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Race & Ethnicity

Reflections from a token black friend

"In the past, I've usually stayed quiet on these issues. Often, the pain of diving deep into them was too much to regularly confront."

Reflections from a token black friend

I am regularly the only black kid in the photo. I have mastered the well-timed black joke, fit to induce a guilty "you thought it but couldn't say it" laugh from my white peers. I know all the words to "Mr. Brightside" by the Killers.

I am a token black friend. The black one in the group of white people. This title is not at all a comment on the depth of my relationships; I certainly am blessed to have the friends that I do. But by all definitions of the term, I am in many ways its poster child. And given the many conversations occurring right now around systemic racism, it would feel wrong not to use my position as a respected friend within a multitude of different white communities to contribute to the current dialogue. I believe my story speaks directly to the covert nature of the new breed of racism — its structural side, along with implicit bias — and may prove helpful to many I know who seek a better understanding.


. . .

Growing up, I lived in the inner city of Boston, in Roxbury. I attended school in the suburbs through a program called METCO — the longest continuously running voluntary school desegregation program in the country, which began in the late 1960s. My two siblings and I attended school in Weston, Massachusetts, one of the nation's wealthiest towns. The place quickly became our second home, and alongside Boston, I would count it equally as the place I was raised. All three of us did very well by all standards. We had all been co-presidents of the school, my brother and I were both football captains, and all three of us went on to top-end universities.

For those wondering about the structural side of systemic racism, I'd ask you to consider a few questions. First: Why does METCO still exist? Segregation ended more than 60 years ago, yet there is a still a fully functioning integration program in our state. We haven't come very far at all. Many of our schools remain nearly as segregated as they were in the 1960s.

Second: What is the point? Weston improves its diversity. Without us, most of Weston's students would go through all those years seeing possibly three or four local black faces in their schools (and that's the reality for many white people in this country). As for the Boston students, most of whom are black, they receive a much higher-quality education. Property taxes, a structural form of racism meant to allow segregation to endure, have ensured that while schools have grown increasingly better in our suburbs, the inner-city schools continue to struggle with resources, attendance, and graduation rates.

Lastly: Why was I able to be so successful? A major criticism of the METCO program is that it doesn't produce better outcomes for its students than the city schools, so it just acts as a brain drain from the city. I am an exception. I held leadership roles in the school, was an accomplished athlete and student, and went on to what was, at the time, the best public university in the country. What's easily overlooked, though, is how my circumstances differed from the average student of color coming from the city. I came from a two-parent household. My mother was able to work from home our entire life, so she could take us places when we needed. Compared to other black families, we were relatively well-off financially, which afforded me a car in high school and thus allowed me to be highly involved. I had a stable church and home life and food security. This combination is uncommon for a young black kid in America.

In a piece my brother wrote reflecting on the current situation, he considered whether black privilege was real. He and I have both considered how our differences from the common story of black people made us "privileged." For instance, our immersion in the white community, our success in school and now in the workforce, and the fact that we grew up in a middle-class black household (highly uncommon in Boston) led us to believe we had somehow transcended the plight of the black man. Yet, what scared us both so much as we watched the videos of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd is that we clearly had not. In both cases, it could have been us. There is no escape. There is no level of success that will spare you. We are black men, and that is all that matters to some.

. . .

In the past, I've usually stayed quiet on these issues. Often, the pain of diving deep into them was too much to regularly confront. College changed many of my attitudes, but none more so than my full acceptance that racism is alive and well around me.

In college, I sought out more black friends, choosing to room with three people of color because I wanted to grow more connected to that side of my identity. The room afforded me a space to appreciate aspects of black culture and share stories of anger with people who looked like me. Many of my clearest interactions with racism occurred in college. It was there that I began to confront knowledge that roused more frustration within me, such as the war on drugs and its history as a weapon against black communities — although on every college visit, I watched people ingest more drugs and smoke with more impunity than I ever saw in the hood.

The length of my journey makes me inclined to be more patient with others in this process, as it's taken me this much time to wake up. We should all be reasonably patient with one another, but I would encourage individuals to not be patient with themselves and to treat these issues with the urgency they deserve. The anger on display over the past week should exhibit the need for change.

. . .

