If the last week has taught us anything, it’s that having an opinion is easy. Like having a belly button, as the saying goes.
The more difficult work? Keeping it to ourselves.
And more importantly- the valuable work? Only having opinions on things that directly affect us.
Take pineapple on pizza, for example. Just broaching the topic in mixed company can incite a borderline civil war. Rarely does someone just say, “I don’t care for it.” Instead, those who don’t like pineapple on their pizza respond as if the very idea is a personal affront. They voice their disgust as though someone out there lurks in a darkened corner with a Hawaiian slice, ready to do them great personal harm.
Of course, no one is forcing them to order the pineapple, and they are impacted in zero ways by someone else eating it. And yet… the argument persists.
That persistence tells us a little bit about how opinions function in real life.
A signal of belonging, or an assessment of alignment?
In many (I’d argue most) of our current debates, the opinion itself matters less than the alliance that it signals. If my “team,” or my people believe this, then I am also more likely to believe it. My opinion is as much a uniform jersey as it is a conclusion reached through my own experience.
This past weekend gave us a prime example of opinion as a signal, rather than an actual assessment of taste. Regardless of your own musical preferences, it is unlikely that you were able to escape the relative firestorm that was the Bad Bunny halftime performance at the Super Bowl. Viewership was massive, reaching an estimated 140 million people. The escalation in strength of opinions, however, far exceeded just viewership numbers. Responses included moral associations, and cultural alarm, often from people who were far removed from the music, the audience, or the context of the performance itself.
This reaction is notable because, like the pineapple on pizza above, the response appears to be disconnected from the actual personal impact. Those who didn’t like the performance had the option to ignore it entirely. Instead, reactions became a proxy for identity alignment.
Distance from impact, proximity to certainty
One of the more consistent features of polarized discourse is that the strongest opinions often come from those with the least direct relationship to the issue at hand.
People unaffected by a particular policy debate often speak with certainty about its consequences. Think: gay marriage, trans athletes or, yes, immigration. The likelihood that any single individual in this country will be affected by these issues is small. As examples:
- Same sex couples make up just under 4% of all marriages
- Transgender people make up 1-2% of the population, and far less than that in athletic competitions (.00197% of NCAA athletes, for example)
- Undocumented immigrants represent 3-4% of the U.S. population
This is not to diminish the very real issues pertaining to these populations, and I am not attempting to minimize their rights just because they make up a relatively small percentage of the population. But the numbers do highlight how easily people who are not a member of a group or would never make a particular choice will make fierce arguments for (or against) those people and about those choices. Preferences that require no participation become moral judgments.
Social platforms amplify this effect. A small number of highly motivated voices can create the impression of widespread consensus, even when the majority may be indifferent, ambivalent, or simply preoccupied with their own lives. Silence is interpreted as agreement or ignorance, rather than what it often is: disengagement.
What does this have to do with coaching? (or, the option most people overlook)
There is an idea attributed to Marcus Aurelius that remains useful here. He suggested that it is always possible to withhold judgment, particularly on matters outside one’s control or influence.
In practical terms, this means recognizing that not every event requires a stance, and not every invitation to react (or overreact) deserves acceptance. Choosing not to form an opinion is an act of discernment.
Modern life encourages constant evaluation. Trends, controversies, and performances arrive prepackaged with prompts asking where you stand. Over time, this creates fatigue rather than clarity. The mind stays busy, but little changes.
This same pattern shows up in more personal contexts.
In my work as a coach, people often arrive carrying an ongoing internal debate about what their former partner is doing, thinking, or failing to do. Much of their energy is spent forming opinions about situations they cannot meaningfully influence.
Progress tends to follow a shift in attention. When someone stops tracking every external variable and redirects focus toward what they can control, decisions become steadier. Emotional reactivity decreases. Forward movement becomes possible.
The relief does not come from winning an argument or arriving at the correct interpretation. It comes from recognizing that an opinion is not required in order to move on.
Choosing where attention goes
Public discourse would benefit from the same restraint.
There is value in moral conviction and civic engagement. There is also value in recognizing when a reaction serves no purpose beyond reinforcing identity or amplifying noise. These are not opposing ideas. They coexist.
The challenge is knowing the difference.
The next time a cultural controversy presents itself, it may be worth asking a simpler question: Does this require my judgment, or merely my attention (or neither)?
Letting the moment pass doesn’t have to signal alignment or assent. It could just be the space needed for discernment. .
And that choice tends to leave more room for work that actually matters.
Like ordering the pizza with pineapple.
