If there is one phenomenon that has always intrigued me, it’s the word they.
You know the phrase: “Well…you know what they say.”
Every time I hear it, the same question always finds its way to me. Who is they?
For the longest time, I assumed “they” was someone else. Society. Culture. People out there somewhere. I finally got to the place where I no longer wanted to ask the question, but I wanted to answer it. I came to a realization that was both simple and slightly uncomfortable.
I am they.
You are they.
We are they.
It stings a little because it means we are not only influenced by the world around us, but we are also actively helping shape it.
I’ve always been drawn to patterns. Not simply because I enjoy noticing them, but because they often reveal something deeper that’s been there all along. Since slowing down, I’ve noticed one pattern I can no longer pass by. Many of the things bringing me the most peace today are the exact opposite of what I once believed.
That slow pace brought me to a few questions
What if growth isn’t always about learning something new?
What if it’s just as often about unlearning something old?
Before I can embrace these healthier ways of living, I have to let go of the old ways I’ve been carrying. I’m recognizing more and more that growth isn’t always about adding something new, sometimes it’s about letting go of something old.
The longer I sat with all of that, the deeper my questions became.
Where did I learn comparison?
Where did I learn that hurry was something to admire?
Where did I learn that getting ahead sometimes meant stepping over someone else?
Where did I learn that my value depended on how productive I appeared?
The more I asked those questions, the harder it became to point somewhere else. Eventually, I landed somewhere I never expected. I stopped looking for “they,” and I found me. Between those two discoveries, I realized, we are they.
The things we casually repeat eventually become the things we casually believe. Over time, those beliefs quietly shape the culture we all live in. Not because one person decided it, but because all of us, little by little, contributed to it.
Please hear my heart. This isn’t cynicism. It’s accountability. The moment I realized I was part of “they,” I also realized I had the privilege of becoming a better one.
The things bringing me the most peace are often the very things our culture seems to value the least.
Kindness accomplishes more than harshness.
Listening often says more than speaking.
Giving has changed me more than receiving.
A slower pace allows me to notice what hurry never could.
Admitting I don’t know something has made me wiser than pretending I do.
None of these observations came from theory. They came from living differently. Not differently than everyone else, but differently than I once did. I’m slowly discovering that living diffrently naturally produces different kinds of fruit.
The way I speak to other people has been one of the biggest changes in my life.
I spend less time trying to offer the perfect answer.
Less time comparing.
Less time assuming I understand someone else’s circumstances.
More time listening.
More time asking questions.
More time making room for stories that don’t look anything like mine.
Because how strange is it to believe I can formulate the best plan for someone else’s life when I’ve never lived it?
Realizing I am not always meant to understand has been one of the greatest gifts of this season. My goal is to love myself and others well. The more I evaluate my own life, the less interested I become in evaluating everyone else’s. That has been one of the most freeing discoveries of all. Every ounce of energy I spend tending to my own heart is one less ounce spent judging someone else’s.
The world didn’t become “they” overnight. It became “they” one voice at a time. Which means it can become something better one voice at a time, too. That is where change begins. Not by waiting for society to become kinder, but by becoming a kinder part of society. Not by asking everyone else to change, but by living the very things I hope to see more of.
One thing that matters deeply to me is where my words come from. I prefer my sources by name. Not because everyone has to agree with me, but because ownership changes the way we speak. It reminds us that words carry influence and influence carries responsibility.
So today I’m encouraging myself to become a different kind of “they.”
A they…
that cares.
that listens.
that extends grace.
that is more interested in learning than being right.
that makes room for someone else’s story.
Whether we realize it or not someone, somewhere, is listening to what they say, and one day they might be quoting us. May we all give the world one less anonymous “they” and one more name worth trusting.
I love you, but God loves you more.
In courage,
Carnell
As I read this message, I thought, wow.
I often jokingly ask, “Who is ‘they’?” You know—they said this, they think that, they were talking about… But I had never really stopped to consider that sometimes I am “they.”
I intentionally try to be a good person—to treat people well and speak about people well. Of course, I don’t get it right all the time.
But thank you, Carnell, for helping me see something differently: sometimes I am the “they” in someone else’s story. My words carry weight. My actions carry weight. Even my presence can carry weight.
And just maybe, I am someone’s “they”—the person they talk about because something I said, did, or simply how I showed up made an impact.
That realization makes me want to be even more intentional about the kind of “they” I am in the lives of others.