So many of my experiences growing up speak to implicit biases against black people. I think of how quickly others in school assumed I had a single mother, simply because my father, much like many of theirs, didn't visit school often. Or the number of times I've heard "you are so articulate" in a conversation where all I've shared is my name and other small personal details. Standing alone, each instance may seem insignificant or merely a compliment to my upbringing and education. However, the frequency with which I've received that comment tells otherwise. It reveals how a black kid speaking properly is surprising, and further, how it makes me appear worthy of sharing the person's company.

I also realized that the token black friend is not spared the realities facing a black kid from the hood. One morning, while getting ready for school, I heard my mother scream outside, followed by my brother sprinting down our stairs. In our 150-year-old home, every quick step down the stairs resembled a drumbeat. I followed my brother to find my mom standing at her car, visibly shaken, telling us, "He's running up the street. He took my phone." My brother and I, both barefoot, sprinted up our street and two others until we caught the culprit. I jumped on his back to stop him until my brother caught up, at which point Raj chewed him out and we took our stuff back — both too young and inexperienced in the ways of the streets to know we probably should have beat him up. The point is, though, we still had to go to school that day. And I remember being too embarrassed to tell any of my friends about what occurred that morning, thinking it would change for the worse the way they thought about me or where I came from every day.

I started carrying a knife during my junior year of high school. It quickly became a running joke among my core group of friends — whenever someone would say something out of pocket or stupid, we'd say, "Get the knife," and I'd comedically lay it on the table. What those friends definitely didn't know is that I carried the knife because I was afraid I might get jumped making my daily walk from the train station to my house late most evenings. How could my white friends from suburbia ever understand that?

. . .

In the wake of the past week's events, I've reflected on my interactions with the police. These interactions lifted the veil of black privilege I thought existed, though it was likely only afforded to me because of my military affiliation.

I was once pulled over in a cemetery, less than one minute after getting back into my car after visiting a friend's grave, only to be asked, "What are you doing here?" The cop had been parked right by me the entire time, so he obviously just seen me out at a gravestone alone.

"Visiting my friend's grave before heading back to school tomorrow, sir," I said.

The officer's aggressive demeanor changed only after I told him I went to the Naval Academy, at which point we entered a friendly conversation about his days at Norwich. What stuck with me is what he could've done in those cemetery back roads without another living person in sight — no witnesses, no cameras.

Another time, when I'd walked back to my best friend's empty house after a party, I accidentally set off the alarm, bringing the cops buzzing to his door. I wonder if the only reason it went so smoothly is because I quickly identified myself as a member of the military, opening their ears to hear the full story of what was happening. I think of what might've happened if they'd mistaken me, holding my military ID in my hand as I walked out the door, for something else.

It's tough to realize how rarely these possibilities occurred to me when I was younger. When I was pulled over numerous times, often without cause, driving to a hockey game in Weston or parked talking to my white girlfriend, I didn't consider that the cops might have had it against me. When I did witness these biases, I quickly brushed them off as insignificant.

Early in middle school, I arrived to our high school's football game with a group of friends, all white, to find three or four policemen standing by the entrance. I greeted them with a "Good evening, officers," and then quietly said to my friends, "You gotta befriend them so they are on your side later." My buddies thought it was hilarious, and I had succeeded in making the boys laugh. Looking back, I realize they didn't understand that I was speaking to something legitimate. I was no older than 12 or 13, and I already understood that the police would not be inclined to help me. It was only funny to my friends because they'd never had those sorts of conversations.

I think back to when my friends never understood why I wasn't allowed to play with water guns — or any toy guns, for that matter — when I was a boy. I'd be so excited to visit a friend's house and use their airsoft gun in the backyard. I used to get so frustrated when my mom told us it was "too dangerous" for black boys to do that and that someone would mistake it for a real gun. When I was 16, 12-year-old Tamir Rice was shot and killed while playing with a replica toy airsoft gun. I realized my mom was right.

I think of the way the black girls were treated as second rate in high school. Guys rarely tried to talk to them romantically, and if they did, others discussed it with an undertone of comedy. I never felt this way, personally, but didn't realize until college that my silence was compliance. I was participating in denying dignity to the black women around me.

