Allan Johnson says in his book The Forest, the Trees, and the One Thing, that "People are not systems, but we participate in them and make them happen with our own actions." It led me to question how much of what I thought were my own personal choices actually ended up being controlled by more general social systems. Johnson's comment enabled me to view that buildings like school, family, and sport aren't only where we get things done—it's strong systems that determine the way we do things. I thought of myself as an individual who made my own decisions on the basis of my own beliefs and goals until this module. But the more I reflected on it, the more I saw how deeply connected I am to the systems that I belong to.

For example, I've always been a perfectionist when it comes to school. I stay up all night studying, stress over every project, and tend to beat myself up over the small mistakes. I used to think this was just something about my personality. But having read this passage from Johnson's book and watched the associated clips in the module, I started to see how I've been involved in a school system—and a broader cultural system—in which value is measured by academic achievement. I've discovered that doing well on tests is the key to achievement, self-worth, and approval from adults. That has nothing to do with me; it's about a cultural system that emphasizes productivity and success over wellness.

I see this especially during college application season. Everyone around me was stressing themselves to the limits. It felt like a contest. We were just conforming to the format, doing what we were told to do in order to succeed. I remember another friend tearfully complaining about getting a B in an AP class—not because she failed to learn the lesson, but because she felt that it would ruin her chances for her dream school. That hit me. That made me think: how did we get to the point where one grade was the apocalypse?

Johnson's perspective caused me to take a step back and see the bigger picture. It's not that we're weak or sensitive; it's that we're reacting to powerful systems that have real consequences. What this did was make me more empathetic—with myself and others. It also made me start questioning more. Why do we value certain types of intelligence over others? Why is academic success so intertwined with self-worth? Who profits from these systems, and who gets left behind?

Sociological thinking is to ask questions like these and to recognize that we are created by forces outside of ourselves. And it's also to recognize, as Johnson does, that we do have a capacity to challenge and change these systems through our practice. That's a message of hope. That is to say that we're not just swept up in the system—yeah, we're in it, but we can choose how we participate.

I'm still trying to figure out what that looks like for me, but I'm trying to be more mindful of when I'm reacting habitually and when I'm reacting intentionally. I'm learning to let myself rest, to say no, and to define success on my own terms. That shift didn't start with therapy or self-help—it started with sociology. Understanding systems has freed me in a way I didn't even know I was seeking.

In the video Left Out: David Harvey Defines Neoliberalism, Harvey describes neoliberalism as “a theory of political economic practices that proposes that human well-being can best be advanced by liberating individual entrepreneurial freedoms and skills within an institutional framework characterized by strong private property rights, free markets, and free trade.” The way Harvey argues that this philosophy wasn't something that just happened; rather, it was the result of a conscious change in power that began in the 1970s and continues to influence everything from healthcare to education.

By encouraging market solutions to social issues, decreasing the role of government in service delivery, and prioritizing individual accountability above group welfare, neoliberalism perpetuates social inequality. This notion ignores the structural obstacles that many people encounter and assumes that success or failure is only the product of individual effort. For instance, instead of asking why education isn't available to everyone, a neoliberal worldview could blame someone for not working hard enough if they can't afford college.

Personally, I have not really experienced this but I do know of people, one of my old friend's last year who could not get access to mental health resources due to cost. It was so so saddening. I now recognize that this is not just her family as individuals, it is a larger systemic issue- that under a neoliberal system, care and support are often treated as commodities rather than rights. That experience made me realize how deeply this ideology has shaped not just institutions, but also my own perception.

He also explains the ideas of "personal front" and "setting." While the personal front comprises of our appearance, mannerisms, and other expressive components, the setting consists of the actual surroundings and items used to enhance a performance. For instance, I deliberately modify my posture, facial expressions, and even my tone of voice during a shift at work to conform to the role's professional standards. Although this version of me has been carefully chosen to conform to society norms, it is still me.

At a community event where I volunteered in my Sophomore Year, I had to pretend to be more confident and outgoing than I truly was. I knew I was doing what the circumstances required of me. But with time, that performance began to feel more organic—almost like the notion that “in the end, our conception of our role becomes second nature and an integral part of our personality,” as Goffman described it. This self-performance is not always fake. Even if they are acquired or modified, Goffman contends that these roles contribute to the formation of the "mask" that we eventually recognize as our identity. We construct and reveal our social selves in this way. Although we perform to fit in and fulfill roles, our self-perception is also shaped by these performances. We become more conscious of the social scripts we adhere to and acquire some ability to change them when we comprehend this process.

Understanding how statistics can be manipulated helped me become a more critical consumer of information. Best's work reminded me that numbers are powerful tools—but only if we use them responsibly. Otherwise, they can distort reality instead of clarifying it.

Foucault’s reading pushed me to think about how power operates in ways that seem invisible or harmless. Surveillance isn’t just about control—it’s about shaping behavior and identity. The more we understand these forces, the more we can resist or rethink the systems that normalize constant monitoring. Just like culture or social structure, surveillance has become a part of the “air we breathe,” subtly influencing our sense of freedom, privacy, and selfhood.

One part that resonated with me deeply was when Whitney discussed the importance of unlearning these harmful messages and creating space for healing. She talked about her own experiences of sexual trauma and how reclaiming her sensuality helped her find power and self-worth again. It made me reflect on how many people go through phases where they feel confused or ashamed about their sexuality simply because society rarely gives us a safe space to explore it. Personally, I have never been confused about my sexuality but I have known a few friends who have been. I can only imagine what they must feel like and how hard it may feel to want to be accepted but fear holds them back. This for me helps me become a more empathetic person.

In neighborhoods, housing discrimination is still rampant, but it looks different than in the past. Rather than blatant refusal to rent or sell to Black individuals, landlords and real estate agents now use subtle tactics like showing fewer listings or quoting higher rents. These covert practices result in persistent residential segregation, even though equal housing laws are in place. This shows how racism has adapted to a legal and political environment that officially condemns it.

Another key idea Bonilla-Silva points out is that discrimination often increases for minorities who break through socioeconomic boundaries. For example, college-educated Black individuals report more instances of discrimination than those with less education. This suggests that the closer one gets to traditionally white spaces of power and privilege, the more visible racial boundaries become—and the more effort is made to reinforce them. The racism faced isn’t necessarily violent, but it is persistent, disheartening, and deeply rooted in everyday behavior.

This reflection on “New Racism” shows that racial inequality is not just a relic of the past, but an ongoing system that adapts and survives. Understanding how racism now functions in subtle, socially acceptable ways helps explain why disparities persist even in a supposedly “post-racial” society. It’s not enough to remove discriminatory laws—we have to challenge the hidden social behaviors, assumptions, and institutional practices that keep racial hierarchies intact.

Sternheimer writes, “Colleges can be sites where class-based assumptions go unspoken, and where students from working-class backgrounds may feel that they do not belong.” This illustrates how cultural capital—the set of skills, tastes, and ways of interacting that are valued by the dominant class—can be a barrier.

Many low-income students haven’t been exposed to the unspoken “rules” of college life, such as how to approach professors, use office hours, or build social networks on campus which is incredibly unfair.

After reading, I now understand that even if lower income students do attend college like every one else, they are nearly guaranteed to not get the same "college experience" as others around them. Personally, I am fortunate enough to not have to worry about my college education or resources when I am moving in the fall. However, I am sure I will be surrounded by students with differing circumstances and paying for college differently. Overall, this made me reflect on how much social class shapes not just access to college, but the entire experience once there. The challenges faced by low-income students go beyond tuition—they include feelings of isolation, culture shock, and even shame.