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I think I was born with opinions.

Seems like baby opinions would be pretty basic.

Food is good.
Gas is bad.
Dry diapers are good.
Loud noises are bad.
Warm is good.
Being picked up is good.
Sleep is good.
I like that stupid face you make.
No, the other one. The blue fuzzy one. Yes.

And I’m sure I had all that going on. But I honestly can’t remember a time when I didn’t have a set of giant, passionate convictions ruling my mind and my heart… and my mouth.

Even in my crib. Even when I could barely walk. Even when I was standing in a sandbox in muddy shorts and rainbow flip flops. Even when I was just three feet high and rising.

Even if it was just CLOWNS ARE BAD or BEDTIME SHOULD NOT BE A LAW, I was green-eyed willful and vocal from the beginning. No crib could hold me down.

My convictions are a little different at 33 (though I still struggle with bedtime and clowns), but instead of just frustrating my mother or bewildering my teachers or making people laugh with their sheer force, now they take on the world.

They come out in rushes. They demand a response. They start and win (or lose) arguments. They push buttons. They get my heart pounding. And they make my life complicated.

Things I feel spiritually.

Things I feel politically.

Things I feel socially.

Things I just FEEL that defy characterization, but generate no less passion than the rest.

Sometimes I think pure idealism fuels that fire, but I know that certain things come from a cynical place inside me, too. From being disappointed. From watching other people struggle. From keeping my eyes open to the world around me.

Still, at the very core, I want things to be better. Not perfect, mind you, because perfect is both impossible in most cases (and often undesirable to me.)

But good. Healthy. Right. True.

But the more time I spend talking with people about their convictions, the more I realize that I really haven’t completely thought through what defines good, healthy, right, and true for me.

I mean, I obviously believe the things I say, but why? I’ll defend them with fire and fury, but how much do I really know about what I’m saying? How much consideration comes before I open my mouth? How much digging did I do before I laid a foundation?

And do I even think what I’ve always thought anymore?

I’ve still been sharing my opinions, but I’ve been doing more listening, too. And it’s humbling to learn that passion isn’t always my best friend, my best attribute. Sometimes it’s just a set of earplugs or a blindfold that allows me to see the world the way I want to see it, not how it really is.

That’s kind of scary for a former debate champion.

I was taught that facts should underlie arguments, that evidence should provide conclusions, that your response had to anticipate the rebuttal.
You should know, because bluffing only gets you so far.

But in some ways, I’ve been bluffing for a long time with shaky definitions of “fact” and “reason”.

And I don’t want to anymore.

I want to learn what I don’t know, rather than assuming I’m on track enough to keep the train from crashing.

I want to ask if I don’t know, rather than assuming I can generate the answers on my own.

Now the main conviction I have left is that none of us can afford to talk without listening anymore.

None of us can afford to be unaware of what other people believe.

None of us can afford to fear “the other side” so deeply that we shout into the divide.

None of us can know until we ask the questions, and wait for the answers.

I’m still as passionate as I ever was, and I still hand talk like I’m trying to whip up a hurricane. I still can’t back up everything I say with anything other than my gut. And I do trust my gut, don’t get me wrong.

But I’m learning to be as passionate about learning your story as I am about sharing my own.

And that results in silence sometimes.

And that? Is the kind of conviction I can live with.