Debates with My Brother: Why Being Right Isn't the Goal

Two weeks ago, my brother called me to vent and, just as importantly, to debate.

He's been a police officer for nearly 15 years, and he was frustrated with a policy decision he felt would escalate crime. The data, from his perspective, backed up his concern. The decision didn’t make any sense. He was ready to scream.

So he called me to play devil's advocate.

For over an hour, we discussed. The data, the policy, the unintended consequences, and the long-term impact.

And by the end, the conversation had shifted us both – but not to a single truth, or the "other side."

Instead, we both came away from the conversation with a shared understanding: both sides were arguing to be right, while neither seemed to care about the full picture.

This wasn’t our first call like this. Dan and I use each other as our personal devil’s advocate on a pretty regular basis. He is a straight, registered Republican. I am a gay, registered Democrat.

In today’s climate, our relationship is borderline miraculous.

But it’s also one of the most meaningful and transformative connections in my life.

With that being said....it certainly didn’t start that way.

Beyond Black and White

Growing up, Dan and I didn’t get along. Like, at all. 

We disagreed on nearly everything and barely tolerated each other’s existence for years. It wasn't until we developed a shared love of running and competition that we finally began to consider each other to be anything more than the absolute worst.

And then I tested into AP English my senior year of high school, taught by the incomparable Ms. Maureen Bernas.

During our first class, she congratulated us on making it into the course and told us she was going to do something radical: rather than teach us what to think, she was going to try and teach us how to think.

Screw state exams or even the SATs. Her class was dedicated to exploring our own ideas courageously, creatively, and critically.

Our first assignment: pick something that felt outrageous and try to argue it.

My classmate, Andy, wrote an entire paper arguing that lying to kids about Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy created long-term trust issues and emotional confusion. I was captivated.

The subsequent class discussion and debate were intriguing, fascinating, and truly fun.

My paper, on the other hand? Horrible. The execution, the idea – a complete flop. I'm grateful to say I barely remember anything about it.

But what I do remember: the shame.

I was embarrassed right up until Ms. Bernas asked me to stop by her office the next morning for a chat. I then graduated to truly mortified.

But she wasn’t disappointed in my writing. She was disappointed in my reluctance to think for myself. 

“I know you have a voice in there somewhere,” she said. “And I’m going to fight tooth and nail to help pull it out.”

Over the next few months, she did just that.

She assigned us books, plays, and short stories. Rather than asking us to summarize them however, she asked us to say something new about them. Something that mattered to us. Something that would never be on the test.

That year, my world changed forever. No longer was everything black and white, but bold colors began to emerge.

For the first time, I started to see ideas as possibilities rather than absolutes. Conversations became explorations rather than battles. Debate stopped threatening my identity and started expanding it.

It was my first real introduction to “yes, and...."

And the skills I learned with Ms. Bernas spilled into every other area of my life – including my relationship with my brother.

To the endless annoyance of our family members, we started debating everything. Loudly. Constantly. And with increasing curiosity.

Over time, it became clear: we were no longer trying to win. We were trying to understand. To learn. To expand our own views through each other’s experiences.

How Debate Helps Us

Apart from a being a feel-good story of two brothers building a strong relationship – this is also feel-good science ... well, it's supported by science, at least.

According to organizational psychologist and author Adam Grant, when we attach our identity to our ideas, we become less likely to change our minds even when new evidence presents itself.

In his fascinating book Think Again (one of my favorites!), Grant writes, “The purpose of learning isn’t to affirm our beliefs. It’s to evolve our beliefs.”

Debating thoughtfully and with a dash of humility makes us smarter, not weaker.

Research shows that open-minded discourse improves problem-solving, strengthens relationships, and reduces polarization (Kahan, 2013; Tetlock, 1983).

We perhaps can most clearly see this in our current political discourse, but it goes beyond politics too:

• How often do we cling too tightly to a project or process that’s not working, simply because we've already invested so much into it?

• How often do we try to prove our partners wrong instead of trying to understand how they’re feeling?

• How often are we so focused on being right at work that we're missing the opportunity to be effective?

• How often do we pretend we know the best path forward, instead of engaging our team, colleagues, or peers to create the best path forward together?

It all starts with loosening our grip on being right.

When we hold too tightly to being right, we lose the chance to grow. To take pause and truly listen is not a sign of weakness or passivity. And it's not giving in.

It’s courageous.

And it just might lead you to something bigger, bolder, and better than you ever could have come up with on your own.

Final Thoughts

If there's one thing I've learned from debating with my brother over the years, it's that real growth doesn't come from being right.

It comes from our willingness to listen, rethink, and explore the possibilities.

So over the next few days, I encourage you to begin to notice where there are opportunities for you to release your grip on being right.

Whether in a disagreement with your partner, navigating a complex project at work, or challenging assumptions in your own head – try to give yourself the freedom to breathe.

Take a moment to reflect, to listen to what is being shared, and to be curious.

When we choose curiosity over certainty, we don't just become better thinkers. We become better humans.

And that, I think, is always worth the conversation.

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When we release the need to be right, we open the door to something far greater: connection. If that's what you're ready for, let's talk about how I can support you in doing so. Schedule your first coaching session today!