A Chocolate Taoist in a Sea of Vanilla

My Musings on Life, Diversity, and Finding Humor in a Small Town

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Diamond-Michael Scott

aka The Chocolate Taoist

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As the self-styled Chocolate Taoist, I often find myself navigating life as the lone dark drop in a vast bowl of vanilla ice cream. When you’re a Black person living in a small town like Fort Collins, the lack of racial, cultural, and ethnic diversity isn’t just noticeable—it’s palpable, like the sound of an off-key jazz solo in a silent room. 

Imagine being the only speck of cinnamon on a plain vanilla cupcake—bold, vibrant, yet undeniably out of place. Fort Collins, a city known more for its breweries and bike lanes than its cultural mosaic, is a far cry from the richly layered neighborhoods of my adopted hometown of Chicago, where diversity isn’t just embraced; it’s the very air you breathe.

In Chicago, I could stroll through Hyde Park, eavesdrop on debates about James Baldwin, and pick up some jerk chicken or Polish sausage on a whim. The South Side, Little Italy, Chinatown—each neighborhood a testament to the American patchwork quilt of identity. 

Every corner pulses with a cacophony of languages, sounds, and smells, a beautiful mess of humanity that makes it easy to feel like you belong everywhere and nowhere at once. There’s a sense of invisibility in the vastness, a strange comfort in knowing that you are just one of many flavors in the great stew of life.

But Fort Collins? Here, I’m not just noticed—I’m “observed.” Grocery store trips feel like performances, where the friendly “Hey there, how’s it going?” isn’t just a greeting but a curiosity about how I may have landed here. 

There’s no malice, just an innocent encounter that can quickly turn into awkward silence, particularly when I start talking about my love for Taoism and Eastern Philosophy. I might as well be speaking Mandarin in a mime’s world.

Can You Say Awkward? 

Picture this: I’m at a dinner party, surrounded by a sea of well-meaning but hopelessly vanilla strangers, the kind who think "spicy" means pepper on their mashed potatoes. 

One of the twenty or so guests— an Instagram mom with designer everything and an unwavering commitment to rosé—turns to me and asks, “So, what are you reading these days?”

“Well,” I say, leaning in, “I’m deep into “Frederick Douglass: A Life,” the first historical novel diving into the epic journey of this great American hero.” I’m expecting a flicker of recognition, a nod, maybe even a spirited conversation about one of the most badass abolitionists of all time. But instead? Crickets. Dead silence. The whole table goes as quiet as a yoga studio during corpse pose.

Then, the rosé aficionado blinks, genuinely puzzled. “Who’s Frederick Douglass?” she asks, like I just mentioned some obscure TikTok influencer. Before I can pick my jaw up off the floor, another woman grins and adds, “Yeah, I wanna know too!” 

So there it is—two grown adults who, bless their sheltered hearts, wouldn’t recognize Frederick Douglass if he floated down the Poudre River on a raft.

Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it.

But then, just when you think Fort Collins is all craft beer and cultural cluelessness, there are those moments that feel like cosmic kismet. I  was walking down College Avenue the other day, when I spotted another Black guy—rare as a Bigfoot sighting around here. 

We lock eyes, and without a word, we just burst out laughing. Loud, joyful, borderline maniacal laughter, right there on the sidewalk with bewildered onlookers scurrying by. No introductions needed, no context required; just two Chocolate souls connecting in a sea of oatmeal. It's like the universe saying, “I see you.”

Those moments are pure gold. And while living here might mean tolerating a few blank stares when you mention Douglass, it also comes with the occasional, unspoken camaraderie that makes it all worth it.

Taoist Wisdom in a Monochrome World

In a town like Fort Collins, Colorado, the experience can feel like starring in an unending, one-man show where the audience doesn’t quite get the punchline. 

Compared to the cultural kaleidoscope of a city like Chicago—where the sights, sounds, and smells mingle like a jazz band jamming in a smoky bar—Fort Collins is more like a soft lullaby played on a single flute, soothing but decidedly monotone. The lack of racial, cultural, and ethnic diversity here doesn’t just shape the town’s aesthetic; it colors the entire experience of being.