This attitude from my white friends didn't end in high school, either. This past year, I was at a bar in Narragansett, Rhode Island, where I'd quickly befriended one of the guys my friend had brought with him. At one point, I expressed my interest in a girl who had just entered the bar. He asked me to point her out, so I did, also noting that she was black. He responded, "Yeah bro, she's cute, but you could have one of the white girls here!" I questioned his statement, and he realized it didn't fly with me. We eventually moved on and continued the night, but I couldn't get it out of my head. He truly didn't think anything of it when he said it. And he assumed that I would agree with him. To him, the preference for white women was undisputed, so he suggested it unapologetically. It was especially hard for me because, outside of that statement, there was nothing to suggest he was racist. He had treated me with nothing but love and admiration and accepted me into his crew. It was simply ignorance, which had probably been reinforced countless times. That was difficult to wrestle with.

. . .

These attitudes directly contribute to and maintain systemic racism within our society. Our disparate relationships with the police, along with messages sent to the black males when they "speak properly," or to black girls about their inferiority (spoken or unspoken), paint an inaccurate picture of what a black person is supposed to be. These attitudes foster the ignorance and apathy that is so rightly being called out right now. They ensure the survival of this corrupt system.

I think of times when my own ignorance let me buy into the insensitivity shown toward the black struggle, often to induce laughs. During a visit to a Louisiana plantation during my sophomore year of high school, I shamefully recall posing for a picture with a noose around my neck. I remember walking around downtown New Orleans later that evening with it around my friend's neck, me jokingly walking him like a dog. Two black guys on the street, a bit older than us, said to me, "That's not fucking funny, bro." I immediately filled with guilt upon recognizing my stupidity, and I struggle even today to understand what made me think either were permissible at the time. Sharing that story relieves some of the guilt, yes, but it also speaks to how being wrapped up in white teen culture led me to buy into, and even spearhead, the insensitivity that is often exhibited toward issues of black struggle that are incorrectly categorized as "in the past."

If you don't agree, why did none of my white friends call me out for it? Yes, we were young at the time, but I'd ask: Why didn't we know any better? We assumed the pain of that type of racism was dead, but we all just witnessed a modern-day lynching on camera.

Then there are the instances most white people will recognize, though they probably never knew how damaging their words were. Every token black friend can recall the times when a white friend chooses to dub you "the whitest black kid I know." It's based on the way I speak or dress or the things I'm into, and it's a comment on me not fitting the image they have of a black person. When I resist accepting such a title, the white person claims it's a compliment — as if the inherent superiority of whiteness should leave me honored to be counted among their ranks.

More impactfully, it suggests that my blackness is something that can be taken from me. That my identity as a black man fades because I am into John Mayer or I've visited the Hamptons. And further, it assumes that my black identity is not something I am proud of. It ignores the fact that the acculturation and assimilation I experienced growing up with all white friends was not voluntary. It suggests that my blackness is a burden, when in fact, minimizing my blackness was most often my burden. Another example: when I am criticized by my white friends for code-switching when I am with my black friends, just because they don't understand the slang and how it connects black people to a common culture.

The biases are evident; you just need to pay attention. Believe me, because I wasn't spared from buying into them myself. It wasn't until I got to college that I began to realize how much subconscious effort I'd put into being as unstereotypically black as possible. Whether in my choices concerning the way I dress, speak, or even dance, I noticed that, without realizing it, I'd habitually quelled aspects of my black identity. And based on that ability, I consistently inflated my self-worth and considered myself superior to my fellow black brothers. I had unknowingly bought into the very biases set out against me.

. . .

I'd emphasize that most white people do not understand their level of ignorance — especially the good ones, who mean well, and that negligence is part of the problem.

Many of the white people I know have no concept of the role they've played, passively or actively, in perpetuating these conditions. They have no idea how much we long to hear them speak up for us and to embrace some of the discomfort around these issues with us. Furthermore, the good ones are oblivious to the level of overt racism still out there. I have been among my white friends each time I've been called "nigger" by a stranger. And every time, my white friends seemed shocked. They had been misled to believe that kind of overt racism only happened in the past (or in To Kill a Mockingbird). Comfortingly, they always verbally leaped to my defense, and the savior complex within them encouraged them to seek retribution.

In one vivid case, at a bar in Cape Cod, after I'd just finished a conversation with a friend, one guy, not realizing I was still in earshot or aware of my relationship with this friend, came over to him and asked, "You really talking to that nigger?" My friend was stunned but immediately came back at the guy, his anger for me visible. He then came to me, boasting that he has black friends as if that should warrant him a pass.

