My defining characteristic is how argumentative I am. And I don’t mean that lightly. When I’m pushed to defend an idea, I feel like I get an actual high. Truth be told, it feels like I’m constantly craving that high. So much so that when I was younger, I used to pick fights with my parents on purpose just to get my fix. And don’t even get me started on my little brother. His existence is basically a free-for-all for my hot-headed means of expression. If you want a testimonial about my argumentative tendencies, he should be your first call.
I used to think my obsession with arguments was a means of ego-enhancement. Because look, I’ve never pretended to be bad at arguing, nor do I think I should. And I’ll admit it feels great to leave an argument having come out on top, whether you’ve successfully converted your opponent to your side or simply gotten under their skin enough to deem it a triumph. But there’s honestly more to it than that. If the whole point of arguing was to win, well, I guess I’d be inclined to take my talents to the nearest wall since I know for a fact it can’t fight back. Who is that fun for, though? Nobody.
The real joy of arguing is the snap to attention when the other person starts talking; the straining of the ears for anything you can respond to, a mistake in their logic or even a point you can agree on; the anticipation of finding out what might come next. It’s a symbiotic relationship. If anything, it’s intimate.
When you argue, you’re giving someone direct access to the rawest, most unfiltered version of yourself. Usually, humans are filtered. We constantly sift our ideas through a mental sieve that redacts what we don’t want others to know we’re thinking. We keep our cards close to our chests. But in the heat of an argument and the emotions that ensue, that buffer doesn’t exist. Your instincts spill out before your self-censorship can catch up. And in that moment, the person at the other end of your words is seeing the least polished, most authentic version of yourself. Both parties lay their cards out on the table for inspection; what happens next is anyone’s guess.
Most people are terrified of that because we’re a culture obsessed with politeness and the elusive idea of “keeping the peace.” Disagreements are frowned upon as moral failure. Arguments are seen as the product of dysfunctional relationships. But I, along with experts, actually think the opposite is true.
Dr. Bruce Lee, a Professor of Health Policy and Management at the City University of New York, wrote about the benefits of arguments in Psychology Today.
“Arguments can be an important way to communicate. When done constructively, arguing can help you better understand each other and any issues that may be coming between you,” Lee said. “It can provide a release valve for pent-up frustrations. It can help reveal problems to which you can design and implement solutions.”
In other words, arguing is not what breaks relationships. Silence is.
When we avoid arguments, we don’t create peace. We create distance. I’ve been in multiple situations with people where, after encountering a disagreement, the other person simply went nonverbal. “I don’t want to talk about this,” they said. “I can’t do this right now.” And I’m left wondering what exactly they think is going to happen. Are they expecting a solution to fall from the sky? Or that we’ll just avoid certain topics forever? Neither of these are realistic. Because when it comes to conflict, the only way out is through.
There’s a quote from writer and activist Audre Lorde, in her collection of essays titled Sister Outsiders: Essays and Speeches, that really sums up this idea.
“My silences had not protected me. Your silence will not protect you,” Lorde wrote.
Nor will it protect your relationships.
That same sentiment is reflected in a scene from the movie Anyone But You, starring Sydney Sweeney and Glen Powell. When asked why she broke up with her previous boyfriend, Sweeney’s character responds tentatively.
“We never fought. It was just … comfortable,” Sweeney said.
I think about that specific scene of the movie quite often because I resonate with it so much. It doesn’t seem rational to desire conflict, least of all in a romantic relationship. But, like I said before, I crave the high of arguing with the people I love. I don’t do it out of disrespect. Quite the contrary, actually. I argue because I care, because I want to see and be seen by others. Everything else is boring, and it’s not true to who I am.
More than that, arguing is one of the deepest forms of trust. For all my talk of starting fights and speaking my mind, I don’t argue with people whom I don’t think can handle me, no matter how hard I might find it to hold back. I also don’t bother arguing with people I don’t respect and who don’t respect me because I’ve found that it very rarely proves productive. So, when I do choose conflict, when I do choose argumentation, it’s a testament to my belief that the other person is worth the effort and honesty and that I trust them to give me the same.
If there’s any place where this mindset can thrive, it’s Vanderbilt. The opportunity to converse and, yes, occasionally argue with some of the brightest young minds in the country is not one we should take for granted. If anything, this is the moment to lean into disagreement rather than avoid it. Not because conflict is necessarily comfortable but because it’s one of the fastest ways to understand someone and to let them understand you. And if part of college is learning to build real relationships and acknowledge different perspectives, then choosing to engage — especially when it’s difficult — is one of the most valuable uses of our time here.
For these reasons, we should stop treating conflict as something taboo and start seeing it for what it really is: a means of connection and learning. Sure, not every argument is productive, and some can even end badly. But what is gained outweighs that risk by a long shot. And aren’t we always inclined to take risks for the possibility of something greater? If we want connection, consensus, community — any of it — we need to take the risk and get comfortable with conflict.
I argue a lot. I always have. And honestly? I always will. Because if I argue with you, it means that I trust you. It could even mean that I love you. More importantly, it means that I think you’re worth knowing — truly knowing — and worth being known by. And in a world that treats honesty and vulnerability as a risk, maybe arguing isn’t something to avoid.
Maybe it’s the most intimate thing we can possibly do.
