Holy Shit, When Do I Get to Be Sure?

Before GPS, I could be driving somewhere with somebody and remember pretty clearly that the store we were looking for was to the left.

Then the person next to me would say, “No, it’s right.”

And sometimes that was all it took.

They sounded sure.

Maybe I was 80 percent sure and they sounded 100 percent sure, so suddenly my 80 percent started feeling like 40.

Fine. Let’s go right.

Sometimes I genuinely reconsidered. Maybe they remembered something I didn’t.

But sometimes I wasn't reconsidering anything.

I just didn't want to argue over a freaking turn.

Going right for three minutes and letting the road settle the argument was cheaper than defending left.

Those are two completely different things.

And for a long time, I don't think I knew the difference.

Somebody Else’s Certainty Is Not New Information

This happens in much bigger places than directions.

Someone disagrees with me.

They sound confident.

They have a stronger personality.

They become irritated.

They tell me why I'm wrong.

And suddenly I'm reopening a decision even though nothing about the actual evidence has changed.

That was the part I had been missing:

Their certainty had entered my equation as though it were a fact.

Sometimes that was useful. Other people absolutely know things I don't know.

Sometimes I was wrong.

Sometimes I needed another perspective.

But sometimes I was just uncomfortable being certain while somebody else disagreed with me.

Holy shit.

Those are not the same thing either.

Openness Has to Have an Ending

I love reconsidering things.

A huge part of my work is built around the possibility that our first interpretation may not be the whole story.

But eventually I noticed a problem.

If every disagreement reopens the case, when exactly do I get to decide anything?

At what point have I considered enough?

Because there is a difference between being open-minded and keeping folding chairs available for every new opinion that wanders into the building.

I can consider your perspective without putting you in charge of mine.

I can say:

You might know something I don't.

Let me look.

And after looking:

No. I still think I'm right.

That last sentence matters.

Especially for people who are very practiced at questioning themselves.

Here's a strange little test:

Think about the last year. How many times did considering another possibility end with, “No, my original read was right”?

If the answer is never, that might be worth noticing.

Openness should occasionally return you to yourself.

Otherwise you may not be considering.

You may be deferring.

But Certainty Can Hide Too

There is an opposite problem.

I've done this one too.

Sometimes we don't reconsider because we're grounded.

Sometimes we don't reconsider because we really, really do not want to be wrong.

New information arrives and instead of examining it, we start poking holes in it.

We find another reason.

Then another.

Then another.

I can't change this because...

You don't understand because...

That won't work because...

And suddenly we're not evaluating information anymore.

We're defending a conclusion.

That isn't self-trust.

That's stubbornness wearing self-trust's jacket.

So the answer isn't:

Trust yourself no matter what.

And it isn't:

Always stay open.

Both can get us into trouble.

Maybe the better question is:

What would I need to see?

What would I need to see to change my mind?

And what would I need to see to become more confident that my original read was right?

Now the question has somewhere to go.

New Information Gets to Reopen the Question

This is the distinction I wish I had understood much earlier:

Disagreement is not automatically new information.

Someone being louder is not new information.

Someone being irritated is not new information.

Someone sounding extremely certain is not new information.

Someone wanting a different answer is not new information.

But an actual fact I didn't know?

Yes.

A pattern I hadn't noticed?

Yes.

Something I predicted would happen that repeatedly doesn't happen?

Absolutely.

A trusted person pointing out something specific I can actually examine?

Bring it in.

Being open doesn't mean keeping every question permanently open.

It means knowing what would legitimately make you look again.

And Sometimes the Cost Matters More Than Being Right

There was another thing happening in that car.

Sometimes I thought the store was left and went right anyway because I simply didn't care enough to debate it.

That wasn't weakness.

That was a cost decision.

We do this constantly.

Is correcting this worth the argument?

Is explaining myself worth twenty minutes?

Does this decision matter enough for me to hold my ground?

Sometimes the answer is yes.

Sometimes the answer is absolutely not. Take the wrong turn. We'll find out in three minutes.

The important part is knowing which decision I made.

I changed my mind is different from I chose not to fight about it.

When I confuse those two, I can slowly lose track of what I actually think.

Certainty Doesn't Have to Be Concrete

Maybe self-trust isn't becoming a person who never changes her mind.

That sounds exhausting.

Maybe it's more like having a dimmer switch.

Sometimes I need more light.

Sometimes less.

Sometimes I speak.

Sometimes I listen.

Sometimes I reconsider.

Sometimes I hold my ground.

Sometimes I discover I was completely wrong and change.

The skill isn't finding one setting and living there forever.

It's being able to adjust without handing somebody else the switch.

So now I want to know:

Did something new actually arrive?

Or did somebody else's certainty simply make mine uncomfortable?

If new information arrives, I'll look again.

If I discover I'm defending something because I'm afraid to change, I'll look at that too.

But disagreement alone doesn't require me to reopen every decision I've already made.

Sometimes I have considered it.

Sometimes I have enough information.

Sometimes somebody else gets to disagree.

This is where I land. And I know what kind of new information would make me look again.