There is a particular kind of argument that stops being about the argument approximately nine minutes in.
You know the one.
It starts with something relatively straightforward.
“You said you’d call.”
“I did call.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You texted.”
“That counts.”
“No, it absolutely does not.”
And suddenly you’re presenting Exhibit A, cross-referencing timestamps and mentally preparing to subpoena three witnesses because apparently this matter must now be decided by the Supreme Court.
Because someone here is going to be right.
Preferably you.
This saying was actually inspired by something I once heard:
Do you want to be right, or do you want to be happy?
It sounds wise.
Very calm. Very evolved.
I’d heard it in some personal growth context.
But the more I thought about it, the less I liked it.
Because it sets up a choice that doesn’t really exist.
Why can’t I be right and happy?
What if I am right?
Do I now have to deliberately become wrong in the interests of emotional wellbeing?
That seems excessive.
And it misses the point.
The interesting question isn’t whether you ARE right.
The interesting question is:
Why do you need the other person to agree that you are?
Because quite often, somewhere underneath the argument, we’re not actually fighting for accuracy.
We’re fighting for a feeling.
We want them to say:
Yes, I see what you mean.
Yes, that happened.
Yes, you had a reason to feel that way.
Yes, I understand why you did what you did.
Yes, you were right.
Or perhaps more importantly- I was wrong
And we imagine that once they finally say it, something inside us will relax.
There it is.
Relief.
Validation.
Acknowledgement.
Understanding.
Acceptance.
Maybe even appreciation.
Now I can feel better.
Except sometimes they don’t say it.
Which is deeply inconvenient.
So we explain it again.
Perhaps they didn’t hear us properly.
We provide additional detail.
Historical context.
Examples.
Charts may become necessary.
We explain what we meant when we said the thing, what they said after we said the thing, why we said the thing in the first place and why their interpretation of the thing is clearly inconsistent with every known fact regarding the thing.
Still nothing.
So we have another go.
Because surely if we can just make them understand, we can finally stop feeling like this.
And this is where something very ordinary turns into an enormous amount of emotional labour.
Because now your wellbeing is sitting on the other side of someone else changing their mind.
You’ve accidentally created a condition:
I can feel better when you understand me.
Or:
I can feel better when you acknowledge what happened.
Or:
I can feel better when you admit I was right.
That can keep an argument alive for a very long time.
Days.
Months.
Decades.
There are probably families still discussing something Uncle Barry said at Christmas in 1987.
Nobody remembers what Barry actually said anymore, but by God, justice will be served.
The shift for me is not:
It doesn’t matter what happened.
And it isn’t:
Maybe you were wrong after all.
It is much simpler.
You don’t have to be right to be happy.
Meaning:
You do not require a verdict.
You don’t require unanimous agreement.
You don’t have to successfully prosecute your case before you are permitted to feel okay.
You can know what you know.
You can have your perspective.
You can believe you were right.
You can know you were right.
You can even be spectacularly, magnificently, unquestionably right.
And still decide:
I don’t want to carry this around anymore.
That is very different from conceding.
Putting down the argument does not mean putting down yourself.
You are not required to walk away muttering:
“Fine. Apparently gravity isn’t real and Tuesdays come after Thursdays. Whatever.”
You can disagree.
You can say what you think.
You can stand up for yourself.
You can correct something that needs correcting.
And then you can notice the moment when speaking your truth has quietly turned into trying to force somebody else to recognise it.
Because those are not the same thing.
One is expression.
The other is dependence.
One says:
This is what I know.
The other says:
I need you to know it too before I can settle.
And that second one is exhausting.
Especially because other people are allowed to have wildly incorrect opinions.
This is unfortunate but apparently legal.
Someone can misunderstand you.
Someone can remember an event differently.
Someone can think they were right.
Someone can hear your beautifully constructed seven-point argument, look you directly in the eye and still say:
“Nope.”
Terrible behaviour.
But possible.
And if your peace requires their agreement, you have just handed them a fairly important job.
They are now responsible for releasing you.
That is the part I’m no longer interested in.
Because the feeling I was trying to get from winning the argument was mine in the first place.
If I want relief, I can move towards relief.
If I want to feel understood, I can start by understanding myself.
If I want acknowledgement, I can acknowledge what I experienced.
If I want to know that my feelings make sense, I don’t necessarily need a committee to approve them.
I know how I feel.
And if I want to be happy?
I do not have to wait until somebody stamps SKYE WAS RIGHT across the paperwork.
Although obviously I would accept said stamp.
This is part of a much bigger idea for me.
We spend an extraordinary amount of time trying to arrange the outside world so that we can finally have the feeling we want.
When they apologise, I’ll feel better.
When they understand, I’ll feel better.
When they admit it, I’ll feel better.
When everybody agrees I was right, I’ll feel better.
And sometimes the most freeing thing you can do is remove the condition.
Not because the thing doesn’t matter.
Because you matter more than the battle over it.
You can stop.
You can put the evidence folder down.
You can release your imaginary legal team.
You can know what you know and get on with your day.
Maybe they’ll understand later.
Maybe they won’t.
Maybe twenty years from now they’ll suddenly sit bolt upright in bed at 2:14 in the morning and whisper:
“Oh my God. She was right.”
Wonderful.
I hope it’s very healing for them.
You’ll be busy.
Being happy.