Living In Color: Love, Life & Everything in Between

It’s been a difficult season in America. Every headline seems to highlight political division, racial tension, and cultural battles. Sometimes I wonder what our country will look like 20 years from now. Yet history tells me we’ve faced darker days and found a way through. I believe we will again.

And sometimes, in the most ordinary of places, hope shows up.

Life as a Black Man in South Texas

I live in New Braunfels, Texas—a predominantly white German town between Austin and San Antonio. It’s a beautiful, welcoming place, and most days feel ordinary. Still, as a Black man here, it’s common for me to be the only person of color in a store, a restaurant, or an event.

That doesn’t mean I’m mistreated; in fact, people are generally kind. But there are moments when the isolation is real. Before New Braunfels, I lived in Kyle, an even smaller Texas town where Confederate imagery still lingered in public view. I used to walk past a barn painted with the rebel flag while out with my kids. I never spoke to them about it—I thought it was easier to just keep walking.

Yet even there, life was good to me. I met my wife in Kyle—she’s white—and together we’ve made a home in these small towns. Central Texas communities have a lot of pride, and though cultural change comes slowly, it does come.

A Night in Gruene

Just the other night, after a long day of counseling clients, I went looking for a quiet place to eat alone. I drove past the chain restaurants and ended up in Gruene, a historic district within New Braunfels. It was a Monday night, and the restaurant was nearly empty.

The bartender told me to sit anywhere I liked. I chose a table in the corner, far from everyone else. My waitress greeted me with a genuine smile, the kind you can feel in your spirit. Throughout the evening, she checked on me with the same warmth, and the bartender stopped by several times as well. Their kindness slowly chipped away at my fatigue.

By the time I finished my meal, I felt lighter, better. Then came the surprise. When the waitress returned, she said, “Your meal has already been paid for—by the family across the room.”

I was stunned. I asked how I could still leave her a tip. She just shook her head and said, “I don’t want a tip. Just pay it forward.”

A family I’d never spoken to. A waitress and bartender who treated me like an old friend. All of them white. And me, a Black man sitting alone in a small-town restaurant.

A Lesson in Kindness

I walked into that restaurant convinced that being Black in a small Texas town made me different. I walked out reminded that difference is only as real as we make it.

Those people didn’t see me as an outsider. They saw a neighbor. Maybe that family wanted to teach their children about generosity. Maybe the waitress simply wanted to spread joy. I may never know their reasons.

But I do know this: what dominates our news feeds isn’t the whole story of America. The shouting, the anger, the division—it’s loud, but it’s not everything. There are still families raising children to see humanity in others, still people choosing kindness over suspicion, still strangers reminding each other that we are all worthy of love and respect.

That night in Gruene, Texas, I found more than a good meal. I found hope.