Celeste Headlee

At this point, partisan bias in the US is stronger, by some measures, than racial bias and that's saying something because the US is a pretty racist nation. (Every single one of us is biased in some way.)

In 1960, 9% of Americans said they'd be unhappy if their kid married someone from the other party. Today, it's above 80%. That's incredible, and it is not healthy for our democracy and our society.

Here's one reason: politicians do not tell you the truth. That doesn't mean they're all corrupt, but it does mean that they have agendas and goals they do not share with the public and they will tell lies sometimes or usually manipulate the facts to sway your opinion so that you approve of what they already plan to do.

For example, and this is drawn from a real story, a lobbyist from a specific company may go to your representative and say, "I need to buy this piece of land and I want you to remove the environmental restrictions on it so I can tear down trees and level the land." Now, the politician knows his constituents would never approve if he said, let's sell this public land so a company can decimate it and reap profits for 10 years before moving on to the next piece of property and leaving this one in ruins. That will not be popular with anyone, liberal or conservative. It is mostly a myth that Republican voters don't care about the environment or natural spaces.

Instead, he couches the issue in terms of freedom, removing restrictions on business, etc. He doesn't necessarily lie, but he uses emotionally powerful words to trigger passion and doesn't tell the FULL truth. All politicians do this, regardless of party.

Do you have time to read all of the proposed legislation in DC and your state and your city? No. So my job, as a journalist, is to read those awful, boring bills and figure out what they actually do, because you can't trust the politicians to really tell you.

We read the bills, we consult with experts who have no immediate stake in the outcome, and we try to present to you a summary of what's happening so you can decide based on facts, not emotional manipulation and half-truths.

Journalists work really hard to bring you the bottom line. Yes, we have our own personal biases, as everyone does, but it's a serious part of our training and practice to set aside those biases in search of the truth and be fair to all parties. It's less about whether a journalist has opinions than it is as about whether he or she is factually accurate and fair.

Do not trust any news outlet where there are no consequences when a reporter gets the facts wrong or misquotes a source!! In my industry, if I am unfair or inaccurate, I can get fired and not hired by any other public news outlet. That's accountability. Most of the cable news shows and online platforms can't say the same, so you can't really trust them.

I think of myself as a public servant. I have dedicated my professional career to work that I consider important and crucial, and that work is to bring you information in an accurate, clear, manner.

I don't care one iota what party you belong to, what your race or religion is, or how much money you make. My goal is to be useful to you and to our democracy by finding the truth, because so many people are trying to hide the truth and manipulate you for their own ends.

Of course I have personal feelings and passions and ideas. If I'm ever unfair or inaccurate, please call me out on it. I've shown in the past that I'm absolutely willing to do more digging and change my reporting/posts on issues.

I’ve spoken about conversation and communication all over the world now, for universities and corporations and tech startups and non-profits. No matter where I go and who’s in the audience, there are a few questions that seem to come up over and over. I thought it might be helpful to give a brief answer to those common questions, in case you were wondering, too.

1. How to I change the way someone else behaves when they’re talking to me? (How do I stop someone from interrupting me? How to I interrupt someone who runs on and on? How do I get someone to talk more when they only give one or two word answers? Etc, etc.) 

There’s good news and bad news on this issue. The bad news is you can’t change someone else’s behavior. There are a few ways to try to influence someone else, but they mostly involve telling the person that their behavior is disruptive or dismissive and hoping they change their ways in response. On the other hand, there is much you can do to change your own conversational behavior and habits. What’s more, there’s most likely room for improvement. We tend to overestimate our skills in conversation and listening. Finally, human beings often learn by modeling. This is called Social Learning Theory, posited by Albert Bandura. The Stanford psychologist wrote: “Most human behavior is learned observationally through modeling: from observing others, one forms an idea of how new behaviors are performed, and on later occasions this coded information serves as a guide for action.” So, if you are modeling good listening, then the people you talk to on a regular basis may follow suit. Most importantly, you have full control over your own behavior and almost no control over someone else’s. So work on the former and don’t worry about the latter.

2. Isn’t it okay to not talk to someone who’s racist/offensive/ignorant/homophobic? On principle, I don’t want to hear those offensive opinions and empower that kind of ignorance. Isn’t that okay? 

Nope. Hearing an opinion is not the same as endorsing it. Our current polarized situation has been caused, in my opinion, by fleeing from distasteful opinions and conversing freely only with those who share our views. It’s not good for your own mental and emotional development and it’s terrible for society, as it allows us all to isolate ourselves and see other human beings as enemies. Often, our frustration in these exchanges is caused by our attempts to change minds or convince someone else that we are right and they are wrong. But the changes you’ll do any of that are extremely slim; it’s best to assume it won’t happen. So, stop trying to change minds and, instead, aim to learn something about the other person. You can achieve that goal 100% of the time. Enter the conversation intending to learn from the other person and gain a better understanding of their perspective and why they believe as they do. This will prevent you from isolating yourself inside an ideological bubble and it just might open your mind to new ideas.

