?Who am I?

My mind usually races with this question. Again, it is racing at lightining speed and bouncing around my head like a hard rubber ball. The farm and living in the Mid-West (away from Portland) has resurfaced a lot of questions about who I am.
I am on the equity team at school: anti-racism. We have been in seminars and are discovering how to address the racism in schools and in our school in general. I was asked to be on the team because I confessed to my principal that I am a racist - why are of the students who are failing and being sent out on discpline 95% of them are black? This training has further punched me with the question who am I? Part of the training is to acknowledge and recognize that I am a white male. I tried for a long time to be color-blind. I genuinely believed this was the right way to live. If I am color-blind, then all the people of color that I see are either skinless or white. Neither is true or fair to them. I am not acknowledging their being and culture. It was easy to think colorblind because what is white? I do not know my culture and do not see many positives about white. So again who am I? What is my culture?
Most likely I will not be able to commute to work by bike next year, I am not a cyclist. The last gig I had was two months ago, I most definitely am not a jazz musician. Yet, I have tried intellectually to stress that a person is a being not a doing. Therefore the label of biker, musician, teacher, etc should not count. These are doings.
Yet, I wrestle with this daily. The emotional weighs heavier than the intellectual for me.
The farm at the time being has created stress too. All the projects. We do not rest at the farm, nor do I see us resting any time soon. This is my doing, I want that deck and garden going. When I read the gardening book though, I had a panick attack. There is so much to know and there are so many things that can go wrong: pests, fungus, etc.
Other farm questions eating at my skin. Will there be any culture in our neighborhood besides hunting and the Packers? Will our children ever know people of a different culture than white, protestant? That scares me. Will I become more dependent on gasoline. Is there ever another quintet or sextet to be a member of? (I practice and practice, and wish I had more time to practice. Something in me is driving me, will it ever count?)

Here is the funny part. This is all exciting. I am truly entering the unknown: a child in the house, a garden, an orchard, animals, an unexplored community, discovering my culture and whiteness, and being pushed to the edge of living to what I believe is the best. I guess I had better start listening to the trees, birds and land and learn.