In my grandparents kitchen, there is a little sign on the wall that says “Do not judge someone unless you have walked a mile in their shoes.” In the midst of a nation divided on every issue, this little sign keeps coming to mind. I hear so many things that frustrate me, see so many things that I don’t understand, and just can’t fathom why people act and think the ways they do. But I’ve realized that I never will understand a lot of things, not in the capacity that other people do.

I am not black. No matter how many times I read about the Black Lives Matter movement, no matter how much I try to sympathize with it, no matter if I agree with it completely or disagree with it, I will never understand it from the point of view of a black man or woman. I will never understand what it is like to grow up black, what racist comments feel like as a black person, what racial discrimination feels like in a store, a classroom, in the media. I can see this discrimination, I can say “that is wrong,” but I will never know how it feels to be the subject of it.

I am not a police officer. So no matter how much I try, again, I will never understand the uncertainties of everyday life, the danger that police officers experience, the ways that they get burnt out or frustrated. I will never understand how it feels to put my life on the line each day. To go to a job where you are never called for a happy occasion, where you are there at everyone’s worst, saddest, scariest and most testing moments.

I am not a refugee. I will never know how it feels to be in so much danger in my home country that I have to leave, by any means necessary. I do not know what it is like to be bombed, to watch my neighbors killed, to worry for my family’s safety every second of every day. I do not know the desperation that people feel, when every moment is life or death. I can hear their stories, I can sit with them and listen, and try to understand, but this is something that I haven’t gone through. I have no right to judge.

I do not know what it is like to have a disability. I do not know what it is like to be talked down to because people think I do not understand, or what it is like to be confused or frustrated by a world that is not built for me. I can try, but I don’t know what it is like to have people assume that I am not smart, not capable, not complete, broken.

I do not know what it is like to be a part of the LBGTQ community. I don’t know how it feels when people use homophobic slurs, or how it feels to see the Westboro Baptist Church protesting everything that I am. I don’t know how it feels to be discriminated against because of who I love or who I am. I may be frustrated by this, I may be saddened by this, but at the end of the day, they are not against me.

I don’t know what it is like to be a veteran. I don’t know what it is like to dedicate myself to my country, to become fully obedient to the military in order to protect the millions of people who live in the United States. I don’t know what it’s like to be in combat, to see my friends shot or killed, to have an enemy that wants to kill me. I don’t know the patriotism they feel. I don’t know how it feels to come home to a country that does not respect my service and sacrifice, or what those feelings would do to me.

I don’t know what it’s like to live with a mental illness. I don’t know what it’s like to be afraid in social situations, to feel as though it’s impossible to get out of bed, or how it feels for every simple part of my day to be a struggle. As much as I learn, as much as I research, I will never be able to tell my friends “I know how you feel,” because I don’t know what it’s like to feel isolated from family and friends, to feel absolutely trapped inside myself and to feel as though there is nothing I can do about it.

I don’t know what it is like to live in poverty. What is it like to be forced to choose between food on the table and college tuition? What is it like to be forced to quit your job because you can’t afford the gas to get there? I don’t know what it is like to see my family go hungry. I cannot personally comprehend the level of poverty that forces people into drug dealing or prostitution, and I have never had to make these choices.

Someday, I may know what it is like to be a parent. To worry about my child every second of every day. To wish that they have the best life, and to do anything, by any means necessary, to protect them. But right now, I don’t. I don’t know what it’s like to take care of my family, or how I would react when my family or livelihood is threatened.

There are millions of things that I do not know and that I have not experienced. When it comes down to it, we all have stories. We all have backgrounds. We all have defining moments that have shaped our views of the world. It is very easy to say, “This is wrong.” It is easy to say, “I would never do that.” It is so easy to turn on the news and not understand why people are acting the way they do, why people are so divided, why people are so passionate about things that don’t make any sense to us. But we don’t know. There are over 300 million people in the United States with 300 million stories that are all unique, in a world of 7 billion different stories that are all unique, and that is a beautiful thing, to have 7 billion different ways that we see the world. But I will never be able to walk a mile in 7 billion different pairs of shoes.

We can only see the world out of our own eyes. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and this diversity is one of the things that makes our country so great. But remember that just as you have been shaped by the people and world around you, everyone else has too. The world would be a better place if we all tried to live by the sign in my grandparents kitchen.