I was talking to my friend Rupert the other day. We don’t talk all the time, but when we do, it’s a treasure. We tend to geek out over things most people wouldn’t find interesting—philosophy, psychology, the strange ways people think and react. This time, we were talking about why some conversations are like going on patrol for vampires—you just know a fight’s going to break out—while others turn into real understanding, like the ones Rupert and I always seem to have.

We didn’t trade statistics or try to dunk on anybody. Instead, we asked: how do we have those good conversations—the ones that open space rather than close it? It comes down to this: we create a space where people feel safe enough to slow down, name what’s actually happening inside them, and tell the truth about what matters.

We give people respect and space without judgment. Boy, that can be tough sometimes—especially when the stakes are high. When there’s a lot invested in a relationship, every word can feel loaded. I notice this most with my kids. If I have the same conversation with someone else, it goes smoothly. But with them? It can turn into a sparring match faster than you can say “Hellmouth.”

Why is that? I imagine it’s because there’s more on the line. I care deeply about them, and that emotional investment makes it harder to keep my cool. The closer someone is to your heart, the harder it can be to protect the space between stimulus and response—the space where reflection lives.

Rupert had real insight into how to respond to people in those heated, confusing moments—the kind where a traffic slight turns into a day-long rage or a political headline colonizes your attention. His approach is deceptively simple: slow it down and find the plate with the most heat. Not the most logical argument—the one carrying the most feeling. Because that feeling is usually tethered to a deeply held value they believe has been violated. That’s where Rupert starts. He asks, “What value of yours feels stepped on right now?” Not the values we recite at cocktail parties, but the non-negotiables revealed by how we actually spend our time and energy.

As we followed that thread, a clear pattern emerged. People don’t usually get stuck because they lack information—they get stuck because one of their non-negotiables feels threatened: dignity, safety, belonging, reciprocity. When that happens, the body hits the alarm. System 1—the fast, emotional side—locks the cockpit, while System 2—the slow, reflective side—is pounding on the door with a spreadsheet, desperate to regain control. Arguing with more data just feeds the panic. To help someone truly see, we have to get down to bedrock—past the emotion, down to the core value they believe has been, or could be, violated.

“What you do speaks so loudly I cannot hear what you say.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

One thing I’ve noticed about Rupert and me is that we naturally create space for each other. There’s no rush to win or prove anything; we listen, pause, and let the silence do some of the work. Rupert, though—he’s especially good at digging down to bedrock. He asks the kind of questions that cut through the noise and get to what’s real: What value is being touched here? What are you afraid might happen? And once he finds that bedrock, he doesn’t stop there—he keeps gently probing to uncover the expectations beneath it. What do we expect from others, from ourselves, from the world, when that value is threatened? That’s where the real insight lives.

It sounds simple. It isn’t. We live in a culture that rewards snap takes and punishes reflection. Some days it feels like our public square is built over a civic hellmouth—the ground rumbles, the vents hiss, and outrage crawls up through the cracks. In that environment, psychological safety is almost mythical. If we don’t start building safe rooms for honest conversation, we’ll keep shouting across the noise, talking past one another while the floor buckles beneath us. It’s like trying to reason with Dark Willow—the more you push, the stronger the backlash. This is civic discourse today, and it’s eating us alive. The real threat isn’t out there somewhere; it’s rising from within.

“If someone succeeds in provoking you, realize that your mind is complicit.” —Epictetus

From Details to Bedrock

Rupert once used a metaphor that stuck with me—spinning plates. Every argument we have, every emotional blow-up, looks like a dozen plates spinning in the air: the article, the statistic, the snarky post, the side comment. But each of those plates is balanced on a single pole—the value being threatened. The trick is to stop chasing the plates and instead follow the pole down to its base. Which plate has the most heat? That’s where you start.

When we finally name the value—I need reciprocity, I need to feel safe, I need my effort to matter—something shifts. The defensiveness softens. You don’t have to agree with someone’s position to honor what’s sacred to them. In fact, acknowledging that deeper stake gives you real footing; it turns confrontation into curiosity and makes conversation possible again.

It’s a Trap: Battling Emotion with Logic

I’ve learned the hard way that trying to pull someone up to rational altitude by sheer argument almost never works. When someone is deep in System 1—the fast, emotional, reactive state—no amount of logic will budge that boulder. They’re not ready for spreadsheets and syllogisms; they need empathy.

The better move is to meet emotion with curiosity, not correction. Instead of trying to force reason into the cockpit, we can lean in and ask: What’s underneath this? Why does this matter so much? This is where we start digging for bedrock—the underlying value that’s been struck. Sometimes it’s fear of not being heard, or a need to be respected, or a sense that something sacred has been violated.

And here’s where naming helps. When we can say out loud what we think is happening—“It sounds like you felt dismissed,” or “It seems like fairness is really important to you”—it tells the other person that we see them. It’s like handing them the shovel and saying, Show me where to dig.

I know—easier said than done. Especially when emotions flare, or when it’s someone we love and the stakes feel sky-high. But this is the work: to stay inquisitive and genuinely curious, to give people space to show us where they’re coming from, and to make it safe for them to do so. No judgment, no zingers, no scorekeeping. Just listening long enough for both of us to find solid ground again.

Once that bedrock is visible, then we can start talking about the important stuff—the facts, the decisions, the truth we both want to reach. Because at that point, we’re not opponents anymore. We’re co-explorers, digging toward understanding together.

“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” —Romans 12:21

How to Practice Curiosity in Real Time

Here are a few small moves that make a big difference when emotions run hot:

1. Breathe before you speak.

That pause between stimulus and response—Frankl’s “space”—is sacred ground. It’s where curiosity starts.

2. Reflect, don’t react.

Try: “It sounds like you’re really frustrated.” or “I can tell this matters a lot to you.”

Reflection lowers defenses; reaction raises them.

3. Ask, don’t assume.

Instead of “Why are you angry?” try “What about this feels unfair?” or “What’s at stake for you here?”

Let them show you where to dig.

4. Name the value, not the verdict.

Behind every sharp emotion is a value trying to speak. Dignity, safety, belonging—say what you see, gently.

5. Keep the space safe.

No sarcasm, no judgment, no “gotcha.” The goal isn’t to win; it’s to understand.

Five minutes of genuine curiosity can do what fifty minutes of debate never will. It turns conflict into discovery—and transforms the conversation from a battlefield into common ground.

Conclusion

Real conversations are a treasure—and they’re becoming rare. Most of the time, people aren’t actually in a conversation; they’re just waiting for their turn to talk, or shouting across the noise. It’s no wonder we keep missing each other.

“Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.” —Stephen R. Covey

If we want something better, we have to set the table—create space where people feel safe enough to show up as themselves. That means slowing down, listening without judgment, and being willing to dig for bedrock together. Because once we reach that deeper ground, understanding becomes possible again.

If more of us could listen rather than talk past each other—or worse, just start yelling—we might just begin to restore civil discourse, both in the public square and in the relationships that matter most. Real conversation isn’t about winning. It’s about finding truth together. And that, in this noisy world, might be the rarest treasure of all.

Excerpt

Real conversation is a lost art. My friend Rupert and I talked about how empathy, curiosity, and emotional safety can turn conflict into connection. When we dig past emotion to bedrock values, we rediscover the kind of dialogue that restores civil discourse—in the public square and in the relationships that matter most.