit me, how they disadvantage others, and how I can mitigate both. Pretty much everyone has a stash of leisure time coming to them. The circumstances that grant one person weeks off—instead of, say, hours—map directly to what white life in America generally looks like.