3. I’m an introvert. Doesn’t that mean too many conversations isn’t good for me?

I haven’t found any evidence that introverts are worse at conversation than extroverts. Introversion is about being predominantly focused on your own thoughts and interests and gaining energy from time spent alone. But both introverts and extroverts see real health benefits from small talk, and those who are less socially isolated are less prone to depression and generally healthier. In fact, small talk is great for introverts. You get the benefits of social interaction but those little chats in the grocery store and the taxicab are time limited. You know you won’t be stuck in that conversation for a long period of time. What’s more, that cab driver or barista or grocery store clerk is paid to be nice to you! So there’s no danger that you’ll be met with rudeness or inattention.

4. When someone tells me that they’re struggling with something (a death, loss of job, divorce, illness, etc.), I often tell them about a time when I struggled with the same thing. I really feel like they appreciate it and it tells them they’re not alone. I think it shows empathy. Why is that a bad thing? 

I understand the impulse to do this. It’s natural to think of similar experiences when someone tells us about an obstacle they’re facing. Our brains search for relevant experiences in order to help us understand what we’re being told and put the information in context. That’s perfectly fine, but it’s best not to verbalize what you think of. When someone is struggling or suffering, they need to be heard. As author David Augsburger once wrote: ““Being heard is so close to being loved that for the average person, they are almost indistinguishable.” I know it feels like you are expressing empathy, letting them know they are not alone and that you know how they feel. But you don’t know how they feel, not really. They’re a different person in a different situation. It’s best to ask how they feel and let them tell you. Tell them you’re sorry for what’s happening, ask how you can help, but don’t turn the focus of the conversation to yourself by talking about your own experience. Just let them talk. Witness their struggle.

5. Are men worse listeners than women? Do women talk too much? 

This is an open question at this point, and it’s hard to generalize based on gender, but here are some intriguing study results. One small study (only 40 people) from 2000 showed that when people listened to an audiobook, the men listened with only the left side of their brains while the women used all of their gray matter. That doesn’t mean women are better listeners, though. Research from Cambridge in 2014 suggests women have a stronger natural ability to listen, though, and a poll of men revealed that most men think they don’t listen well. However, women don’t talk more than men. Both genders have a tendency to talk in different situations: women talk more in project groups, for example, unless there are seven or more people present. In that case, men will dominate the discussion. When people are chatting over lunch, women are more likely to talk when there’s a big group. While there are real differences in how people are perceived when they speak, those are mostly cultural, not biological.

This is a tough piece for me to write because I fear some of my friends could be hurt by it. Many of them have said to me, “You deserve this” at some point over the past year and I know they meant it in the kindest, most generous way. 

Let’s step back just a bit. Life has been a bit of a struggle for me. Nothing to whine about compared to those who live currently in poverty or face discrimination or disability. Life could definitely be a lot harder for me but, in all honesty, it could have been easier.

I’ve been a single parent for most of my adult life and I’ve occasionally dipped below the poverty line, despite working 3-6 jobs at a time. My family life is dysfunctional at best and my mother has done some pretty awful things that cost me both monetarily and emotionally. It’s been a struggle and at times, there were people actively preventing me from progressing.

But in 2016, I won my version of the lottery. My TEDx talk went viral. I started getting speaking engagements all over the world and I sold a book for a healthy advance. 

I get emotional, even now, when I remember how it felt to pay off my student loan. That was a debt I believed I’d be paying until I died. I had been paying it for years and yet, because of a ridiculous interest rate and several deferments, the amount owed was more than what I originally borrowed. (Seriously, we need to reform the student loan system. It’s abusive and unfair.)

I now owe nothing to anyone. I’ve paid off every debt I had and, because my mother charged us for a number of things as kids and kept track of our debts on index cards, this is the first time in my life that I’ve been debt-free. The feeling is indescribable.

So, I absolutely understand what’s meant when my friends and colleagues say to me, “You deserve this.” I know they’re happy for me. It’s nice when good things happen to good people, and I’ve tried to be a kind and positive force in the world. I know they’re thrilled that I’m not struggling for the first time in my adult life and that I finally have the means to take vacations. I understand the sentiment because I’ve felt the same when something wonderful happened to someone I knew, who had struggled and fought for everything they had.

But now that I’m on the receiving end of that phrase, it makes me uncomfortable. The truth is, I don’t actually deserve all the good things that are happening to me. I haven’t “earned” it. 

To my mind, if I deserve all the opportunities I have now, that means I didn’t deserve them during all those years that I wept with frustration and despair because I worked 80 hours a week and still couldn’t pay my bills. If I’ve earned what’s coming to me now, does that mean all the people still struggling haven’t done enough? That they haven’t worked hard enough or long enough?

I realize that people tell me I deserve success because they love me and they want good things for me. I’d imagine it’s been hard for my friends to watch me labor for so many years without making any headway. After all that time telling me that “things will get better”, they finally have. I’ll bet that’s a relief for the people who care about me.

But I don’t deserve money and success. I lucked out.

I didn’t deserve the setbacks and tragedies. I didn’t earn the obstacles and heartbreaks. And I’m not entitled to the change in fortune that’s happening now. 

There’s a quote attributed to Thomas Jefferson that I love, even though he probably never said it:  "I am a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work, the more I have of it." If I am lucky now, and I am, I do believe it’s partly because of very hard work over a long period of time. But it’s also partly pure chance.

