Arguing feels a lot like cooking for someone. You’re taking what you know, what you’ve worked through in your own head, and trying to make it understandable – maybe even appealing – to someone else. Not everyone will want it. Not everyone will like it. But if you care about the person, or at least the conversation, you try.
It’s not about showing off. It’s not even about being right. It’s about whether the other person can actually take in what you’re saying. Whether it’s too raw, too strange, too much all at once. Sometimes you’ve thought about something for years and it’s second nature to you, and you forget that someone else might need time – like putting a dish in front of someone who’s never seen it before and expecting them to know how to eat it.
You don’t always get it right. Sometimes you overdo it. Sometimes it’s under-seasoned, or confusing, or just ill-timed. And sometimes, no matter how carefully you’ve prepared what you want to say, the other person just isn’t hungry for it. That happens too.
But when it works, it’s not because you had the better point. It’s because you paid attention. To tone. To timing. To how open the other person seemed. You said something in a way they could hear. Not dumbed down. Not performative. Just clear. Familiar enough to be received, new enough to matter.
That’s probably what makes arguments worth having, not to win, but to get somewhere. Even if it’s small. Even if it’s just knowing each other a little better. Some days it works. Other days you just save the leftovers and try again later.