As much as each situation ruined my night, everything after went well, and I was embraced by a group of allies who wanted to fight for me when they heard that word. I had no further reason to be upset. Yet, probably only the friend who walked ahead of the group with me knows I cried my eyes out the entire walk home, unable to explain how that word garnered so much control over me.

The problematic result of these overtly racist situations is that good white people feel liberated from any responsibility concerning the privilege, structural racism, and implicit biases that do not make them racist themselves, but that they do benefit from. This moment is one of the first times I have felt it was not only okay but encouraged to share these things.

If there is one thing every token black friend knows, it is that we are not to provoke serious discussions of racial issues among our white crowd. We should only offer an opinion on such matters when invited to do so by our white peers. Further, we should ensure that the opinion is in line enough with the shared opinion of our white friends, as to not make it too awkward or ostracizing.

It doesn't need to be, and shouldn't be this way. Many of us are eager to share our stories, and we have been waiting for the invitation to do so.

. . .

I am comforted when I see white people call things out for what they are. When my friends and I rented a 16-passenger van for a New Year's Eve trip to Montreal, we found ourselves held up at the border coming back. The older agent, surveying the passengers, asked how we all knew each other, to which we answered, "We all went to high school together." The officer then followed up by singling me out, "And how do you fit in here?" What he was suggesting about my place in the group of all white guys was telling enough, and the guys I was with were quick to support me and point it out to their parents when debriefing the trip once we arrived home. If only they knew how often I'd experienced situations like that one. White people should know that we need more conversations about little things like this. It's not our job to heal the world, but if we can start by getting people to question small interactions and beliefs, we can begin moving toward progress.

The white friends I grew up with have shared with me how thankful they are to have had me in their lives during their developmental years. They wonder what attitudes they might harbor if they hadn't had a black best friend their entire lives. They arrived at college to befriend kids who had never met a black person in their lives, and they encountered countless out of pocket statements from those individuals.

I am constantly thankful that I grew up with genuine white friends, unlike many of my extended family members. My cousin said to me once, "I don't like being around white people… I always feel like they hate me." I was able to learn that, more often than not, that isn't the case. Still, my cousin points to the overwhelming sentiment that black lives are not accepted or celebrated by white people.

Recent events present a unique opportunity to begin conversations that have been waiting to happen for far too long. To both black and white people, I'd write that understanding is a two-way street. To my white friends, I'd tell you that while that's true, white people have a longer journey to get to where we need to meet. It is time for white people to muster the courage to call out those comments you hear from your parents or uncles and aunts. The pass has been given for far too long, and every time you don't speak up, you enable far worse words and behaviors. For those of you who think an old dog can't learn new tricks, I'd point to the numerous white adults who have texted me this week noting that they have been in their bubble for too long, and asking me to keep sending them content. It's time to pop the bubble.

My experience as the token black friend has allowed me a unique lens into many of the gaps that currently prevent mutual understanding between white and black people. I have spent so much time in the white community and enjoyed the privileges that come with that, yet I am still affected by these issues. Despite my story's obvious differences from that of the average young black man, I believe it speaks to the immediate need for change. Additionally, it serves as an example of a genuinely meaningful relationship between a black person and white people and emphasizes the ability of white people to be either allies or enemies.

I will never turn my back on the black community. You'll bump our music and rep our athletes, but will you stand with us when it's not convenient? The pain is real. The stories are real. Our call for help is real. My uncle posted on Facebook yesterday, "When the dust settles, I wonder if anything will actually change?" To be honest, I'm not sure how quickly or how much things will change. But I know that one thing is directly within our individual control. You can celebrate black lives by making a choice to inquire about them, to educate yourself, and to question many of the norms around us. You no longer have the excuse of being unaware of your own ignorance. I'd reword my uncle's post to a question that we should all ask ourselves: "When the dust settles, I wonder if I will actually change?"

"No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite." — Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom

This article originally appeared on Medium and was first shared here on 6.19.20. You can read it here.

Photo by Johnny Cohen on Unsplash

It's a good news/bad news situation for parents of young kids.

The good news? Everyone wants to spend time with the kids! Grandparents, aunts and uncles, friends. They all want a relationship and lots of special moments with the little ones.

The bad news? One phrase:

"When are you bringing them over?"

Parents have been frustrated by the expectations of orchestrating stressful visits for generations — loading the kids in a car or on an airplane only to spend hours chasing them around in an un-baby-proofed environment and watching routines go to hell.

