My mom’s parents, a pair of delightful people, have been married over 60 years now. If you ask my grandfather for the secret to their long and successful marriage, he could offer many pieces of advice, but there’s a good chance he’ll tell you it comes down to three simple words. No, not those three words. Those are certainly important, but they are a given, aren’t they? His three words are maybe you’re right.

For such a simple phrase, it packs a ton of punch in many different areas:

1. It shows respect for your spouse and his/her opinion.
2. It doesn’t completely concede the argument, which you might not want to do.
3. It keeps you humble by having you admit that you don’t have all the answers.
4. It elevates the relationship itself above the argument. Many arguments simply aren’t worth it.

By playing the “maybe you’re right” card, you call a truce in the disagreement. No one wins or loses. You stop wasting time arguing unnecessarily, but neither are you turning yourself into a doormat.

“Maybe you’re right” can have larger applications than simply marriages, though. Most of us, both individually and as a society, would benefit if we all said it more often.

No, it’s not as exciting as watching people argue passionately from opposite positions and certainly doesn’t make for good TV. But if the goal of your conversation is to win a battle at the other side’s expense, several problems arise:

1. You quit listening to the other side, potentially ignoring valuable and true information simply because it doesn’t support your point (confirmation bias).
2. You become so married to your position that you’d be embarrassed to change your mind, even if you realize that you were wrong.
3. Many people would rather avoid you than butt heads with you, making it harder to have relationships. You simply aren’t worth the headache.

I haven’t mastered “maybe you’re right” like my grandfather has, in my marriage or in my other relationships. Jenny and I do a pretty good job of choosing our battles, but I could do a better job of affirming her positions rather than simply letting them slide.

However, although I try to be openminded, argumentative people make me put up a wall and tempt me to be obnoxious right back at them. Generally, I try to avoid such people. People who understand that they don’t have all the answers are much more fun to be around. This isn’t the best approach, but it’s hard to say “maybe you’re right” to someone when all you want to do is punch them in the nose.

I am a work in progress, people.

What about you? How do you handle conflict with others, whether your SO/spouse, friends, or coworkers?

One of the most striking articles I’ve read on parenting came from a non-parent. One of my favorite bloggers, Rachel Held Evans, recently wrote about what she calls the “fundamentalizing of parenting.”

[Cliffs Notes version: Some parents tend to approach parenting in the same way that fundamentalists approach Christianity, believing in ONE RIGHT WAY to do it and feeling called to evangelize any parents who disagree.]

Like with any new job, it’s hard to feel prepared for parenthood. No parenting class, book, or piece of advice can give you 100 percent confidence regarding what to do in any given situation. Preparing, studying, and seeking advice can help, but once your child arrives, you have to simply jump in and start paddling.

It can be scary.

Parenting is scary in part because the stakes are so high. With so many conflicting opinions out there, it seems that no matter what I do, I’m bound to screw up my child beyond repair. We have two little boys. Unless we adopt, we will not have any other children. If I lock up my computer, I can reboot it. If I wreck my car, I can get a new one. But if I break my child, I can’t repair him simply by pressing a button or swiping a credit card.

Parenting is also hard because of the “fundamentalist” parents who think that their parenting approach is right and yours (if you disagree) is wrong. And some of them are all too eager to tell you about it. Depending on whom you ask, if I vaccinate my child, I’m giving him autism. If I don’t, I’m crippling him with polio or killing him with pertussis. If I take my child to McDonald’s, I’m feeding him poison. If I don’t, I’m a cruel father who doesn’t want his kids to have any fun. If I send him to public school, I’m stunting his intellectual growth. If I homeschool him, I’m stunting his social development. If I send him to private school, I’m turning him into a snob. If I put him in time out or spank him, I’m being too strict. If I let him do whatever he wants, I’m being too lenient.

One of my least favorite parts of parenthood is the moment when all the eyes are on me. My kid has a situation – he’s acting up, he’s being disobedient, he wants a cookie, someone else wants to give him a cookie – and the entire room is watching to see what I do. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I feel like that often. Each time, it feels like being on trial, or like I’m the main boxing match at Madison Square Garden. Will I get Brenden to do what I want, or will I give in? And which option makes me a good daddy?

Before I had kids of my own, it was a lot easier to give the stink-eye to parents whose kids were acting up or eating junk or whatever. It’s just as easy to gripe about a football coach’s playcalling from my couch or a politician’s vote from 1500 miles away. Once my boys came along, I quickly realized that nothing about raising children is simple, and that I’m wrong in someone’s eyes no matter what I do.

How do I stay sane, as a black-and-white person in the very gray world of parenting? I simply try to love them well, teach them good values, and listen to others’ opinions without feeling obligated to adopt them. So far, I think my boys are doing pretty well.