Winter isn't White

Classifications help us navigate the flood of information every thinking person encounters. Practically speaking, “red” is a color; technically, it’s a range of wavelengths where someone might even mistake violet and orange. Knowing when to say “that’s red” and move on versus when to differentiate between wavelengths is more art than science.

Most of our judgments about people are designed to move on. We label individuals as optimistic, pessimistic, happy, or sad—like deciding winter is simply “white.” This kind of shorthand is cognitive efficiency, not deep understanding, and usually that’s good. Who has the energy to deconstruct strangers when there are friends to see, bosses to impress, partners to please, or Netflix to watch?

But when real communication matters, these blunt categories fail. Just as productive thinking starts with admitting “I don’t know,” meaningful dialogue begins with suspending our assumptions. The moments when we seek understanding are usually moments when simple labels can’t describe what someone is truly feeling.

I can’t recall a single time when someone told me they weren’t “happy,” “excited,” or “anxious,” not expecting me to follow up keen and curious— because that surface label rarely explains what they’re actually feeling. Conversations about happiness often start with, “I’m not happy.” The listener echoes, “You’re not happy?” and the speaker clarifies, “I’m not not happy,” before exploring the nuance of how they really feel.

All of this reminds me of an idea I came across recently: nearly every social problem is a communication problem. Misinterpreted information, misrepresented information, withheld information, distorted information—can only survive in people convinced they already “know” what’s going on. And in our own lives, this same false certainty quietly shapes how we see others, reducing them to simple categories while limiting us from growing ourselves.

Believing we truly know or understand anyone—when our insight lives at the same resolution as saying “apples are red”—breeds a hollow confidence. It’s the kind of confidence that makes the world seem simple, but only by flattening its depth and complexity—and leaving us blind in the process.