Now they're sounding off on social media and airing their grievances.

Why visiting grandparents and other relatives is so challenging for parents

A mom recently took to Reddit to vent about everyone in her life wanting her to "bring the kids to them."

"My parents live 30 mins away and always bug me about not coming to visit them," she writes. They constantly ask, "Why don't you bring our granddaughter to come see us?"

The fascinating discussion highlights a few things that make arranging visits with young kids a potential nightmare for parents.

Grandparents' houses are rarely childproofed

Grandparents love their breakable decor! Ceramic doo-dads, glass vases everywhere. They can't get enough. And while they should be able to decorate their house however they see fit (they've earned the right!) that doesn't make it a good environment for toddlers and babies.

Ceramic bowlsThe breakable decor found in every grandparents' houseozalee.fr/Flickr

"Last week was the last straw, I took my daughter to my parents and of course she went EVERYWHERE! flooded their toilet, broke a vase, and tried multiple times to climb their furniture," the Reddit mom writes.

Parents in a foreign environment are on constant safety duty and can rarely sit down

Let's be honest. Sometimes these "visits" are hardly worth the effort. After all, it's hard to get much catch up time when you're dutifully chasing your kid around.

"They don’t understand that my 3 yo ... is absolutely wild," writes another user in the thread. "She has no self preservation and nothing we do works. She doesn’t listen, she throws, she bites, she refuses to use the potty. It’s exhausting and then ... they expect us to entertain them, when I’m trying to just keep my kid from jumping off the stairs and into an ER visit."

Even just putting the kids in the car for a 20-minute drive is more work than it seems

Taking the kids out of the house requires packing a bag, bringing extra clothes, loading up on snacks, etc.

It seems easy to "pop over" but it actually absorbs the majority of the day between prep, visit, and aftermath.

Naps and routines go to hell

Parents with babies and toddlers know all too well — there is a price to pay for taking the kids out of the house for too long.

Chances are, the baby won't nap in a strange environment and then you're stuck with a cranky kid the rest of the night.

Kids with special needs require even more consistency

Kids with autism or ADHD can really struggle outside of their zone of safety. They might become severely dysregulated, have meltdowns, or engage in dangerous behaviors.

Explaining and mediating the generational divide

man in gray sweater sitting beside woman in black and white floral long sleeve shirt Photo by Tim Kilby on Unsplash

Why is this a conflict almost all parents can relate to?

Is this a Boomer vs Millennials thing?

Some experts think that generational values and traditions might play a role.

"Many Boomers were accustomed to more traditional, hierarchical family dynamics, where visiting grandparents was a way for the younger generation to show respect," says Caitlin Slavens, a family psychologist.

But that's not to say this is a new problem. I can remember my own parents driving me and my brothers over an hour to visit my grandparents seemingly every other weekend, but very few occasions where they came to visit us. It must have driven my parents nuts back then!

Plus, it's easy to forget that it's hard for older people to travel, too. They may have their own issues and discomforts when it comes to being away from their home.

"But for today’s parents, balancing careers, kids’ routines, and the demands of modern parenting is a much bigger undertaking. Grandparents might not always see how childproofing their space or making the trip themselves could make a huge difference, especially considering how travel and disruption can impact younger kids' moods and routines," Slavens says.

"So yes, this divide often comes down to different expectations and life experiences, with older generations potentially not seeing the daily demands modern families face."

Is there any hope for parents and grandparents coming to a better understanding, or a compromise?

"First, open conversations help bridge the divide—explain how much of a difference it makes when the kids stay in a familiar space, especially when they’re very young," suggests Slavens.

"Share practical details about the challenges, like childproofing concerns or travel expenses, to help grandparents see it from a parent’s perspective. You might even work together to figure out solutions, like making adjustments to create a more child-friendly space in their home or agreeing on a shared travel plan."

Ultimately, it's a good thing when grandparents, friends, and other relatives want to see the kids.

We all have the same goal.

"It’s helpful to approach the topic with empathy, focusing on everyone’s goal: more quality time together that’s enjoyable and low-stress for everyone involved. For parents, it’s about setting boundaries that work, and for grandparents, it’s about recognizing that flexibility can really show the parents that you are ... willing to make adjustments for their children and grandchildren."

Enjoyable, low-stress quality time — that's something everyone can get behind.