“On the planet Earth, man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much—the wheel, New York, wars and so on—whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they were far more intelligent than man—for precisely the same reasons.”

-- Douglas Adams

Here’s a spoiler for you: you’re not as smart as you think. And even if you’re very, very smart, that doesn’t mean you make decisions logically or rationally. One last thing: that’s all good news.

I just finished a book called The Knowledge Illusion, by Steven Sloman of Brown University and Philip Fernbach of the University of Colorado’s Leeds School of Business. Sloman and Fernbach have an interesting theory about human cognition: we are, at our best, a hive mind. 

In other words, human minds don’t function as computers do. We can only retain a limited amount of ready information and we can’t truly understand everything that’s needed to function. Here’s their test: on a scale of 1 to 7, rate how well you understand the way a toilet works. My guess is most of us have a basic understanding and give ourselves a 5 or 6. Now, explain on paper exactly how a toilet functions, start to finish. 

Turns out, after people are asked to explain things that they think they understand, they struggle to do so and their initial rating of 5 to 6 often drops several points. 

As Sloman and Fernbach say, the point of these tests isn’t to prove that humans aren’t smart or don’t know things. “It’s that people are more ignorant than they think they are,” the two write, “We all suffer, to a greater or lesser extent, from an illusion of understanding, an illusion that we understand how things work when in fact our understanding is meager.”

I believe most people don’t have much trouble admitting that they don’t understand plumbing. We don’t hesitate to rely on the expertise of brain surgeons or auto mechanics or veterinarians. But what about political issues like immigration and abortion and tax policy? What about management issues in our workplace? Do we admit our ignorance and defer to experts or do we, for some reason, insist that our opinions are as valuable as that of someone who’s studied the issue for years?

The fact is, human beings are the only species (to our knowledge) that suffers from confirmation bias, the tendency to discount facts that run counter to our beliefs. It’s not a very useful aspect of our personalities and doesn’t help us survive or evolve. “A mouse bent on confirming its belief that there are no cats around and a rat focusing its attention on breadcrumbs and ignoring other foods to confirm its belief that breadcrumbs are the best food,” Sloman and Fernbach says, “Would not pass on their genes to many descendants.”

The reason humans have thrived, despite our logical weaknesses, is our ability to communicate and collaborate. We are designed to communicate well, to listen for subtle differences in tone of voice and watch for minute changes in facial expression and body movement. We’re so good at it that we do it subconsciously and are very accurate at understanding another person when we’re speaking face-to-face, even when they’re discussing complicated or nuanced issues.

Sadly, Google has convinced us that we are all experts in everything. But access to information is not the same as mastery of that information, as any AI specialist will tell you. Reading a couple paragraphs on merit pay doesn’t make you an expert on teacher salaries.

It’s quite dangerous for us to stop relying on experts. Working collectively has enabled us to persist on this planet, despite our physical fragility. We can’t outrun a cheetah or outfight a gorilla and we even lose out to the lowly mosquito in many cases. But we can recruit an entomologist to fight the mosquito (or an infectious disease specialist to treat yellow fever) and an engineer to design a vehicle capable of escaping the cheetah and a chemist to create a tranquilizer for the gorilla. We are smart collectively.

But that means we should stop isolating ourselves into our little social media/digital worlds and start talking to experts. It means we should be honest about the subjects we know well and those we don’t. In order to collaborate, we must communicate and we must trust each other. That requires honest conversation and active listening.

If you don’t have time to read the whole post, here’s the bottom line: paging through Facebook posts and looking at other people’s pictures will make you unhappy. Using the platform to connect and converse with friends in a positive way won’t.

A study from the University of Copenhagen last December found that “lurking” on Facebook -- reading other people’s posts and paging through their pictures -- "can negatively affect your emotional well-being and satisfaction with life". Facebook posts are curated. People post the photos that make them look good and happy. They write about the anniversary gift their spouse bought, not about the time their anniversary was forgotten or ended in arguments. They proudly display pictures of a smiling kid with a diploma, not a kid screaming “I hate you” when they’re disciplined for failing a class. 

I don’t really have a problem with posting almost exclusively positive things. That’s not substantially different from the scrapbooks our mothers made or the slideshows of vacation photos that people in the 1960s used to torture their neighbors. It’s natural and human and perfectly healthy. 

But, as the saying goes, “don’t compare your insides with other people’s outsides.” The problem arises when other people start to assume that other people are happier and more successful and that we are failures, by comparison. Research shows that, of all activity on Facebook, less than 10% involves actively communicating with someone else. Most of the time we’re posting or reading or looking, not communicating. 

The problem arises when we spend too much time on social media, and most of us think we spend too much time there. So much so that, in January, more people said they wanted to quit social media than smoking. 

About one in five of us can’t go a few hours without checking Facebook or Instagram or Snapchat, and about a third of iPhone owners check their Twitter feed before they get out of bed. If you think you might be addicted to your phone, you’re probably right. But just to be sure, take this quiz:

There are all kinds of negative outcomes associated with addiction to social media: anger issues, sleep deprivation, anxiety, and depression. Even worse, most auto accidents now involve at least one driver on the phone. 

