I probably argue with my grandfather more than I do with most other people combined. It’s not because we’re at odds. We just have different perspectives, influenced by our experiences—his as a life-long resident of India, mine as a first-generation American.
One pretty common argument we have is over Eastern vs. Western medicine. My solution to a headache, for example, is to take Advil. His is to rub Tiger Balm on his forehead and coconut oil on the soles of his feet. I try to convince him of the benefits of taking a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory, describing how it can reduce inflammation by blocking the production of certain chemicals. He tries to convince me that the balm creates a cooling effect, distracting the brain from pain and relaxing the muscles. Rather than becoming sore at or resentful of each other, we’ve grown closer through these debates, and I’ve learned how to disagree without letting the situation get acrimonious.
Through these interactions, I’ve learned that a discussion shouldn’t be confrontational. The purpose isn’t to win, but to share my knowledge with the other party and learn from them as well. So rather than saying, “Rubbing balm on your forehead is stupid; you should just take Advil,” I say, “While rubbing balm on your forehead seems to work, I’ve noticed that taking an Advil has a stronger and more immediate effect.” Respecting the opposing party makes them more willing to hear you out.
I’ve also learned there’s a fine line between logic and emotion. I try not to take personally the things my grandfather says in an argument. Just because he doesn’t think taking Advil is the better solution doesn’t mean he thinks I’m stupid. If I take it that way, we begin to move away from what the argument really was about—the facts.
I’ll continue to apply these learnings in discussions and debates I have with others, realizing that having a “successful argument” isn’t about winning. It’s about sharing my opinion and learning from theirs, expanding our perspectives without alienating each other.