Unlearning to Remember - Finding Truth in a World That Forgot
A Free Chapter From My New Book
Below is Chapter 13 from my new book Unlearning to Remember – Finding Truth in a World That Forgot:
After a gorgeous, fun day at the lake with a few families, we tried out a new local restaurant. One of the dads mentioned that he couldn’t share food because they’re vegetarian. My wife turned to him and said something like, “My husband doesn’t really understand vegetarianism.” She then asked him why they don’t eat meat.
Internally, I could feel my ego fire up—my inner lawyer preparing for battle. I started silently picking apart his logic, spotting inconsistencies, finding hypocrisy, building a case for why his choices were wrong.
But I caught myself.
Because honestly, what are the chances that me arguing would lead to him saying: “Oh wow, I’ve been such a fool. I’ll start eating meat immediately—thank you so much for educating me!”
About the same odds as him convincing me to stop eating meat right then and there.
Later that evening, I remembered a core principle I’ve learned: common ground. Beneath the surface of our beliefs, preferences, and choices, we all share the same basic needs. If we look deeply enough, we can always find something we agree on.
That dad and I both care about health. We both want to feel good in our bodies, and we both want our children to grow up healthier and make better choices than we did. We both want to be better parents than our parents were. We all want that.
Had I spoken from that place—acknowledging our shared values instead of defending my own choices—he likely would have heard me, and I him. When people speak to me like that, I feel heard. I feel connected. I don’t feel judged. And I suspect most people feel the same way.
I grew up in a “my way or the highway” culture. My grandfather used to say, “What’s right is right,” and by that, he meant he was right and everyone else was wrong. That mindset felt abrasive—and it usually shut down any real conversation. Or worse, it led to expensive legal battles.
So now, I work to let go of that combative style of communication, and instead replace it with a welcoming, connecting way of being that embraces others, even when we disagree. It’s not easy. Sometimes it feels like I take one step forward and three steps back. Like my mentor once said, “You’re in Communication 101. Your voice might sound rough at first, but keep using it.”
Part of this struggle is finding myself—my authentic voice. I don’t want to swing to the opposite extreme and become emotionally shut down. I don’t want to silence myself just to avoid conflict. Sometimes, it feels better to have a quiet conversation with my inner critic rather than hand him the microphone and let him steamroll everyone.
Instead, I try to take a deep breath, pause, and wait for wiser words to arrive. When I do speak, I want to express what’s true for me without it coming at someone else’s expense. I don’t want to dump my feelings onto others just to make myself feel better.
Because that’s what blame and criticism usually are—an unconscious attempt to offload our own anxiety and discomfort onto someone else. We hope that if they just change, we’ll feel better.
This dynamic shows up everywhere—especially in conversations around health. Whether it’s about hospitals, vaccinations, painkillers, surgeries, or ancestral healing, everyone seems to have a strong opinion and believes their way is the way. The debates can be fiery, especially around parenting, where each person often feels deeply invested in proving their approach is best.
We’re all trying to win each other over, but the only way that really works is through common ground.
When we connect through our shared feelings, we realize something important: Staying connected is more valuable than winning an argument.
Ironically, when we stop trying to win, we often find a win-win.
I experienced this during my divorce. In the first year, my ex and I spent a small fortune on lawyers, each trying to push our demands through. It was exhausting. Eventually, we agreed to sit down with a mediator. Honestly, just being in the same room was scary after all the bitterness.
But the mediator used a simple, powerful tool. She wrote down all the possible outcomes of our divorce on a big easel—every option, even the unpleasant ones. Seeing all the choices laid out in front of us brought instant clarity. We both picked the same outcome, and the whole process took less than two hours.
When we stop focusing on our differences, our similarities begin to shine.
This principle scales up. When rulers and regimes focus on conquering others—on eradicating differences—it leads to wars, oppression, and the suffering of millions. When we see others as threats, we stop caring about them. They become objects. We discard them like trash.
But here’s the deeper truth: we can’t change others. Not really.
And even if we could, we wouldn’t want to do it through conquering or shaming. The only change that lasts is the kind that comes from within—by befriending the parts of ourselves we’re uncomfortable with.
This is liberating. It means I no longer need to try to control or fix other people to feel okay. I take care of me, for you. And you take care of you, for me.
When we all take responsibility for our own feelings and actions, something beautiful happens: we grow more empathetic. More compassionate. We start to see ourselves in each other—and in the world around us.
That’s when true connection happens.
That’s when we start to heal—not just individually, but together.
And that’s the ultimate win-win.