Teen looking at their smartphones.

Over the past few years, a groundswell of parents, educators and lawmakers have been sounding the alarm about social media's dangers to young people. Recently, the calls have become louder after the publication of “The Anxious Generation” by social psychologist Jonathan Haidt, which ties social media to the growing mental health and self-harm crisis affecting young people.

Haidt says that children shouldn’t have access to social media or smartphones until they are 16.

On Thursday, November 7, Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese announced a "world-leading" plan to ban social media for children under 16, even if they already have accounts and parental permission.


Under the proposed legislation, social media companies such as Meta or TikTok would be fined and penalized if they allowed anyone under 16 to use their platforms.

The law wouldn’t penalize any children or their parents for disobeying the law and it's expected to be implemented next year.

"Social media is doing harm to our kids and I'm calling time on it," Albanese said Thursday. "I've spoken to thousands of parents, grandparents, aunties and uncles. They, like me, are worried sick about the safety of our kids online, and I want Australian parents and families to know that the government has your back."

"This one's for the mums and dads. Social media is doing harm to our kids and I'm calling time on it," Albanese continued.

The 36Months initiative supports the ban, saying that children are "not yet ready to navigate online social networks safely" until at least 16 and that currently, "excessive social media use is rewiring young brains within a critical window of psychological development, causing an epidemic of mental illness.”

Meta, the company that owns Facebook and Instagram, argues that its current safety controls are enough to provide a safe environment for children on their platforms. "There's a solution that negates many of these concerns and simplifies things immeasurably for parents: parental consent and age verification should happen on the app store. And we think Australia should make it law," the company said in a statement.

The bill's detractors say it prevents Australian children from developing the essential skills to navigate the internet and social media. "The online world is a place where children and young people access information, build social and technical skills, connect with family and friends, learn about the world around them and relax and play," said a letter signed by 140 Australian and international experts and delivered to Albanese. "We are concerned that a 'ban' is too blunt an instrument to address risks effectively."

The announcement comes a year after the U.S. Surgeon General's office announced that social media poses a mental health risk to young people.

“The most common question parents ask me is, ‘Is social media safe for my kids’. The answer is that we don't have enough evidence to say it's safe, and in fact, there is growing evidence that social media use is associated with harm to young people’s mental health,” U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy said in a statement. “Children are exposed to harmful content on social media, ranging from violent and sexual content to bullying and harassment. And for too many children, social media use is compromising their sleep and valuable in-person time with family and friends. We are in the middle of a national youth mental health crisis, and I am concerned that social media is an important driver of that crisis – one that we must urgently address.”

A series of new laws have been passed in the U.S. over the last year to provide young people with a safer online experience. However, NetChoice, an advocacy group representing TikTok, Meta and X, has challenged many in court. In July of this year, the U.S. Senate passed the Children and Teens’ Online Privacy Protection Act (COPPA 2.0) and the Kids Online Safety Act (KOSA) to better protect children and teens online. Together, bills would give parents new tools to protect their kids online and ban targeting online advertising to children under 17. The bill has yet to be passed by the House, but if it does, President Biden says he will sign it into law before he leaves office in January.

A guy having a collaborative conversation.

The quickest way to stop having a constructive dialog with someone is when they become defensive. This usually results in them digging in their heels and making you defensive. This can result in a vicious cycle of back-and-forth defensive behavior that can feel impossible to break. Once that happens, the walls go up, the gloves come off and resolving the situation becomes tough.

Amanda Ripley, author of “High Conflict: Why We Get Trapped and How We Get Out,” says in her book that you can prevent someone you disagree with from becoming defensive by being curious about their opinion.

Ripley is a bestselling author and the co-founder of Good Conflict, a media and training company that helps people reimagine conflict.


How to have a constructive conversation

Let’s say you believe the room should be painted red and your spouse says it should be blue. Instead of saying, “I think blue is ugly,” you can say, “It’s interesting that you say that…” and ask them to explain why they chose blue.

The key phrase is: “It’s interesting that you say that…”


conversation, arguments, communication tipsPeople coming to an agreement. via Canva/Photos

When you show the other person that you genuinely care about their thoughts and appreciate their reasoning, they let down their guard. This makes them feel heard and encourages them to hear your side as well. This approach also encourages the person you disagree with to consider coming up with a collaborative solution instead of arguing to defend their position.

