By Joe Byerly
About a year ago, I got into an argument with my wife that spiraled way beyond what we were actually talking about. It began with a question about where to go for breakfast, but escalated into a full-blown shouting match. She said one thing, but I heard something else. She wasn’t questioning my choice of crepes over avocado toast—I heard her questioning my competence. I heard her saying she was better than me.
Later when I had time to reflect, I realized that somewhere beneath the surface, she unknowingly hit a core belief of mine: the one about whether I’m “good enough.”
I’m not sharing this to air my dirty laundry, but to make a point: our beliefs shape how we see and hear everything.
Our beliefs are like walls we build around ourselves. There’s the wall of self-belief. The professional wall. The faith wall. The political wall. Everyone’s walls look different, but they’re all tall, reinforced, and topped with barbed wire.
Most of those bricks weren’t laid by us. The foundation was poured long before we had the maturity to decide what belonged there. A careless comment from an adult when we were in elementary school. An offhand remark from a coach or teacher. A childhood experience that etched itself into memory.
Even as we get older, we mindlessly let others keep stacking bricks for us. Something we saw on TV. A headline on the internet. A post on social media from Uncle Hank. Over time, the walls rise higher, and their foundations grow firmer.
The walls have windows and those windows are the lens through which we see the world. But, the glass is tinted. And through that tint, everything looks distorted—every word, every action, every experience.
That’s why a conversation about breakfast can turn into an unnecessary argument.
That’s why a message left on read can feel like a dying friendship.
That’s why a conversation about politics or faith doesn’t feel like another perspective—it feels like a threat.
And it’s why conspiracy theories and “us versus them” thinking take root. The tint helps us imagine stories that aren’t really there, and enemies that aren’t really attacking us. Those picks and axes we think we see in their hands? More often than not, they’re using them to build and reinforce their own walls.
We don’t even realize we’re doing it. And, in extreme instances, our walls become so sacred, we’re willing to fight and kill someone because their walls look different than ours. In one of my favorite John Mayer songs, Belief he writes: “Belief is a beautiful armor, but makes for the heaviest sword.” And the concluding verses offer a sobering reminder:
What puts a hundred thousand children in the sand?
Belief can
Belief can
What puts the folded flag inside his mother’s hand?
Belief can
Belief can
Once a wall is up, it’s almost impossible for contradictory information to get through. The facts we notice reinforce our beliefs. The ones we don’t like, we dismiss. Of course he’s being racist. Of course she is being judgmental. Of course there is a mastermind behind it all pulling the strings. As Jonathan Haidt wrote in The Happiness Hypothesis: “We often use reasoning not to find the truth but to invent arguments to support deep and intuitive beliefs.”
There is one tool available to us that lets us survey the wall—and if we use it earnestly, even allows us to open the windows to see clearly what’s on the other side: curiosity.
Curiosity gives us room to explore our own beliefs and the beliefs of others. It creates space to pause and ask: What am I really hearing? What am I really seeing? What am I really experiencing?
Now that I recognize the walls exist and that they are high and the windows are tinted, I try to slow down when I feel belief driving me. When I feel myself getting agitated, excited, or judgmental. I try to get curious. I journal. I ask: What belief is operating in the background? Why do I believe this? Is it true? And if the belief no longer holds up, if the data no longer supports it, I don’t reinforce the wall—I grab the sledgehammer and start tearing it down.
I also try (key word try) to be deliberate about the information I consume. Because walls can be built without a second thought. The online world is full of people handing out bricks—bricks they haven’t even examined themselves. And I don’t want their bricks becoming my bricks.
So I read books by people I agree with and people I don’t. I try to see issues from every angle—because as John Stuart Mill warned, “He who knows only his side of the case knows little at that.”
And that argument with my wife? It was never about breakfast. It’s never really about breakfast, or politics, or religion. It’s about how our beliefs can harden into walls that block connection—in our relationships, in our workplaces, and in our communities. Left unchecked, those walls can cause us to destroy what we love most.
But curiosity is different. Curiosity opens the window. Curiosity makes connection possible. Every time we choose curiosity over certainty, we leave room for growth.
Eat avocado toast. Read. Journal. Get curious. Stay curious.
Joe Byerly is a retired U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel with 20 years of service, including tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, and command of a cavalry squadron in Europe. He earned numerous prestigious awards, including multiple Legion of Merits, Bronze Stars, the Purple Heart, and General Douglas MacArthur Leadership Award. In 2013, Joe founded From the Green Notebook.
A passionate advocate for self-knowledge through reading and reflection, he authored The Leader’s 90-Day Notebook and co-authored My Green Notebook: “Know Thyself” Before Changing Jobs, a resource for leaders seeking greater self-awareness. If this post resonated with you or sparked any questions, feel free to reach out to him at Joe@fromthegreennotebook.com.
