Mark: What if the best way to heal our divided world isn't to argue better, but to get better at getting our hearts broken? We’re told to stand firm on issues, but today we’re exploring a book that argues the real power lies in walking with people, even when it costs you everything. Michelle: That's a powerful and, frankly, uncomfortable idea. It goes against every instinct we have right now, which is to build walls and prove our point. Where is this coming from? Mark: It's from Carlos Whittaker's book, How to Human. And what's fascinating is that Whittaker isn't some isolated philosopher; he's a massive social media personality who built a huge online community he calls his "Instafamilia." He wrote this right after the chaos of 2020, trying to figure out how to connect when everyone was screaming at each other online. Michelle: Ah, so he was in the trenches of the digital culture wars. That context is everything. It’s not an academic theory; it’s a response to a real-world problem he was living through. Mark: Exactly. And his core idea is that humanity doesn't need a total teardown and rebuild. It just needs a recalibration. A reset.

Michelle: A recalibration. I like that. It sounds less daunting than a complete overhaul. So when he says 'recalibrate,' what does that actually look like in practice? Mark: He uses this fantastic metaphor: the old Control+Alt+Delete function on a PC. You didn't have to throw the computer out when it got slow and buggy. You just hit that key combination, and it would reset to its original, faster state. He argues we need to do the same for our humanity. Michelle: Okay, but what is that "original state"? It's easy to look at the world and think our factory settings are just... flawed. Mark: Whittaker says our factory setting is an innate, instinctive desire to help one another. And he tells this incredible story from his childhood to prove it. It’s 1985, and he’s a fifth-grader at a mall in Georgia, getting his hair cut by a barber named Curtis. The place is buzzing, full of adult conversation, the smell of barbershop products. Michelle: I can picture it perfectly. Mark: Suddenly, a woman’s terrified scream rips through the mall. A man sprints past the barbershop window, clutching a small child. The child’s mother is right behind him, screaming for help. And in that instant, something amazing happens. The entire barbershop, full of men from all different walks of life, just… reacts. Michelle: What do they do? Mark: Curtis, his barber, drops his clippers mid-cut. Another man getting a shave jumps out of his chair. They don't hesitate. They don't ask questions. They just bolt out the door and join a growing crowd of men, all sprinting after the kidnapper. They were a spontaneous, unified force. Michelle: Wow, that's like a movie scene! It gives me chills just thinking about it. Mark: And they catch him. They corner the kidnapper, rescue the child, and return him to his mother. For Whittaker, that moment was formative. He saw that deep down, beneath all the surface-level differences, there was this shared human reflex to band together and do good. Michelle: But that was the 80s. It feels like we've lost that instinct. Is it really still there, or is that just nostalgia? I mean, today, I feel like half the people would pull out their phones to record it, and the other half would start arguing about the politics of the situation. Mark: That's the exact point he makes. He argues that our innate goodness hasn't disappeared; it's just been buried under layers of noise, negativity, and the 'us versus them' mentality fueled by social media and the 24-hour news cycle. We've been conditioned to see division first, humanity second. The recalibration is about digging through that junk to find the instinct that’s still there. Michelle: So the hardware is fine, but the software is full of viruses. Mark: A perfect analogy. We don't need a new hard drive; we just need to run a system restore. And he says that process starts with the individual. It's not about fixing the world; it's about hitting Control+Alt+Delete on yourself first.

Mark: And Whittaker argues that rediscovering that instinct isn't free. The first step in his framework is to "Be Human," and he says that has a real, tangible cost. It begins with knowing who you truly are, even the parts you’ve been taught to hide. Michelle: That sounds simple on the surface, but I have a feeling it's anything but. What does that mean for him personally? Mark: Well, this is where his story gets incredibly vulnerable. Carlos is a mixed-race man. His father is Black, and his mother is White. But he grew up in the 1980s in an all-White neighborhood in Atlanta, and his father, out of a deep desire to protect him from the racism he knew his son would face, gave him a specific instruction. Michelle: What was it? Mark: He would tell him, over and over, "You are Mexican, okay? You are Mexican. Not Black." He thought it would be easier for his son to navigate the world that way. Michelle: Oh, that is heartbreaking. As a parent, you can almost understand the protective instinct behind it, but the long-term damage of telling a child to deny a core part of their identity… how did he unpack that? Mark: For years, he didn't. He just accepted it. But the world kept reminding him. At school, a kid picking a kickball team yelled, "I pick the n-word. He can probably run the fastest." When Carlos said, "I'm Mexican," the kid just laughed and pointed at his Afro. In his church youth group, a boy named Scottie would regularly grab him and smash his hand into his hair as a party trick for his friends, yelling, "Look, guys! My handprint will stay in Carlos's hair!" Michelle: And he just had to endure that? Mark: He laughed along. He says he spent years laughing along to avoid making things worse, hiding his true feelings to de-escalate the racism directed at him. It wasn't until 2019, after taking a DNA test that showed he was 72% Nigerian, that he finally confronted his father. Michelle: That must have been an incredibly difficult conversation. Mark: It was. But his father apologized. He said, "Carlitos, I’m sorry... I knew it was going to be much easier for you to be Mexican than it was for you to be Black. If I had to do it over again, I wouldn’t do that. But it was all I knew how to do to protect you." And then he gave him his blessing, saying, "Yes, son, you can be Black. Because you are Black." Michelle: Wow. To finally get that permission after a lifetime of suppression. That's profound. Mark: And this personal journey of 'Being Human' sets the stage for the next step, which is 'Seeing Human.' Because once he started to see himself clearly, he realized he wasn't seeing others clearly either. This leads to another incredible story about his neighbor, James. Michelle: The 'Black Bunny' story, right? I've heard people mention this. Mark: That's the one. For four years, Carlos lived across the street from an older White man who always gave him a cold, unwelcoming stare. The man had an American flag on his door, and for Carlos, that symbol was tied to a lot of past trauma with racists. So he just assumed the worst and avoided him. Michelle: A classic case of creating a story about someone without ever talking to them. We all do it. Mark: We all do it. But one day in 2020, in the middle of all the racial justice protests, Carlos sees James in his yard, painting one of two stone bunny statues black. His wife jokes that it must be a statement. So Carlos, confronting his own bias, finally walks over and asks him about it. Michelle: And what did James say? Mark: James, this man he'd written off as a racist for years, looks at him and says, "Well, you know, with everything that’s going on... this is my way of saying what I believe about this country. It’s my way of saying that I believe your life matters." Michelle: Oh, come on. That's... I mean, that completely shatters the narrative. Mark: Completely. Carlos realized he hadn't been seeing James at all. He'd been seeing a figment of his own imagination, a projection of his own biases and fears. It's a powerful lesson that seeing others clearly often requires us to get uncomfortable and challenge the stories we tell ourselves. Michelle: So it's a two-way street. He had to embrace his own hidden identity, and then he had to see past the identity he'd projected onto his neighbor. That's incredibly difficult work. It’s not just about positive thinking; it’s about confronting painful realities in yourself and others.