But let’s get back to the misery. I did an unscientific poll today and asked 12 of my friends if they think Facebook is making them unhappy. All of them said no, but admitted they think it might make other people sad. But odds are, at least a few of them aren’t totally aware of the impact social media is having on their psyches.

Doctors say we’re not very good at gauging the impact of social media on our own mood or behavior. Most people think Facebook will make them feel better, but they’re mostly wrong. 

Listen, there is no shame in admitting that you’re hooked on Facebook or Twitter. Social media is a powerful tool that can be used for positive change. But there’s also no shame in acknowledging that it’s not always positive in our lives. 

In that study from Denmark’s capital, there were two groups of participants. Half of them used social media as usual. They were more likely to experience negative emotions like envy. The other half took a break for a week. That half felt more satisfied with their lives and rather their own well-being higher than the group that spent the week looking at photos of other people’s meals. 

I’m not saying that you should close your Facebook account and walk away. That might work for some, but most of us use it to keep in touch with family and friends. I do suggest that you stop assuming it’s other people who are addicted and other people who feel depressed because of it. Set some reasonable limits (no social media after 7pm?), turn off your notifications (do you really need to know every time someone likes your post?), and let social media be a positive influence on your life, not one that makes you sad and cranky and jealous. 

The first step is always acceptance. Because it doesn’t feel fair to say that I’m privileged. I’m black, Jewish, Native American (to a tiny degree), grew up without a father, spent most of my adult life as a single mother because my fiance was wounded in the military. I’ve worked multiple jobs most of my life just to pay the bills and rarely had much disposable income. My friends bought my drinks, my son had insurance through Medicaid for a few years. My own mother sued me and took the entire legacy left me by my grandparents. My life has been hard. It’s been a struggle and a fight just to keep my head above water and provide a safe, clean, nurturing environment for my child.

But I’ve still had it easier than most other people in the world. And that means I’m privileged.

If you’re curious about what is meant by the word "privilege" and want a perfect real world example, read the article below. While you are reading it, I want you to imagine how it might be (and has been) written if the perpetrator were a young black kid from Detroit. This is what an academic would call a “textbook example.”

http://www.candgnews.com/news/grosse-pointe-city-native-accused-two-local-bank-robberies-102222

Privilege doesn't mean you haven’t suffered. Life is hard for everyone and, honestly, all humans should find a common bond in the knowledge that life is tough and it's heartbreaking and we all struggle. Privilege just means that some people get a break based on their color or socioeconomic status, while others get a harsher deal for the same reasons. 

Despite all the things that have gone wrong in my life, much has gone right. I was born into a middle class family that had a history of college education going back to the Civil War. That means I'm privileged, even though I'm part black and female. Another person might have it even tougher than I do because they were born into a family with no history of higher education. And because my life has been really tough, I can think to myself, "Imagine how much harder it would have been if I'd been born poor and never got a college degree." That gives me empathy for others. It was tough for me and it could have been so much tougher.

Acknowledging privilege is recognizing that things could have been even worse. It means admitting that somewhere, somehow, you got lucky. Every American has privilege because, I assume, none of us would have preferred being born into a Sudanese slum. We all have it worse than Bill Gates and better than a homeless beggar in New Delhi. So we are all privileged and yet can all see how others are more privileged than we are.

Let’s get the disclaimers out of the way immediately. Holidays can be intensely personal for some. Perhaps there is personal tragedy or joy associated with a holiday that make it meaningful and sensitive. You should celebrate holidays as you want to. You should throw a party or write a blog or stay at home and watch TV. 

What many people choose to do is write a post on Facebook. This is especially true on Father’s Day when social media is packed with black-and-white photos of dads in uniform or faded snaps of men swinging small kids in the air or helping them build sand castles. And these wonderful memories are usually accompanied by warm message of love and appreciation. I love Father’s Day and Mother’s Day because I get to look at someone else’s happy memories and feel their gratitude.

This past week, one of these posts had the following response from a friend of mine (I’ve altered the text a bit, for privacy): “I wish I had happy memories of my dad like you do. My dad was abusive and then left my mom and me. So, Father’s Day is always sad for me.”

I understand, generally, where she’s coming from. Father’s Day is a little sad for me, too. My dad died in a submarine accident when I was 9 months old and I never knew him, but I longed for him all my life. I had to ask a neighbor to go with me to the Father-Daughter lunch at school. I had two wonderful grandfathers who did all they could to meet that need, but I’m well aware that it’s not the same. 

Yet, I still would have advised my friend not to make that comment. Remember that social media is not about what we’re thinking and feeling, it’s the thoughts and feelings we think we should share with others. Not all of our thoughts and feelings, no matter how powerful, should be shared on Facebook or Twitter. 

If I were to post about my dead father, it would make all my friends feel a tiny bit guilty that they were privileged enough to have a loving, and living, dad. And they’d also feel obligated to comfort me. “I’m so sorry, Celeste,” “Hugs from California!,” “Call me if you need to talk.” I would grab the spotlight and focus it on me and my grief. 

