Goodness knows white guys take up too much space already. When it comes to DEI work, what business could I possibly have muscling in on space that rightfully belongs people who aren’t white men?

Even in writing this post, I’m centering myself and my white male identity. You probably have better things to do with your time than keep reading.

If you decide to keep reading, I have a few things to say that you might find worthwhile. I have no definitive answers to the “what’s a white guy doing here” question. I have mostly tentative, qualified, and partial answers, along with further questions.

First, the “answers,” in the form of instructions to myself:

• Partner up. I hardly ever work alone. I partner with people who are not white men. We co-design and co-facilitate our workshops, creating and holding space for all of our participants, who belong to a wide range of identities.

• Remember why. I do my best to stay locked in to my main motivation for doing this work: creating a more just and equitable world. When I’m able to do so, the work is simple. Not easy, but simple: listen to others, take in their lived experiences. Note any defensiveness in my reactions, chalk it up to my privilege, and let it go. Come back to right here, right now.

• Listen hard. When any member of a marginalized group says anything, open the ears and close the mouth. Nobody — especially people from marginalized groups — is under any obligation to educate me. And, chances are, they are taking some sort of risk in sharing their thoughts. So, when I have the chance to learn directly from someone, I try to honor the risk they are taking, listen with focus and intention, and integrate their perspectives into my ongoing learning and growth.

• De-center my discomfort. Like anyone with a lot of privilege, I’m afraid I’ll screw up, say the “wrong thing,” “look bad,” and so on. Like anyone with a lot of privilege, I have screwed up and will continue to screw up. But if I fixate on my own discomfort, I’m doing that privileged-person thing of centering myself, which is nothing more than a trick of the privileged mind to keep me distracted from the actual work of learning, growing, and enhancing my ability to take meaningful action to create a more just and equitable world.

• Care and repair. All of that said, it’s important to remember that my “screwing up” does real harm to others, and I have to own it. Harm, followed by repair and healing, along with a commitment to both acknowledging and minimizing harm, are part and parcel of white-guy involvement in DEI work.

• Honor the gift. Marginalized people even allowing for my presence in DEI spaces is an act of generosity and grace. It is a gift that I have not earned. I strive to be worthy of the gift.

• Spread awareness. As a white man, it’s possible for me to have meaningful conversations with other white men around DEI. Not only that, it’s my job, not the job of folks with less privilege, to create awareness among white people. And sometimes it’s helpful for white people to hear this stuff from other white people.

Here are some questions I’m constantly asking myself:

• What can I do every day to help create a more just and equitable world?

• How does the comfort of my own privilege stop me from acting?

• How can I overcome this, again and again?

• When I fail, which I do many times each day, can I forgive myself without letting myself off the hook?

• Can I long for justice and equity? If not, what’s stopping me, and what can I do to make this longing a part of what drives my actions every day? A part of my very core?

• How far am I willing to go?

If you’ve made it this far, please accept my deepest, most sincere thanks for spending your precious time and attention. I welcome your feedback, and please get in touch if you’d like to talk.