I recently attended a 500-person fundraiser with a dear friend and did what “normal” people do at these events. We handed our keys to the valet, opened the door to the hotel lobby, pressed a button to call the elevator, entered a crowded room of 500 people, shook hands with every person we met, and used our hands to break bread with a table of twelve other “normal” people.
And, like “normal” people, we did all of that without washing our hands. This is something I would have done without question in 2019. This is something I will likely never do without question after living through a pandemic. I am glad that I have a heightened awareness of the disease-spreading risk of everyday behavior, and I often welcome the opportunity to remind others of that risk when I sense they may forget.
When my friend and I returned home that night, I offered him a polite, gentle reminder as I headed for my sink. “You know, it’s probably a good idea for us to wash our hands after that event.” And…he looked me straight in the eye and said, “No. I am not willing to do that. I have gone to events like that for decades, and have never gotten sick. Washing my hands seems illogical.”
And that is when my blood started to boil. I felt a seemingly uncontrollable urge to:
Argue my case by giving him facts and figures, sending him links to expert opinions, and composing a three-page white paper summarizing the science-backed evidence as to why my suggestion was LOGICAL.
Belittle him into submission by asking him how he could be ignorant enough to use the argument of “nothing’s happened to me so far” as grounds for his opinion, and to cite 50 reasons why my opinion is more educated and LOGICAL than his.
Play the victim card by shedding a few tears and explaining why it would be LOGICAL for me to be upset by the fact that he does not care enough about my safety and boundaries to take thirty seconds to wash his hands.
But instead, I decided to take a deep breath, nod, and go to bed because I have learned that people don’t always make decisions based on logic, and that these three tactics rarely work in my favor, especially when it is four hours past my normal bedtime. After tossing and turning a few times, I was able to fall asleep.
When I woke up the next morning, I commended myself for taking some time to let the dust settle and waiting to address my frustration from a well-rested state of mind. I took a healthier approach to ask myself:
Why am I really upset? I’m feeling hurt that my friend refused to do a 30-second task to help me feel safe. My friend’s behavior is shaking my level of respect for him and his judgement, and I don’t like having those thoughts about my friend. As someone who developed an unhealthy fear of germs during the pandemic, I have been accused of engaging in “irrational” disease-prevention behavior. I am proud of the progress I’ve made on this front and want my friends to see the new me as “rational”.
What is the opposite of my story? It is hard for me to argue that taking a simple hand-washing precaution is irrational under these circumstances. However, I could argue that the precaution may not change the outcome. We likely already exposed ourselves to the germs we encountered throughout the night by touching our faces, etc., so the ship may have already sailed. Also, I could argue that my friend’s unwillingness to make an accommodation for my fear of germs could actually be a sign of love given my history.
Do I actually need to be “right”? At the end of the day, I am willing to risk getting sick to keep this friendship.
What boundaries do I need to honor to stay in integrity with my friend and myself? I am willing to stay in connection with my friend regardless of whether he complies with my request. I feel unwilling to silence my feelings.
After answering these questions with a clear and well-rested head, I concluded that I did not need to be “right”, but I did want to 1) tell my friend that if I have to choose between my friendship and a simple handwash, I choose my friendship and 2) calmly and kindly share why I felt hurt, frustrated, and disappointed with my friend. We had a lovely conversation over breakfast and simply agreed to disagree.
Here is what I learned: I don’t need to be right. I don’t need to prove my friend wrong. At the end of the day, being right really doesn’t matter here. As I shared in my recent podcast episode, “A Microbiologist’s Guide to Disease Prevention, Germ Anxiety, and Choosing Love Over Fear”, meaningful human connection is, in most cases, more important than disease prevention. In perhaps all cases, it is more important than being RIGHT.
Because I am lucky enough to have dozens of beautiful friendships, I don’t actually need anything from this particular friend. However, I want this man to be my friend. I want to accept him exactly as he is. I want to be able to calmly and kindly share my side of the story and feel heard. I want him to be able to do the same. Yet, despite all of this, I still have a desire to be RIGHT. In the spirit of imperfect honesty, perhaps I am ILLOGICAL. I can clearly see why I don’t need to be right, yet I still want to be. AND I am grateful that my desire for this friendship is greater than my desire to be right. That is the lesson I want to remember today and always.
Have you recently chosen human connection over your desire to be right?
What might change for you if you did that more often?
What might change for you if you accepted that you may always have the desire to be right?
I’m going to keep asking myself these questions.
