I’ve been thinking a lot about what actually happens when people hold genuinely different views and don’t rush to smooth them over. When instead of advocating for one view over the other, you take an integrated approach.
A very real example from my own life right now is house hunting.
My spouse and I came into this process with overlapping values and some pretty significant differences. We both wanted a safe neighbourhood, a good school district, a place that would support our family long term. That part was easy.
Where we diverged was on priorities.
A shorter commute mattered deeply to him. And I initially saw that as a constraint. A shorter commute meant fewer neighbourhoods, fewer options, fewer features in the price range we could afford. As someone who works from home and spends most of my time in the house, I cared a lot about the size, the layout, and especially the kitchen. The house isn’t just where I sleep, it’s where I live my entire day.
At first, it felt like a tradeoff. His priority versus mine.
But instead of papering over the disagreement, we stayed in it. We talked it through. We pushed on each other’s assumptions. We didn’t treat disagreement as something to resolve quickly, but as something to understand properly.
And within a few conversations, things shifted.
I realized his long commute wasn’t just his problem. An hour-long commute each way has meant long stretches of solo parenting every single day for me. It has meant less attachment time between our son and his dad. It has meant evenings that felt compressed and rushed. It has meant chores piling up, balance slipping, and a general sense that life is harder than it needs to be. A shorter commute wasn’t just about his comfort, it was deeply tied to my happiness and to the kind of family rhythm we both wanted.
At the same time, he came to see that prioritizing commute at the absolute expense of the house itself didn’t make sense either. The size of the home, the flow of the space, and especially the kitchen mattered to how we live. This is where meals happen, where people gather, where so much of daily life unfolds. A house that technically checked boxes but made everyday life harder wouldn’t actually serve us.
What we ended up with wasn’t a compromise in the “everyone gives something up” sense. It was a better prioritization model altogether. A more integrated model. One that neither of us would have arrived at on our own.
And it struck me how important that is, and also how uncommon it can be.
Instead of one take winning over another, we ended up with a brand new take, one that was better than either of the original ones.
This pattern shows up everywhere: in families, in friendships, in teams trying to make hard calls together. The context changes, but the dynamic doesn’t.
Diverse views don’t weaken decisions when people are willing to stay open.
They make them more sound. More resilient. More honest.
When you’re not afraid of healthy disagreement, you stop optimizing for your own list and start designing for the system you’re actually part of. It’s the difference between defending a position and actually trying to get somewhere good together.
In our case, that system is our family. And the outcome is a house hunt strategy that’s more balanced, healthier, and stronger than either of our original lists alone.
The best outcomes rarely come from one perspective winning. They come from multiple perspectives being taken seriously, long enough to reveal what actually matters.
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