That’s not to say that I can’t post about my deceased father if I like, but I never do. Father’s Day is so wonderful for most of my friends and I choose to bask in the smiling faces and sweet messages. Tomorrow is soon enough to dim the light of gratitude. George Washington reportedly said that “Worry is the interest paid by those who borrow trouble.”

Father’s Day is not about me. My dad never got to create memories with me or give me advice about driving or show me how to change the oil in my car. So Father’s Day is just like any other day to me, and that’s absolutely okay. I can enjoy the stories of other dads and other kids without feeling the need to insert myself or my story. 

I've been asked the question many times lately, and I honestly believe the single most important contributor to my success is the number of books I've read. I'm a voracious reader with a voracious mind, and all those books continually remind me how little I know. If you are a constant reader, then you never stop learning.

When I was a kid, I remember the librarian always asking if I was sure I could read “all those books” before the due date. I could, and usually did. The Mouse and the Motorcycle, Ramona Quimby, Sherlock Holmes, A Wrinkle in Time, Secret Garden, The Snowy Day, collected books of poetry... I read books intended for all ages and I read them over and over. 

I read The Fountainhead in high school and felt empowered and inspired, not by the anti-environmental message or the other values for which Ayn Rand is reviled by the left, but by the idea that I could choose to use my life as I wished, and be free of my family’s expectations. Because I read that book and enjoyed it, I don’t make assumptions about people who also enjoy it. I let them explain why they like it and reserve judgment.

I read Moby Dick in my sophomore year of high school. Frankly, I was tired of reading references to it in other books (the white whale, Ahab, the floating coffin) and wanted to understand what everyone was talking about. 

As I got older, my tastes changed, but not much. I still love mysteries and sci fi and big, thick tomes like Les Miserables that I can dig into and live with for a while. When I’ve had a particularly stressful day, I read a little P.G. Wodehouse to cheer me up. Or a Spellman mystery that Lisa Lutz can’t write fast enough for my taste. 

If I’m frustrated with my work in journalism, in which everything is complicated and unsolved and tragic, I read a Dorothy Sayers mystery in which all the questions are answered and everyone is civil (except the murderer), and all the bad guys (and girls) get what’s coming to them in the end. It’s so satisfying.

I realize that many will think I sound like a kindergarten teacher and I’m just trying to make something boring (reading) sound exciting (worth it). But in all honesty, I think it’s the books that have helped get me where I am. Books are my mental workout, even the fun ones. They stimulate my imagination and stretch my brain muscles; they force me to be thoughtful. 

It has exposed me to all kinds of perspectives. I was never as poor as Oliver Twist, but it’s reading books from that viewpoint that helped me realize how privileged I was. Novels taught me empathy. They forced me to understand that I’m not the most important or most interesting person in the world, and gently assured me that I didn’t need to be. Books are the most forgiving teachers. 

You won’t succeed by simply reading, but I think it’s hard to succeed in most professions if you don’t read. Others may give you a long list of classics or “must reads”, but I say just read what you want. Find a book or a graphic novel or a magazine and dig in. 

Happy birthday to my grandfather, William Grant Still. He was born on this date 122 years ago, in 1895. The first in our family born completely free of slavery. His mother wanted him to be a doctor, but music was in his blood. Not the jazz and blues that everyone expected a black man to write, but overtures, concertos, operas, and symphonies.

He started out writing pop music. He did the first arrangement of the St. Louis blues for WC Handy. But it was the concert hall where he stepped into his own. He was the first African-American to conduct a major symphony, the first to have his symphony performed by a major orchestra, the first to have his opera produced by a major company. He’s called the Dean of African-American composers. He was also the first to use a banjo in a symphony.

But you know, history isn’t kind to the trailblazers and the pioneers. He was either writing music that was too black or not black enough. He was called horrible names by important people. He couldn’t get commissions. He died quite poor in Los Angeles.

I still feel those things personally, because he was so important to me. To me, he was always just the best grandfather a kid could ask for. He was the guy that taught me to play inchworm on the piano and read me all the Uncle Remus stories, with corrected grammar. He is a big part of the reason that I am the person that I am.

So happy birthday, Grandfather. Thank you for opening the doors, thank you for hot afternoons in your music room playing “Inchworm” on the piano, thank you for letting me share your LazyBoy while we watched “Bonanza”, thank you for making me think that your biggest accomplishment was being a great grandparent.

Here’s to you, William Grant Still. Your music is beautiful and so is your memory.

You are going to see a lot of posts about the Trump administration on my social media accounts because he is now our president. I have posted a lot about Obama as well, often times not complimentary. I've repeatedly told Obama critics that he did many questionable things and if they wanted to be outraged, there were plenty of true things to descry without making up fake stuff about his birth or religion. (Research the drone program, the lack of transparency, the collapse of Libya, the escalating crisis in Syria, the water crisis in Flint that is now past 1,000 days)

Since 1999, my job has been to watch politicians and hold them accountable for their actions. I've fulfilled that duty under Clinton, Bush and Obama. I will continue to do so under Trump.

But here's the promise I make: I will post the truth. And if it turns out that something I post is untrue, I will acknowledge it and declare openly that it was wrong, instead of just deleting it as though I never made the mistake. News develops. Sometimes the best reporting at the time is not what the final reporting will be.

