Candid Conversations Newsletter: Where Differences Meet

I was recently reminded of a car that was popular during my childhood, the Lada. I used it as an analogy to bring clarity to a conversation.

We were discussing simplicity and how it differs from person to person. Before long, the conversation drifted into a flat debate. I tend to avoid debates because the goal is usually to win, not to understand. And debates leave very little room for nuance.

Over time, I’ve learned how to soften tension quickly. I’ve also come to accept that no matter how clearly you explain something, whether through advice, direction, or lived experience, some people simply will not understand.

The Lada Analogy 🚗

Picture someone advising another person not to buy a Lada. They explain that the cars break easily. The axle, wheel bearings, CV joints, and the parts associated with the wheel and steering mechanism are known problem areas. They have replaced these parts many times. They have spent enough time in the car parts store to meet others sharing similar stories. So they pass on this experience, not out of superiority, but benevolence.

Yet the person listening walks away believing they are trying to discourage their dream of car ownership. What they miss are the stories, the pattern recognition, the signals hidden inside repetition, and the unseen supply chain issues.

No matter what is shared, it will not be received.

Not until they break their first axle.

Only then will comparison, and therefore understanding, exist.

Embracing Differences ☯️

As the year comes to an end, it gives us a chance to reflect. What did we set out to accomplish, and where did we end up? Is there a delta, and if so, what can be done to close those gaps?

For me, this season had me revisiting something I wrote earlier about going where I am needed. Sometimes that means being in places I would rather not be, yet still understanding and accepting that my presence is required.

That ethos has helped me stay connected to friends and family, form new bonds, and dismantle distortions born out of familiarity.

More than ever, I understand that we often learn in reverse. In retrospect, things become obvious.

So when I used the Lada analogy in conversation, I was not trying to convince him of anything. I was simply showing that if the motive is to win, nothing I say will ever be received.

Accepting Differences 🉑

My Whale-Minded friend and I are fundamentally different. He functions from a place of logic. He is a pragmatist. One plus two equals three every day of the week. Yet even in his pragmatism, he understands nuance. He understands those grey areas that cannot be quantified, and where only qualification brings clarity.

I, on the other hand, am a structured idealist. This sometimes leads to misunderstanding. When people cannot place me, they put me wherever makes the most sense for them.

A structured idealist blends big-picture vision with practical application. We use systems, strategies, and skills (structure) to reach lofty goals (idealism). This may be social change, personal growth, or philosophical exploration. Unlike pure idealists, we spend time figuring out how to make ideals real.

Our relationship is a frame I use to view most others. Despite our differences, we still see the humanity in each other. Where we are flawed, we meet with grace. Where something bears no good fruit, we prune. We are a continuous work in progress, and progress invites evolution.

Layers of Difference 🧅

Though we differ in many ways, we are deeply aligned in our values. While some people value status, we value virtue. This may be unpopular in a world where status often sits in the front seat and virtue rides in the back.

But differences in values can make forming and maintaining relationships difficult. When values differ, the language of the heart changes too.

And understanding requires translation.

And translation requires language.

This is where I return to what I have learned from Raising Cain, a book that examines the emotional development of boys and men, and how often their inner world is taught to be silent, left unnamed, unseen, and unsupported. The framework and philosophy drawn from the work of Dan Kindlon and Michael Thompson remind me that much of what we call conflict or distance is really untranslated emotion, language that was never taught, or tenderness that never felt safe enough to surface.

Raising Cain addresses a gap most systems still avoid. It treats the emotional lives of boys and men as a central driver of outcomes, relationships, connection, and even self-worth. For me, that becomes an anchor. It helps me understand why some people hear information as threat instead of care, or debate instead of dialogue. They were never taught the language required for emotional fluency.

Communication sits at the center of our connection. It is the bridge where vulnerability and transparency thrive, and where the ego takes a seat so consciousness can lead. When communication breaks down, translation breaks down. And when translation breaks down, humanity loses its voice.

So I meet people where they are.

Even when we see the world differently.

Especially then.

Because despite the layers of difference, the work is always the same:

To see each other.

To hear each other.

To remain human together.

To Sum Things Up 🧮

I keep learning that differences are not the problem. It is our relationship to them that determines whether they become bridges or walls.

Some people speak the language of logic. Others move through the world guided by ideals, intuition, and emotional landscapes that are still taking shape. Some were taught to armor themselves early. Others were given the grace to learn their feelings slowly, to name them without shame. None of us arrived fully formed. We are each a conversation between our past, our patterns, and our possibilities.

Raising Cain reminds me of this again and again. Many boys, and the men they eventually become, were never given a full vocabulary for tenderness, confusion, anger, or longing. So when life asks them to translate their inner world, all they have are fragments. Silence. Withdrawal. Debate. Control. These become the tools when the language of the heart was never taught.

So when understanding is missing, I try to remember that translation is not simply intellectual. It is emotional. It requires safety. It requires presence. It requires the willingness to see the human being in front of you, not the argument you want to win.

Communication becomes the sacred middle ground. The place where transparency and vulnerability are allowed to breathe. The place where ego learns to sit quietly so consciousness can lead. Sometimes we get it right. Sometimes we fail. And yet the invitation remains the same.

To show up.

To listen.

To soften.

To stay curious.

To honor differences without erasing our own truth.

If there is anything this year has taught me, it is that growth rarely happens in real time. It happens in hindsight, when the noise settles and the lesson finally gathers enough language to name itself.

And maybe that is the work of our lives.

To keep learning the languages we were never taught.

To keep translating for one another.

To keep becoming human together.

Even when it is hard.

Especially then.

And perhaps, like the Lada, some lessons can only be understood after the first axle breaks, when experience finally gives language to what advice alone could never teach.

In those moments, we extend grace without losing ourselves. Compassion never asks us to disappear, and understanding never requires the cost of our truth or our boundaries.

Without compromise.

Until then Happy New Year!!!