I was reading a tiny little book by a Buddhist nun named Pema Chödrön the other day (really—it’s tiny, about 2 inches by 3 inches—called Practicing Peace). In it, she explores a paradox: all humans want peace, yet the way we often try to achieve it is through anger, opposition, and even war. She describes how our anger narrows and hardens our beliefs, leading us to see those with opposing views as the enemy. Instead of finding peace, we become more entrenched, caught in cycles of conflict and division.
This reminds me of the concept of psychological flexibility in Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT). Psychological flexibility is the ability to hold our thoughts and emotions lightly, to stay open to new information, and to respond to situations in ways that align with our values rather than reacting impulsively. It’s about making space for discomfort, being willing to see different perspectives, and choosing actions that serve us rather than just satisfying the urge to be "right."
A silly personal example: Where I grew up, we don’t wear shoes in the house. Walking inside with shoes on is seen as disrespectful. We yell at our kids if they do it. The idea of tracking dirt from outside onto carpets and furniture feels unthinkable. But in some places, people feel just as strongly that keeping shoes on indoors is the respectful thing to do.
I stumbled into a Reddit thread about this once and felt my body tense up. My thoughts became rigid: Of course I’m right. There is no other possibility. But because I spend my days helping people cultivate psychological flexibility, I decided to practice what I preach. I let myself be curious, even while feeling annoyed. And I learned that some people’s homes are designed for shoes to be worn inside. That some see bare feet as less hygienic than shoes. That in some cultures, having guests remove their shoes would be considered rude. That some people sweep often, so dust from shoes is easier to manage than footprints from sweaty socks.
Will I start wearing shoes in my own home? No. But do I feel as oppositional about the idea as I did before? Also no. If someone asked me to keep my shoes on in their house, I could just shrug and do it, knowing they have their own reasons. I can hold my personal preference while still understanding that others are just as entitled to theirs. And if we ever had to negotiate about it, we'd be in a much better place to do so.
Of course, shoes in the house are a far cry from the deep and painful conflicts the world is facing. But I can’t help but think that in our effort to make things better, we often make them worse—digging in, refusing to listen, seeing each other as enemies instead of people who, at our core, want the same things: peace, safety, well-being.
Curiosity doesn’t mean compromise. It doesn’t mean abandoning our values or pretending every perspective is equally valid in every situation. It simply means making room for understanding—because wise decisions aren’t made from a place of rigidity and fear, but from clarity and connection.
We can acknowledge each other’s humanity even if we don’t agree. In fact, real strength comes from wisdom—the ability to stay open, adapt, and respond with intention rather than just reaction.
So the next time a post, a comment, or a conversation sparks a strong emotional response, try this: pause and notice your reaction without judgment (it’s human to feel this way), then get curious. Ask yourself, What is this person really trying to protect? What fears or hopes might be driving their view? Look for the common goals beneath the surface. You don’t have to agree, but you might find a little more understanding—and that’s where real change begins.
We don’t have to harden ourselves to stay strong. In fact, the more open we are, the more peace we can actually create—not just in the world, but within ourselves.