There is so much to be angry about in regards to our government. There is so much fuel for outrage. I fully support passion in politics, no matter what party you support. But be outraged over the truth! Spend your energy on real things, not fake stuff. Don't discount facts just because you don't like them and you have found other people who also don't like them.

Politicians (ALL politicians) are trained and schooled in how to manipulate people, hide the truth and spin the facts. Don't be fooled by the magic tricks.

There are many people trying to deceive you in order to accomplish their own selfish aims. It’s good to be skeptical. It’s smart to double-check facts and confirm them. But it’s not smart or good to dismiss what someone tells you because it makes you feel bad or because you don’t agree. If you only hear about things you agree with, you will never learn or grow. 

So, be skeptical, be careful, but don’t be willfully ignorant. Don’t lock yourself away behind ideological walls that protect you from facts you don’t like. I guarantee, you are wrong about many things. That’s called the human condition. None of us know everything and we have to rely on others to do the research and find the truth for us. 

A very old friend of mine asked me if I thought this nation isn't ready for a female president. I just thought I would repost my answer (edited just a little to add stuff):

First off, regardless of who won last night, half of our country would be angry and upset today. The divisions run deep, and no election can prove that ideas are either right or wrong. Only implemented policy can do that. Only by testing policies in the real world can we determine if they are good for the nation or not.

I think this election has shown that a large percentage of Americans are not ready to vote for a woman, on both sides of the aisle. I think this election has shown that our nation has been in denial about a lot of underlying forces for a long time, both positive and negative, and I hope that we can all find a way to grapple with the truth, instead of swallowing political rhetoric meant to manipulate us. I hope that we can start to have the tough conversations that we've avoided for decades, so that we can all move forward as one country, understanding that policies that hurt any group (rural white voters, middle class blue collar, POC, immigrants, businesspeople, etc) will eventually hurt all of us. I hope we can finally begin to accept the fact that elections don't settle arguments. In the end, politics is still about compromise. Only through compromise can our policies protect all Americans instead of a small minority. Only through smart research, introspection, and honesty can we solve the tough issues that face our country. We have treated our government like a tug of war. We have acted as though winning a Senate seat or a presidency proved one side right and the other wrong, and we have allowed our politicians to become completely divorced from the needs of the people they represent.

Again, no matter who won last night, half of the nation was going to be angry and disappointed. For the past two years, we have said awful things about each other. We have treated those who disagreed as outsiders. I hope, above all else, that we can all recognize that last night didn't solve anything. Because of this divisive election in particular and the politics of division this country has pursued for more than a decade, this nation is in crisis. We will have to learn to talk with one another. We will have to learn to stop isolating ourselves so that we are protected from opinions that are opposed to our own. We will have to stop seeing our neighbors and colleagues as enemies and being to see the truth, that punishing one side punishes us all.

This past weekend, my son was in a very serious auto accident. The careful engineering in the car did exactly what it was designed to do: the front end crumpled and the air bags deployed. So, the engine is a twisted mess, but the cabin was completely intact and my son walked away with only a scratch from the seat belt and a minor case of shock.

I've been through a lot of disasters and catastrophes in my life, auto related and otherwise. By the age of 46, I'd be willing to bet that most people have. I don't fall apart when things go wrong anymore, even important things. Even so, I arrived at the scene of the accident and saw pieces of my car strewn in the street and ambulance lights swirling, while I searched frantically for my child. When I found him, his head hung between his legs at the foot of a tree. No matter who you are, that kind of experience will shake you.

There is no preparation for that kind of stress or tool you can buy that cushions the blow. I may never forget the sound of my young son's voice as he burst into wracking sobs over the phone. He's 18, and I can't tell you the last time I heard him cry before this incident. That sound echoes in my head and turns a screw in my chest every time it repeats.

To make it all worse, our dog had died just two days before. The sweet, adoring beagle that my son had chosen out of hundreds from the shelter and who had given all the love she had in her tiny dog body, passed away at the vet's office less than 48 hours before a minivan T-boned our sedan. 

There is nothing that can ease that kind of grief. All of the other factors that might make your life more comfortable: education, income, stable home life, health, none of it makes the death of a beloved pet any easier.

I often say, in my lectures, that life is really hard for everyone. From the richest to the poorest, the most beautiful to the most unattractive, the highest IQ to the lowest, life is not easy. We will all experience situations that will try our mettle and test our strength. We will all go through loss that will distress us and betrayal that will pain us. Life is not easy. For any of us. 

But one thing was different about me when I ran to the accident site, less than a mile from my home. One thing had changed since the last time I'd handled a personal disaster: I had a few thousand dollars put away in savings for the first time in my life. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to cover my insurance deductible and a rental car and anything else that might come up after the accident. 

For the first time, I was financially sound, and that made a big difference in my ability to cope with the stress and the panic and the grief. I didn't spend a single moment wondering how we would handle the costs because I knew I didn't have to. I could focus my entire attention on my son. He also didn't have to add a crippling guilt to his distress because he didn't have to cope with the knowledge that his accident was going to break his mother financially.

