I.61 — Quarrels

A quarrel is three grips at once, usually held by both people without either noticing all three. Winning is a grip. Being right is a grip, close cousin to winning but not the same one: a person can lose an argument and still clench around having been correct. And the quarrel kept alive past its useful life is a grip on the other person's agreement, a refusal to let the exchange end until they hand over the words you want to hear.

Open one hand and the quarrel does not vanish. What changes is the shape of the room. Not surrender: surrender is only winning worn by the other person. Room instead, space where the disagreement can be looked at instead of gripped, where both people can see what is actually being fought over, which is often smaller and older than either one is saying out loud.

The method for opening the hand first is simple to state and hard to do. Concede what is true in the other side before defending your own, not everything, only what is actually true, found by looking rather than handed over as strategy. Try it in the next real disagreement. Find the one true thing on the other side and say it out loud before saying anything else.