On the Fragility of Ideas

There was a time when I felt like I had to respond to everything. As if silence would be mistaken for ignorance. Someone shared a thought? I had a counterpoint. Not out of malice, but out of a deep-seated reflex to defend my view on that topic, I hadn't even fully examined yet.

I remember a night around a campfire, pipe in hand, with a good friend. He said something that didn't sit right with me—about suffering and God's providence. My mind raced to correct him. But I caught myself. I let the smoke rise, said nothing, and just listened.

That silence taught me more than any rebuttal would have.

I've since learned the habit of what I now call the “five-minute pipe.” Not literally five minutes, not always a pipe—but the discipline to sit with an idea before reacting. To give it time to unfold, even if it challenges me.

It’s so easy to swat ideas away. That takes no effort, no risk. But real thought—contemplation—that’s where we grow. An idea might sound wrong at first, only because it’s unfamiliar or threatens our comfort. But maybe it just needs time.

So now, when someone says something bold or strange or beautiful, I try to wait. I try to let it breathe. To give it the dignity of being heard. That’s not weakness—it’s strength under control.

Because ideas are fragile things, like sparks in kindling. And if we’re too quick with our breath, we blow them out before they have a chance to catch fire.