On Being the Spiciest Seasoning in the Room

In a place like Fort Collins, where diversity means choosing between two flavors of IPA, being a Black Taoist feels a bit like being a habanero pepper in a pantry full of saltines. It’s not that the saltines are bad—they’re solid, reliable, and occasionally even crunchy. But throw in a habanero, and suddenly the whole dynamic shifts. Your very presence becomes an event. 

I’ve had folks approach me with the kind of curiosity usually reserved for rare birds: “You’re from Chicago? Wow, what’s that like?” It’s as if I’ve traveled from another planet instead of just down the interstate. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “It’s like here, but with better pizza and more people who look like me.”

This sense of being different isn't just external; it’s internal, too. In Chicago, diversity isn’t a talking point; it’s a lived reality. It’s where you can get Ethiopian injera, Jamaican patties, and Korean BBQ all on the same block, and no one bats an eye. There, I blend in just fine—one of many, but still uniquely me. 

In Fort Collins, however, I’m the unofficial ambassador for all things not-quite-vanilla. I find myself explaining my book choices, my food, and why I don’t ski (yes, I’ve heard “but you’re in Colorado now!” enough times to write a country song). It's a reminder that in some places, being different is an event, while in others, it’s just part of the rich environment.

The Buddhist and Baha’i View: Diversity as Divine Design

I imagine that the Buddhist and Baha’i faiths would have a few things to say about my situation. Buddhism teaches us about impermanence and the value of embracing all beings with compassion. To a Buddhist, diversity isn’t just a social construct; it’s a reflection of the impermanent and interconnected nature of life. 

Every person, every culture, every flavor is a manifestation of the same cosmic dance. So, if Fort Collins is a bit bland, the Buddhist perspective might encourage me to see it as an opportunity to practice acceptance, detachment, and humor in the face of uniformity. 

The Baha’i Faith, meanwhile, views unity in diversity as a divine principle. The idea is that the variety of human expression is a beautiful and necessary aspect of God’s creation, much like a garden of varied flowers. 

To a Baha’i, living in a homogenous environment like Fort Collins isn’t just about survival; it’s about finding ways to nurture the seeds of diversity wherever you are planted. It’s a call to be a catalyst for change, to engage others in meaningful conversation, and to appreciate the subtle differences that do exist, even in places that seem overwhelmingly uniform.

A Taoist Perspective: Flowing in the Path of Least Resistance

From a Taoist perspective, this journey through vanilla-ville invites a deeper exploration of the path of least resistance—or what Taoists call “wu wei.” Instead of fighting the current, Taoism teaches us to flow with it, to find the natural order in every situation. 

In a diverse place like Chicago, the flow feels easy—no need to explain yourself, no need to adjust the volume of your voice or the color of your wardrobe. The current carries you. But here, in a town where you might be the only Black person at the farmer’s market, the Tao asks: How can you find harmony in a place that doesn’t look like you?

Taoism invites us to engage not with judgment but with a sense of detached amusement. You become like water, adapting to the shape of the town without losing your essence. 

The I Ching, the ancient Chinese oracle that often speaks to me like a wise (and sometimes cryptic) elder, reminds us through Hexagram 40, "Deliverance," that liberation comes not from forcing change but from embracing the natural cycles of life. It’s a gentle nudge to let go of frustration and see each encounter as an opportunity to practice being fully yourself, no matter how odd or out-of-place you might feel.

Lessons from the Sea of Vanilla

Ultimately, living as the Chocolate Taoist in a sea of vanilla isn’t about rejecting where you are; it’s about seeing the humor and humanity in the contrast. It’s about understanding that small towns have their own rhythms and charms, even if they don’t have jazz bands on every corner or Ethiopian food at every turn. It’s about being okay with the curious stares and the endless questions, and maybe even finding ways to gently educate those who’ve never stepped outside their vanilla bubble.

While Chicago and Fort Collins represent two very different ends of the spectrum, they both teach valuable lessons. Fort Collins teaches you how to blend in while still standing out. Chicago teaches you how to stand out while still blending in. 

And somewhere in that push and pull lies the essence of the Tao—finding balance in the unbalanced, harmony in the dissonant, and joy in the most unexpected places. As the I Ching would say, “Perseverance furthers.” So here I am, persevering, laughing, and occasionally spicing things up—one habanero moment at a time.

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