It’s important to assume the other person has the best intentions while listening to them make their case. “To be genuinely curious, we need to refrain from judgment and making negative assumptions about others. Assume the other person didn’t intend to annoy you. Assume they are doing the best they can. Assume the very best about them. You’ll appreciate it when others do it for you,” Kaitlyn Skelly at The Ripple Effect Education writes.

Phrases you can use to avoid an argument

The curiosity approach can also involve affirming the other person’s perspective while adding your own, using a phrase like, “On the one hand, I see what you’re saying. On the other hand…”

Here are some other phrases you can use:

“I wonder if…”

“It’s interesting that you say that because I see it differently…”

“I might be wrong, but…”

“How funny! I had a different reaction…”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that! For me, though, it seems…”

“I think I understand your point, though I look at it a little differently…”


conversation, arguments, communication tipsTwo men high-fiving one another.via Canva/Photos

What's the best way to disagree with people?

A 2016 study from Yale University supports Ripley’s ideas. The study found that when people argue to “win,” they take a hard line and only see one correct answer in the conflict. Whereas those who want to “learn” are more likely to see that there is more than one solution to the problem. At that point, competition magically turns into collaboration.

“Being willing to hear out other perspectives and engage in dialogue that isn’t simply meant to convince the other person you’re right can lead to all sorts of unexpected insights,” psychologist and marketing Professor at Southern Methodist University tells CNBC.

In a world of strong opinions and differing perspectives, curiosity can be a superpower that helps you have more constructive conversations with those with whom you disagree. All it takes is a little humility and an open mind, and you can turn conflict into collaboration, building bridges instead of walls.

Photo credit: Movieway PL

Kate Winslet on TIFF red carpet in 2017

In 2005, Kate Winslet was named one of PEOPLE magazine's Most Beautiful People. But even then, at age 29, Winslet had a remarkably grounded view of beauty. When asked what made her feel beautiful, she said, "The happiness I feel in having a family has brought me a real beauty."

Nearly two decades later, Winslet's take on beauty is even more revealing of her down-to-earth character. In a video sit-down with Harper's Bazaar UK, the 49-year-old actor shared some of her life lessons on different topics, and in responding to what she's learned about beauty, she shared:

"Number one is that women get more beautiful as they get older, for sure, because our faces become more a part of who we are, they sit better on our bone structure, they have more life, they have more history. Things I find incredibly beautiful are wrinkles around the eyes, the backs of hands. I think those things are very beautiful.”


She also talked about the importance of taking care of yourself from the inside. "Not just what you eat and how you look after yourself from a nutritional standpoint, but how you look after yourself from a mental wellness standpoint," she said. "How you feel about yourself emotionally, physically. Your place within the world. How you walk through the world. How you live with integrity and sincerity. I think those things matter and those things do come out in how we look and subsequently, of course, how we feel. And beauty is really a feeling, I don't think it's a thing that we look at."

People loved Winslet's commentary on aging and beauty, which run counter to so much of the societal messaging we get about wrinkles and other signs of aging being ugly or undesirable.

"As a little girl I remember looking up at my piano teacher as she sat next to me on the piano bench and I looked forward to getting crows feet like she had because I thought she was so beautiful! 😍"

"To me, this is an obvious truth. I feel sorry for people who cannot see the beauty in an ageing face. It's like going to an historic city like Venice and wanting to put new plaster or new facades over all the crumbling walls."

"Every line tells a story. Growing old is a privilege. It’s incumbent upon all of us to unlearn the lies we’ve been sold by the beauty industry that only youth is beautiful."

"More of this thinking please 🙌❤️ let’s celebrate what is natural and re-balance our attitudes towards aging. As a 45 year old woman who is about to be a grandmother this video made me feel really good 😌🦋🙏🏼✨"

"My AGE is a BLESSING not a BOUNDARY.🔥"

"Exactly one of the reasons I adore Kate Winslet and will watch anything she’s in. So strong. So wise. So real. So fully human. A luminous beauty — and she’s right, she is more beautiful with age. Even when she plays characters with very plain make-up and clothes."

In the full video, Winslet also shared what makes her feel beautiful:

"I think the answer to that question is that it just changes all the time. Often I will feel my most beautiful when I'm just relaxing. I'm working on achieving the relaxing thing more and more. In fact, this year I'm doing quite a lot of that. But often I will feel my most beautiful, perhaps, when I'm just at home with Ned and the children, just being my natural self."

