I knew my recent <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=83">post about stereotypes</a> was going to offend <em>someone</em>.

When I sat down to write it, I knew exactly <em>what</em> I wanted to say—I wanted to call myself on the fact that I'm so careful about racial stereotyping but rather careless about stereotyping people like sorority girls and Republicans. But as soon as I started writing, I could tell that <em>how</em> to say it was going to be tricky. I was, after all, writing about race, one of the most controversial topics there is. (As you may have noticed, I also seem to enjoy writing about religion, politics and divorce. Why not throw another touchy topic into the mix, right?)

When writing about race, even the basic issue of whether to refer to someone as "black" or "African-American" is complicated. My general understanding is that black people today prefer "black." I heard <a href="http://www.cornelwest.com/">Cornel West</a> speak on the topic once, and that was his preference. But many people still think African-American is the term that shows respect, particularly in writing. So how, in my blog, should I describe my friends' baby, whose skin color was critical to my story? And could I describe my conversation with Ahbleza, without describing Ahbleza? It was a conundrum. The more I wrote and rewrote, the more I felt like I was digging myself into a hole.

As I wrote in circles, it reminded me of a video made during the primaries by a group of LA-based comics and actors called the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/Election08">Public Service Administration</a> (one of the actors is a friend of mine from college). The video, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SDHxaYhqAo&amp;feature=user">"Don't Think Of A Black Man,"</a> is a spoof depicting Hillary Clinton's campaign people trying to keep race out of the race. The more they attempt to avoid mentioning the color of Barack Obama's skin, the more they get themselves in trouble. That was me, in a way, but unfortunately I wasn't trying to be funny. I was trying to write about race without falling into the very pitfalls I was cautioning against, in the process.

Finally, after an extended amount of time spent messing with word choice, I sent a draft of my post to Jason for his feedback. Then I took a deep breath and published it.

Like I said, I was sure I was going to offend someone. And I did. Who knows, maybe lots of people out there  are annoyed. Just thinking about it is stressful, and makes me want to avoid all touchy subjects on the blog. Maybe I should have followed my instincts and not written a post that I knew would come out wrong in some way.

But then I thought about the conversations and thoughtful email exchanges I've had with people since publishing that post. I'm glad those conversations happened, because I understand more than I did before. If I put myself out there and open myself up, there's a good chance someone will be willing to engage, and open up along with me. Without the post—without the conversations—we would all be stuck on a polite, superficial plane, pretending that things like race don't exist. Safe, but not enlightened.

I'm going to get it wrong in this blog, time and time again, whether I'm writing about race or something else. It's just like getting it wrong in my life, but more exposed and public. Sometimes it's very tempting to go back to journaling in a notebook as a way to practice my craft and work through my thoughts. But then I think about the great hope that comes with real dialogue. I think about the possibility of more conversations happening here in the open, through reader comments. And then I feel like maybe it's worth the vulnerability and risk. At least if all of you are willing to step in and make it a conversation.