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Recently, a woman I’d been planning a first date with canceled an hour before we were supposed to meet. Her message was to the point: I’m not going to be able to make it. Just tired of dating right now and need a break.
My immediate internal reaction was more complex: Really? How could she do that? It sounds like a question, but what I really wanted was an apology and reassurance that my frustration made sense.
We all do this. Are you kidding me? to the car that cuts us off. Who does that? to the boss’s 4:59 pm tasking. Or, in the Thanksgiving season, Why would you say that? to the tone-deaf comment at the dinner table.
None of these are questions; they are judgment masquerading as curiosity. Yet if we learn to turn these pseudo-questions into genuine inquiry, we gain access to something powerful: understanding and connection. And what Thanksgiving meal couldn’t use a second helping of that?
Our Own Tender Spots
When someone pushes a button, it helps to ask what that button was wired to. Most of the time, What’s wrong with you? isn’t a good-faith effort to understand the other person’s deepest struggles; it’s a bid for validation: Tell me I’m right to be hurt or annoyed.
When this happens, meditation teacher Tara Brach suggests the shift we need is a “You-turn,” in which we turn away from blame and toward the feeling inside us.
My canceled date stirred up my insides: the vulnerability of dating again after a breakup, grieving a plan I was looking forward to, and a familiar feeling of rejection. My frustration wasn’t about her. It was about me.
And this pattern shows up everywhere. A reckless driver, a politician’s comment, or someone littering taps into deeper tenderness about our values, our sense of safety, our hope for how people should behave.
Naming the ache doesn’t excuse behavior. It simply lets us respond from clarity rather than reactivity.
Imagining Their World
As Malcolm Gladwell writes in Talking to Strangers, we rarely know what’s actually happening in someone else’s mind. Yet our brains behave as if we do, often choosing the least generous interpretation. This is what psychologists call the fundamental attribution error: assuming someone’s behavior reflects their true character and not a quirk of their circumstances.
Over the past year, I’ve been on the receiving end of tone-deaf jokes about the “crumbling” federal government and awkward questions about why I ended a relationship “when she was so lovely.” I suspect you know the tight feeling these remarks can prompt.
But we forget that those other people that rankle us are, well, other people. They respond to the world from their own experience, fears, habits, and hopes. So it shouldn’t surprise us when they react differently than we would.
This leads to the practice of really asking the question. Once the sting of the cancelled date softened a little, I tried it: How could she do that? The truth was, I had no idea. Yes, she said she was tired of dating, but who isn’t? But maybe a painful breakup was still sitting with her. Maybe “I need a break” was a brave way to honor her limits after years of people-pleasing. Maybe she simply wasn’t into me and decided this was the kinder choice.
When we ask the genuine question, we open our minds to stories beyond the obvious ones, and these stories can soften certainty and make space for connection.
I rewrote several harsher drafts of my message before settling on: Ah, that’s a bit disappointing, but glad you’re taking care of yourself. And I meant it.
The Curiosity We Crave
This practice matters because someday, I promise you, each of us will be the one who makes the awkward comment or questionable driving choice. In that moment, we won’t want the worst story someone can imagine about us; we’ll want curiosity.
But this is also an act of self-kindness. If you’re anything like me, you turn the same faux-questions inward: What was I thinking? How could I do that, again?
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Asking the real version creates room for self compassion: What was I thinking? Well, maybe I was hurt and trying my best. Maybe change is hard. Maybe social media is designed to be addictive. Maybe coffee with dessert is delicious.
How to Really Ask the Question (Especially at Thanksgiving)
Recognize when your “question” isn’t one. Before trying to understand someone else, acknowledge the sting. I’ve found it helpful to simply say to myself, Ouch.
Explore what the moment stirred in you. Was it a need to feel respected? A fear? A familiar old pattern?
Imagine another possible story. You don’t need the person’s full biography to open to alternative interpretations. Maybe they’re overwhelmed, trying to help in a clunky way, or just plain hungry.
Optional: Name the story. In my date situation there wasn’t a relationship to protect, but if the relationship matters, you might find a quiet moment to say, “The story I’m telling myself is…” and invite curiosity about what was going on for them.
The Real Question
We’ve all heard the line, “Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about.” Really asking the question is what turns that cliché into something lived.
So this Thanksgiving, if (or when) you get rankled, here’s my challenge for you: You don’t have to pretend everything is fine, but stay with the question a bit longer. See if you can find out how someone could believe that or why they would say that, because that’s the moment we step out of judgment and into connection.