Winslet has previously shared that women get more powerful and sexy in their 40s, which is music to middle-aged ears:

"I think women come into their 40s, certainly mid-40s, thinking: ‘Oh well, this is the beginning of the decline and things start to change and fade and slide in directions that I don't want them to go in anymore.’ And I've just decided no," she said. “We become more woman, more powerful, more sexy. We grow into ourselves more, we have the opportunity to speak and speak our mind and not be afraid of what people think of us, not care what we look like quite so much. I think it's amazing."

In her Bazaar UK video, Winslet also shared what she's learned about friendship, confidence, style, empowerment and more. Watch the full video here:

- YouTubewww.youtube.com

A new dad described his first time meeting his baby in the most beautiful way.

It feels different for everyone, but this is one perspective we can all appreciate.

I'm a proud dad of two girls, so I've experienced it twice. There's something incredible about the very first moment you lay eyes on your baby or hold them in your arms. A brand new person in the world.

Both times it filled me with overwhelming emotion – even if only for a few seconds. Just a rush of love and wonder that is really hard to describe. Luckily, one new dad was able to capture it quite perfectly.


Joshua Lelon recently posted a screenshot of a text sent to him by a friend shortly after the birth of his son, trying to describe the feeling:

"You know how when someone you love dies, at first it doesn't sink in but then you start thinking about all the things you will no longer be able to do with them?

"It's like the opposite feeling of that. It's incredible."

What a perfect description. It's the opposite of grief and loss. It's the feeling of gaining something completely new, something that didn't even exist in the world before that exact moment. And it's not something most of us to get to experience very often, if ever.

Joshua's friend's words really struck a nerve with parents on X. The quote was viewed over 1.5 million times and inspired thousands of reposts and comments.

What's behind the powerful feeling you get when you see or hold your baby for the first time?

man in blue sweater kissing baby in white and blue polka dot shirt on beach during Photo by Lawrence Crayton on Unsplash

There's a lot of emotion involved in the birth of a child. You're happy, excited, anxious, grateful, overwhelmed, and a little scared. So it makes sense that most of us would have a strong reaction in that moment.

There's also a lot going on in our brains and bodies that plays a big role.

"Our brains are flooded with a mix of oxytocin (often called the 'love hormone'), dopamine, and endorphins, which create that sensation of love and bonding," says Dr. Jennifer Silver.

For a quick refresher, oxytocin is a hormone heavily associated with love (both romantic and platonic), trust, and comfort. Dopamine does a lot of things in our bodies, but is mostly associated with pleasure — it just makes us feel good and want to do things that release even more dopamine. And endorphins help regulate our stress and moods — a rush of endorphins makes us feel happier, in short.

That's an extremely powerful cocktail! Needless to say, we don't usually experience all of those things at once when we meet new people.

"New parents [also[ experience changes in areas of the brain tied to empathy and caregiving, creating a profound shift in perspective," adds Silver. This can happen right away, gradually over time, or both.

Either way, there's a LOT going on all at the same time.

That helps explain why meeting your baby for the first time is such an intense, full-body feeling that can bring even the most stoic people to tears.

It's also totally normal to feel very little — or even nothing — in your earliest days as a parent.

For every person who reports the life-changing rush of love when they felt when they first saw their baby, there's another who felt almost nothing at all.

It's important to remember that that's normal, too.

The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists writes:

"Many new parents need more time to bond. Bonding is when you develop feelings of unconditional love for your newborn. Often, bonding happens gradually over the baby’s first year of life. So if you don’t feel these strong feelings of closeness in the first days or weeks after birth, that’s normal."

Postpartum depression, which most hospitals are on sharp lookout for, is a little different. It involves deep feelings of despair or unhappiness, crying, and thoughts of harming yourself or the baby.

Not having strong feelings toward the baby right away isn't a sign you have postpartum depression. But there's no shame in either outcome.

However, if you're feeling a little down about not having instantly bonded with your baby, the key is to fake it until you make it.

Lots of touching, skin contact, talking, and gazing into your baby's eyes has been shown to help form a stronger bond over time.

And whether you get the initial burst of happy hormones or not, just remember the wise words above. You've got a lifetime of bonding and memory making to look forward to, and that is pretty amazing.