So we’re all the same. Why does that matter?
We are fundamentally made up of the same stuff.
That probably sounds like something you’d read in a preschool book on conflict resolution, but that’s not what I mean.
I am a Black, Christian, 18-year-old woman who has soaked up the Southern California sun my entire life. Oh, I can imagine the wheels turning behind your eyes. How can I, a borderline-child with an afro and a low tolerance for cold weather, claim to be so similar to every Medium reader without just saying “we’re all human?”
Obviously, our personal identifiers will distinguish us. I’m not arguing that New Yorkers and Californians represent “two sides of the same coin” or that “race is only skin deep.” Tossing around truisms often hints at an attempt to convince others that real, complicated conflicts amount to much ado about nothing. I will not whittle all of our experiences down to uphold my claim — but I will restate it with conviction!
We are fundamentally made up of the exact same stuff. Patterns.
Two years ago, I made the mind-boggling decision to listen to Blackbear’s song “anxiety” on repeat for weeks. Meanwhile, I dealt with actual symptoms of anxiety in my own life. Like a mouse choosing the trap over the cheese, I skipped over peaceful, lofi songs in favor of listening to Blackbear reinforce my worries on repeat. I still love the song, but I must say, that was counterproductive.
Here’s a current pattern of mine: I often avoid eating fried chicken in public to stave off stereotypes associated with my Blackness. Then, I treat myself to that good food in the comfort of my own home. I, just like you and everyone around you, constantly let the ideas sewn into our social fabric change my patterns. Choosing to forgo chicken is entirely my decision and my loss.
Even as life twists our habits, they stem from the free will we are all born with. Autonomy and patterns are that bare-bones stuff!
If you think I just stated the obvious, you’re right. Fish swim in water, there’s air everywhere, and people can choose their patterns.
But consider it for a moment.
It’s a blessing to know that everyday habits are mine to mold, but this blessing comes in a tailored suit, bearing a briefcase full of responsibility. In my case, I’m responsible for recognizing patterns as both a person and as a writer. You’re responsible for at least one of those things, and probably both. For one reason or another, most people write.
So, with existing and writing in mind, we’re going to dive into two series and unpack patterns on this new blog, Lux Et Flos.
The first series, Choosing Chose Us will help us scrutinize what influences our patterns. With it, we will examine ourselves as both apart from and within the world. Our abstract “society” didn’t give us the power to choose, but it does try to tell us how to use that power. Acknowledging the world’s persuasive whisper allows us to actively choose what we embrace, from spirituality to stressful Blackbear songs.
This Monday blog series will help us question our patterns together. What is our place in this world if we assume we all have power and control, even if we’re an 18-year-old in Cali, a 58-year-old in Texas, or someone else?
The Friday series, Writing in the World, will ask a separate set of questions. As writers, what patterns do we attach to our protagonists, and what do we do when patterns morph into stereotypes?
Stereotypes emerge when those with cultural influence collectively recognize patterns within a group, but the patterns we think we see are skewed by ethnocentrism and prejudice. In other words, stereotypes take root when we let flawed pattern recognition overcome logic.
As a writer, I have a duty to understand which patterns I’m putting in my work and why. This duty comes with one great fear: using a stereotype without thinking it through. And I’m not alone here. Intellectuals and prominent authors, including Margaret Atwood and J.K. Rowling (I know…please keep reading) brought up this fear in a letter this past July. They claimed that a “stifling atmosphere” favoring justice over freedom has led to “greater risk aversion among writers, artists, and journalists.”
When privileged people lament their fears, and especially when some start questioning whether or not diversifying their work is even worth it, it’s admittedly hard to stomach. So, now that I’m done admitting to useless fears, I’m going to fight that “risk aversion” and continue diversifying my work right with you, dear reader. How do we do that?
Well, the modern practice of paying “sensitivity readers” to suss out authors’ harmful depictions of minority characters would have us think we should root out stereotypes altogether!
I think not.
The real issues arise when a stereotype is added thoughtlessly, offering nothing to the reader or to the community it refers to. If an author thoughtfully spotlights a stereotype about Black people, even without explicitly condemning it, who am I to deprive the reader of what might be their first racial revelation? Why would I even want to do that?
Through the Writing in the World series, we will do away with the fear of misrepresenting other people without completely avoiding stereotypes. We will dig into the patterns that got us here and showcase once and for all how effective it can be to put stereotypes under a damn microscope.
With these two series, patterns will start becoming our super strength instead of our kryptonite, our hidden weapon for facing society and ourselves.
So stick around, grab a snack. We’re going to dissect the fundamentals like our lives depend on it!
