Faith & Values · A Decembers list

The moments that shaped how you see race

A remark at a family dinner. A door that opened easily for you, or one that didn't. The afternoon someone older sat you down and explained something they'd carried a long time.

This is the list for those moments. One line when a line is enough, more when a moment asks for it.

Add your first moment

Free to start. Private from the first word.

Where this list lives

This is a list in Decembers — the place a life gets written down one question at a time.

Decembers asks the questions no one thought to ask, keeps the answers in one permanent Chronicle, and holds them on one Timeline that reads in order. You answer. Decembers does the writing.

Lists
A list for every kind of life, and every turn one takes. Pick one and start answering.
Timeline
Your answers arrange themselves in order. Seeing a whole life laid out this way is something else.
Inner Circle
Not social media. The few people you name are the only ones it is ever shared with.
See a sample Timeline

Begin with one list. The rest follows.

One line is enough

Write down the afternoon your uncle explained the long way home, and suddenly you remember the smell of his car, the year, the exact thing he said — and everything you didn't understand until much later.

Nobody wrote these moments down as they happened. There's no record of the sentence a neighbor said over the fence, or the look on your mother's face when you repeated it. These are the things that shaped how you moved through the world, and they live only in the people who were there. Once they're gone, so is the moment, unless someone puts it into words while they still can.

A book on this asks you to have it all figured out, to arrive at a conclusion. A list asks only for what happened. You set down one moment — where you were, who was there, what you understood later that you couldn't have understood then. The next one comes when it comes. That's how the honest account gets written: not in one sitting, but one true moment at a time.

How it works

  1. 01

    Pick this list

    It’s waiting, already written. There is no blank page to face.

  2. 02

    Fill in what comes

    A year, a line, a photograph. Five minutes or an hour.

  3. 03

    Invite who was there

    They add what you forgot. You decide what stays.

  4. 04

    Share it, or don’t

    One quiet page for your Inner Circle. No link, no feed.

The moments that keep coming back

The things said at the table

A joke an older relative told that nobody laughed at, or everybody did. A phrase you grew up hearing that you later flinched at. The dinner where a younger person asked why, and the room went quiet. These are the moments passed down without anyone deciding to pass them down.

The doors you noticed

The apartment that was suddenly rented when your friend called. The promotion, the loan, the traffic stop that went one way for you and another way for someone else. The first time you understood that something was easy for you precisely because it wasn't easy for everyone.

The truths someone finally explained

An older neighbor, a coworker, a friend who trusted you enough to tell you what their days were actually like. The conversation that rearranged something in you. What you wish you'd asked, and what you're glad you finally did.

Across a life of learning it

Childhood
The seating, the schoolyard, the questions a child asks out loud before learning which ones aren't asked — the earliest sense that the world sorted people.
School years
A teacher's assumption, a textbook that left things out, the friend whose house you weren't invited to or the one whose you were.
Early working life
The hiring, the raises, the break room conversations — the first time you saw how race moved through a workplace, whether or not anyone named it.
Raising children
Deciding what to tell your kids, what you shielded them from, and the moment one of them saw something you'd hoped they wouldn't yet.
Community life
The church pew, the neighborhood meeting, the moving truck next door — the slow lessons of who lived where and why.
Looking back now
The understanding that only arrived with age, and the moments you'd read entirely differently today than you did when you lived them.

Begin

A record of how a person actually came to understand something this large

Not a verdict, just the moments that got you here. Start with the one you still think about, and write down where you were when it happened.