Michelle: Okay, so we 'Be' by knowing ourselves and 'See' by confronting bias. That brings us to the final step in the book: 'Free.' This sounds the most abstract of the three. How do you actually 'free' someone? Mark: This is where Whittaker's role as a community builder really comes into play. For him, 'Freeing' is about turning empathy into extravagant, tangible action. It’s about getting so close to someone's story that you are moved to act on their behalf. And his 'Instafamilia' becomes the engine for this. Michelle: So this is where his social media platform becomes more than just a platform. Mark: Exactly. He tells this story about a young mother named Shannell who was diagnosed with epilepsy and was having hundreds of seizures a day. She was trying to raise $25,000 for a seizure-alert dog but had only managed to raise $9,000 in two months. Michelle: That’s a heartbreaking situation. A huge, life-changing need and a slow, difficult path to meeting it. Mark: Right. And Carlos wanted to help, but he was hesitant. He was afraid to ask his community, worried that if they only raised a small amount, it would feel like a failure and make Shannell feel even worse. It was his own ego getting in the way. Michelle: That's a very real fear. The fear of a lackluster response. Mark: But he pushed past it. He shared Shannell's story and her GoFundMe link on a Sunday afternoon. He says he was just hoping for a little bump. The response was anything but little. Michelle: What happened? Mark: Within one hour, his community had blown past the $25,000 goal. They raised $27,000. Within 24 hours, they had donated over $40,000. Michelle: Forty thousand dollars? From strangers on the internet? That’s unbelievable. What is it that makes people do that? It's more than just pity. Mark: That's the key insight. Whittaker says it's the difference between sympathy and empathy. Sympathy is feeling bad for someone. Empathy is feeling bad with someone. He argues that empathy is the bridge that connects our conviction to our action. When his community heard Shannell's story, they didn't just feel sorry for her; they felt her fear and her hope with her. And that shared feeling is what moved them to give so extravagantly. Michelle: "Feeling bad with someone." I love that distinction. It implies a connection, a shared burden. It’s not a top-down act of charity; it’s a side-by-side act of solidarity. Mark: Precisely. And he has another story about an airport pianist named Tonee who was undergoing kidney dialysis. No one was listening to him play. Carlos shared his story, and in the 30 minutes before his flight took off, his community tipped Tonee over $10,000. By the end of the day, it was over $60,000. Tonee later said, "My faith in humanity has been restored." Michelle: It’s like these acts of generosity are freeing not just the person receiving the money, but everyone who participates. It frees them from cynicism. Mark: That's the beautiful reciprocity of it. The book's final argument is that when you free others, you are also freed. It unlocks something in you. It reminds you of that innate goodness we talked about at the beginning.

Mark: So, the journey Whittaker lays out is really this beautiful, logical progression. It's internal, then external, then communal. You 'Be' by recalibrating yourself and owning your full story. You 'See' by looking past your own biases to truly see the humanity in others. And you 'Free' by turning that clear-eyed empathy into extravagant, world-changing action. Michelle: It’s a roadmap for moving from outrage to action. It’s not about winning arguments online, but about connecting with the person on the other side of the screen, or across the street. The goal isn't to be right; it's to be human. Mark: And to do it together. He makes it clear that this isn't a solo journey. The power comes from community, from the collective act of seeing and freeing one another. Michelle: It really makes you think. It's so easy to stand on an issue, to plant your flag and defend your territory. It's much harder, and much more vulnerable, to decide to walk with someone, especially someone you disagree with. It makes you wonder, who is the 'one' person in your life you need to 'walk with' instead of 'stand on an issue' against? Mark: That's the question, isn't it? A powerful one to end on. We'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Find us on our social channels and let us know what resonated with you. What does 'how to human' mean in your life? Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.