An American Perspective
I used to think of myself as open-minded. I prided myself on being someone who welcomed diversity, who believed in justice and equality, who didn’t judge people based on where they came from, what they looked like, or what they believed. I thought I understood what it meant to be inclusive, to celebrate difference, to stand alongside those whose lives were different from mine.
Then I met her — my Arab friend, a refugee who carried not only the weight of her past but the complexity of navigating two worlds that often felt at odds. Our conversations peeled back layers I hadn’t realized were there — assumptions I didn’t know I had, biases buried deep beneath my good intentions.
It wasn’t about loud confrontations or heated debates. It was quieter than that. It was in the moments when I felt uncomfortable hearing things that challenged my worldview — things that made me pause, feel defensive, even doubtful of myself. When the neat narratives I’d held onto about fairness, progress, and identity started to unravel.
This was the messy middle.
The place where theory meets reality. Where ideals bump into complexity. Where being “the good one” — the ally, the supporter — suddenly feels fragile, insufficient.
Because open-mindedness isn’t a static trait. It’s a practice. A willingness to be uncomfortable, to listen deeply, and to let go of the need to always be right. It means accepting that growth often comes with discomfort, and that humility is the gateway to understanding.
I realized that my friend’s experiences didn’t fit into the simple boxes I’d been taught. Her pain, resilience, hopes, and fears were layered with history, culture, trauma, and strength. They demanded more than sympathy — they demanded engagement, reflection, and change.
Being “open-minded” meant more than nodding along or avoiding offense. It meant challenging myself to confront my blind spots. To question what I thought I knew about identity, belonging, and justice. To be ready not just to listen, but to be changed.
And that change is a gift.
It’s the messy, beautiful work of unlearning and relearning. Of building bridges that aren’t just about tolerance, but about genuine connection. About seeing people not as “others,” but as whole, complex humans whose stories expand our own.
This piece is for anyone who’s ever felt caught between wanting to do the right thing and struggling to understand what that really means. It’s a reminder that progress isn’t linear. That discomfort isn’t failure. And that the middle — messy, complicated, uncertain — is where the real work, and the real growth, happens.
Because to be truly open-minded is to embrace the journey, not just the destination.
