When COVID-19 arrived in the United States in early 2020 and the country was awash in questions about its origins, a relative of mine was certain that the virus was not what officials said it was, wasn’t dangerous, and probably wasn’t even real.

I shared a different perspective, citing information that I believed was reliable, but she was firm in her stance. Feeling indignant, I determined I would do what most of us do when another person is skeptical of what we deem to be facts: I would bludgeon her with more facts!

Being a writer, I decided to do this by letter. I began by expressing what I believed in my self-righteous stupor to be good intent: to keep her safe. Then I proceeded to school her in “The Philosophy of Logic,” “The Psychology of Belief,” and “Coincidence and Conspiracy.”

These and other subheadings eventually became chapter headings, complete with bulleted lists, hyperlinks, and citations. A week later, the letter exceeded 4,000 words!

I read and reread the letter aloud, trying to imagine how she might receive it. I tweaked the words over and over, hoping to tame the screed. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t imagine her receiving it with anything other than total irritation.

The way I wanted to handle that disagreement is perhaps best represented by a quote by James F. Welles, who wrote, “We cannot really understand ourselves without understanding stupidity; and if we understand stupidity, we will understand ourselves.”

Notice that Welles does not say “We cannot really understand other people without understanding stupidity.” Yet when it comes to our disagreements, that’s always how we imagine it—it’s only others who are capable of being so stupid.

In the Crucial Conversations courses, we learn about our reptilian brain. Because we associate facts with truth, when it appears to us that someone is willing to disregard them, we experience conflict. When we experience conflict, the reptilian brain lights up, we tell ourselves convenient stories, and we (often) foolishly resort to either silence or verbal violence.

So, whattayado?

First, check to see if you feel indignant. If you feel some sense of disgust, you’ve most likely concluded the other person is ignorant and you’re not. While you may not be wrong in your assessment of the other person, you’ve probably overlooked your own fallibility. One lesson of Crucial Conversations, and of life in general, is that when we judge only others to be fools, we are more likely to act like a fool in our interactions with them.

Next, seek mutual purpose. You may need to explore motives to find some common ground, but it might be as simple as listening or suggesting an alternative. “I appreciate what you’re saying. I’ll keep that in mind as I do my shopping.” Or, “Thanks for your input. I don’t feel comfortable revising our lessons completely without more research and discussion, but how would you feel if we took such-and-such approach for now?”

Also, talk tentatively. Don’t misinterpret the alliteration—there’s no need to be timid. To forward your ideas tentatively simply means to make it clear they’re your perspective. Share the events or experiences that have led you to your conclusions.

About a week after I tucked that unfinished letter away, my relative and I decided to meet for coffee and openly discuss our beliefs about Covid. I felt very vulnerable. But instead of trying to teach her everything I think I know about logic and science, I listened to her viewpoint, and then I shared mine—as a viewpoint. “Based on my experiences, this is what I think.” That was far more effective than “Well, this is just how the world is.”

We didn’t see eye to eye, but we maintained our respect for each other, and we gained new appreciation for each other’s viewpoint, which is all I wanted in the first place. In time, our perspectives shifted, and in hindsight I can see it would have been futile to fight each other with facts.