What's more, when my sweet dog, suffering from cancer, was finally at the point when the pain was too much, I didn't have to hesitate for a moment. I took her to the vet where she was cared for with the utmost compassion. Putting her down cost a couple hundred dollars and there have been times in my life when I wouldn't have had the money to spare. I might have had to add to my grief the knowledge that she was in pain because of my straitened circumstances, that I simply didn't have enough to take care of her as I wanted. 

Humans have a tendency to compete for misery. Someone talks about a death in the family and we compare it to our own. Someone complains about how hard they work and we feel the need to point out that we work hard too, maybe harder. When I was talking to someone at work about my horrible week, she said to me, "Wow, that's almost as bad as the week I had last month. That was really horrible."

This comes up when people talk about white privilege, too. It feels very unfair to a white, working class American who may have lost their job and house in the Great Recession, to say that they are "privileged." And it's totally unhelpful to say that someone else has it worse. That's about as effective as telling a child to eat all their vegetables because "children are starving in Africa." 

I think it's useful to start from a common baseline. Life is difficult for everyone. It is rife with suffering, pain, and hardship. 

But some of us get some help in coping with life's tribulations. A very small number of people have advantages. They don't prevent the awful things from happening, but they make it a tiny bit easier to recover. I know this because I now have some of those advantages, and only a year ago, I did not. The disaster still happened, it still challenged me and distressed me, but it will not ruin me, as it might have in years past. I will recover, and so will my son. 

No one wins a race to the bottom in suffering. No matter what you've gone through, there is always someone that has it worse. I wish we could all acknowledge how hard this life is for all of us. I wish, when something went wrong for someone we know, we could just say, "I'm so sorry. How can I help?" instead of immediately telling them to "be strong" or assuring them that "things will get better."

When I finally got back home that night and got my son into a hot shower, I fell to my knees and cried. I cried because I'd been through something awful that day. I cried because, for years, my dog would have been there for me in that moment, comforting me, but she was gone. I cried because I very nearly lost my only child. But I didn't cry because I didn't know how I was going to pay for the accident. And so I was able to stand up, minutes later, wipe my tears and feel gratitude.

For me, that's the difference that money makes: a speedy recovery and gratitude. Life is still hard, but I know it will be okay. That knowledge is worth all the money in the world. 

First day of my ATK Cooking School at home: let’s talk about mise en place. It roughly translates to “put in place,” but mise en place is really a philosophy. It’s about making sure you’re ready.

One of the most important cooking lessons my mother ever taught me (there weren’t a lot of lessons) was to read a recipe all the way through before you start. Then, grab all the ingredients and set them on your counter. You might be sure that you have cinnamon, because you always have cinnamon, but you’re going to be pretty disappointed when it turns out you have less than a teaspoon left in the bottle and you have to make a rushed trip to the store while your unfinished batter sits in the stand mixer.

Another good reason for reading the entire recipe long before you start cooking is to make sure you’re allowing enough time. It’s pretty disappointing to start cooking something for dinner only to get to step four in which you’re supposed to cover it and leave it in the fridge overnight. 

I generally follow recipes to the letter for the first 2-3 times that I make something. I do it exactly as the recipe says until I feel I’m comfortable with the dish and can change it up. That means I make sure I cut the meat exactly as instructed, and use the ingredients they tell me to (chocolate chips or chocolate chunks?). 

Since I’ve mentioned ingredients, let me also say that mise en place also means using good ingredients. So I make sure I’m prepared by making frequent trips to the store to get fresh stuff. Wilty green beans don’t suddenly become delicious when they’re sauteed. If I’m testing a recipe, I want to try it at its best, with fresh ingredients, prepared exactly as the chef intended.

Almost half of Americans resolutions at this time of year and only 8% actually achieve those goals. That’s why I try not to make specific resolutions. Instead of saying, “I’m going to lose 40 pounds this year,” I’ll decide to eat a little healthier and get maybe one more serving of fruits and vegetables in every day. It’s hard to fail at a goal that’s vague and easily achievable.

But this year, I’m making an honest-to-god resolution. I’m going to work my way through the entire America’s Test Kitchen Cooking School Cookbook. I love to cook, and I sometimes claim to be pretty good at it, but I’d like to be an amateur expert. I’d like to learn to whip things up without always consulting a recipe. And to do that, I’m going to have to get serious and actually study. 

This is a massive book. It weighs several pounds and if you drop it, you know. There are 18 chapters. That means that, in order to get through the whole thing this year, I have to get through a chapter and a half every month. Just imagine what a skilled chef I’ll be by the time I start my holiday baking in early December!

And here’s another plus: my teenage son will eat very well, and I’ll have plenty of leftovers to bring in to work. Fun fact about public radio journalists: they almost never turn down free food. 

I’m a professional journalist and that means I try to refrain from expressing my opinion on issues in the news. I want my audience to trust that I can have a conversation with anyone that’s fair and unbiased. But no modern journalist pretends to be completely objective. We acknowledge, these days, that human beings have experiences and perspectives that color the way we see the world. We try to acknowledge these perspectives and yet move forward in our coverage in as even-handed a manner as we can, giving fair treatment and equal time to all sides. 

I don’t make public policy. My job is to gather information, fact check it, and present it to the audience as objectively as possible so that they can make up their own minds. 

I’ve had any number of discussions on the Confederate flag and I think I’ve found new respect for those who fly the flag, in some cases. I understand the deep connection to ancestors and history, and I empathize with the impulse to honor tradition. 

That said, as a private citizen and as a mixed race woman whose ancestors were slaves on a Georgia plantation, it’s time to put that flag away.

There's a reason we don't display the swastika. That's out of respect for our Jewish brethren for whom it will forever be a painful reminder of horrible torture, death, and terror. There's an entire branch of my family gone from our family tree because of the Holocaust. By the same token, my family tree was equally devastated by slavery. 

(WARNING - I use the word "nigger" in this blog)

I'm black.

My grandfather is William Grant Still, the "Dean of African-American composers." His skin was the color of maple syrup. Mine is the color of café au lait. My grandfather suffered countless indignities and injustices because of his color. I remember them still, almost viscerally. They still feel personal to me.

When he was going to Oberlin College to accept an honorary degree, he drove from Los Angeles with his family. He couldn't stay at the white hotels because he was black; he couldn't say at the black hotels because his wife was white. So he drove 2,300 miles without stopping. In photos of the event, he's stooping; he looks exhausted. I've heard that story dozens of times, and yet, my cheeks feel hot thinking about it even now. It still makes me angry.

My grandparents had to get married in Tijuana because their marriage was illegal in the US. That's personal.

He had to build a six-foot fence around his home to protect my mother and her brother from violence. It was the 1940s and people were dragging mixed-race families out of their beds, beating them, sometimes setting their homes on fire. I look at my mother sometimes and think about how lucky I am.

I have the same amount of black ancestry as Sally Hemings, slave to Thomas Jefferson and mother to six of his children. (Side note: three of those children lived their adult lives as white. They passed.)

I was the second-darkest kid in my school in Mission Viejo, California. Everyone expected me to be best friends with Shawna, the only African-American girl. Kids called me a "nigger" sometimes. I punched one of them in the eye and was sent to the principal's office. The principal told me that if someone called me that name, I should punch them again.

I'm white.

On one side, my family was born of the rape of young, female slaves by their owners. That means we're part Scotch-Irish.

My grandfather married a Jewish woman, so my mother was fair-skinned while her brother was dark brown.

My mother married a tall, white guy with Texas roots.

People don't always look at me and think I'm part black. The actress Mo'nique called me a "white lady." I was raised in an affluent town in California where I was surrounded by white people. Almost all of my childhood friends were white; there weren't any black kids to hang out with in my hometown.

I'm Latina.

A lot of people mistake me for a Latina. They often think I'm from the Dominican Republic. I grew up in Mission Viejo and Los Angeles. I lived on Preciados Street and our high school mascot was the Diablo. I speak Spanish and I love Mexican food.

That last one? That's a joke. Because this whole argument is a joke. I've had people scream in my face that I'm not black (for instance, when I tried to join the Black Student Union in college) and I've had people dismiss my opinion on some issues by saying, "Well, you're black, so it makes sense that you'd think that."

I am not black. I'm not white.

Let's forget the fact that race doesn't exist. Even if we're talking about the social construct that we call "race," I'm not any one thing. If you ask me "what I am", as I am so often asked, I'll say that I'm mixed-race or I'm part black.

Really, there's no good way for me to answer that question, that "what are you?" question. I could be very specific and say I'm part black, part white, part native American, Jewish by birth and a number of other things. But that's not really what people are looking for, since what they're trying to do is place me in a category. But they're not usually willing to let me pick the category for myself.

If I say I'm black, which is the culture with which I most identify, African-Americans often get offended that someone who looks like I do would appropriate their heritage. I've been told by a couple of co-workers, in no uncertain terms, that I should not be calling myself black and a few friends have said, "but you're not really black."

If I claim to be white, that's fine, I guess, as long as I don't start talking about racism. And again, many black folks will raise an eyebrow.  In elementary school, a well-meaning teacher told me that I shouldn't be ashamed of my heritage and try to “pass”.

So, I don't get a membership card to any of the races, and that leaves me and many other multiracial people shut out. There is an upside, though. My heritage and my non-race-specific features have allowed me to see the racial underpinnings of our society in a way that most don't. I hear things I'm not meant to hear, people say things they wouldn't if they knew my background, and I've seen prejudice in both blue eyes and dark brown.

Still, I generally say I'm part black. Why? Because that's how I feel. Yes, I'm the descendant of slave owners as well as slaves, but there was never any question about which side would take in my family when the Civil War ended. I'm 25% black, more than enough to banish me from the homes of my white forbearers.

My grandmother's Jewish family cut ties with her almost completely when she married a black man. It was the African-American side that never blinked or hesitated - my great-great-grandmother's children were the product of rape while she was enslaved. I'm sure that was painful and difficult for her until the day she died. But their ethnicity was never a question or an obstacle.

If I was brown enough to be called "nigger" in elementary school, if I'm brown enough to feel anger and shame when I think about what my family has endured, then I'm brown enough.