There’s nothing more maddening than standing in front of someone, speaking plain words, and watching them drift right past the meaning.
It isn’t just being ignored. It’s worse.
They nod. They answer. They think they’re engaging. But they’re answering a question you never asked.
You try again. Slower. Clearer. They double down.
Soon you’re in two different conversations wearing the same words like ill-fitting clothes.
I’ve lived this more times than I care to count. At work. At home. With friends I thought knew me well. With people I barely knew. Talking past each other like ships in the fog.
The thing about it is this—it sneaks up on you. You don’t always realize what’s happening in the moment. One minute you’re laying out an idea, the next you’re circling an argument that feels strangely hollow. Like two boxers swinging at air. You go home with the ache of wasted breath.
The Office Lesson
Years ago, I sat in a meeting with a client. We were deep in the weeds of a building automation project. I said, “We need to look at the energy savings in real terms. Dollars. Not just percentages.”
The client nodded. Then he launched into a speech about sustainability metrics and corporate image.
We weren’t even on the same field.
He thought I meant optics—how good the numbers would look in the company’s annual report.
I was talking about the electric bill. Actual money leaving their account each month.
I pushed back. He doubled down. The whole meeting became a tug-of-war with two ropes. By the time it ended, we were both frustrated. I drove home asking myself if I’d failed at explaining, or if he’d failed at listening. Maybe both.
That day stuck with me. It showed me how the same words—“energy savings”—can wear two different masks. Mine was practical. His was political. Neither was wrong, but we were both blind to the other.
The Family Example
It happens at home too. Maybe more often.
I remember arguing with my brother one summer. We were teenagers, already hot-headed, already carrying chips on our shoulders. He accused me of not pulling my weight. Said I never helped Mom enough.
I fired back. I listed the chores I did. The hours I put in. The little things I carried.
But here’s the truth: he wasn’t talking about chores.
He was talking about presence. About being there when it mattered. About showing up when Mom was tired and just wanted company, not another clean dish.
I didn’t see it then. I was caught up in defending my list. He was trying to say he needed me to care in a different way.
We both walked away angry.
It took me years to realize we’d been fighting two different battles under the same flag.
Public Conversations
It happens in bigger ways too.
Take politics. Or faith. Or anything people care about enough to fight over.
I’ve sat at dinner tables where one person says, “We need freedom.”
Another says, “We need safety.”
They’re both nodding hard, both thinking the other is insane.
But sometimes they’re actually fighting for the same thing. Just from different angles.
Freedom to one person means less government. Freedom to another means more protection so they can live without fear.
Safety to one person means more rules. Safety to another means fewer restrictions so they can defend themselves.
Same words. Different worlds.
And so the shouting starts.
And so families break apart at tables meant for meals, not wars.
The Marriage Example
If you’ve ever been in a relationship long enough, you’ve lived it.
You say, “I’m tired.”
Your partner hears, “I don’t want to spend time with you.”
You say, “I need space.”
They hear, “I don’t love you anymore.”
You say, “This isn’t working.”
They hear, “You’re not enough.”
Whole marriages fall apart on mismatched translations like that. Two people who care deeply about each other but can’t bridge the gap between what was said and what was heard.
I remember once saying to someone I loved, “I just need silence.”
I meant exactly that. Quiet. A moment to breathe. A way to calm the storm inside me before speaking again.
She thought I meant, “I don’t want to hear your voice.”
And so she lashed out. I lashed back. We bled each other with words that missed the target.
It took me years to learn that sometimes the most loving thing you can do is to stop, breathe, and define your terms before the damage begins.
Why It Happens
Talking past people happens for a handful of reasons.
We use the same words but assign them different meanings. “Success.” “Love.” “Respect.” Ask ten people what those mean and you’ll get ten definitions.
We come from different places. One person is stuck in the present—rent due, bills stacked. The other is floating in the future—dreams, possibilities, “someday.” Same conversation, two different clocks.
We assume too much. We think people know what we mean without ever spelling it out. And then we get angry when they don’t.
It’s like playing cards with different rules. One person thinks aces are high. The other thinks they’re low. You can play for hours before you realize you’ve been scoring different games.
📚 All of my stories began on Substack. Now, The Quiet Miracle and Earned, Not Given are here — new releases, available now on Amazon. ✨
The Cost
The cost of talking past people isn’t just frustration. It’s distance.
I’ve lost deals because of it.
I’ve lost moments with family because of it.
I’ve lost friendships that didn’t need to end, only needed clarity.
One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that sometimes it isn’t the big betrayals that break bonds. It’s the small, constant misfires of meaning. Day after day. Year after year. You think you’re building connection, but really you’re stacking bricks between you.
When words turn into walls, this book shows you how to build a bridge—Crucial Conversations.
Learning to Listen
I had to learn the hard way.
Now when I’m in a conversation that feels crooked, I stop.
I say, “Hold on. What do you mean by that?”
I say, “When I use this word, here’s what I mean. Does that match you?”
I slow it down. Not because I like slowing down—I don’t. I’m impatient by nature. But because I’ve learned speed is the enemy of clarity.
I practice active listening. Not just waiting to reply, but listening for the clues under the words. The shift in tone. The pause. The sigh. Sometimes the truth hides there more than in the sentences.
And I match my style when I can. If someone’s speaking from the heart, I don’t bury them in logic. If someone’s locked in details, I don’t float away on philosophy. I meet them where they are. Or I try to.
The Hard Part
The hardest part is admitting when I’ve been the one talking past someone else.
It’s easy to think of myself as the victim. The one not understood. The one banging my head against a wall.
But I know the truth. I’ve been guilty too.
I’ve been the guy nodding at words I thought I understood, only to respond with something miles off.
I’ve been the one who missed the point because I was too wrapped up in my own.
I’ve been the one who made someone else feel invisible while thinking I was right there with them.
That realization is humbling.
It’s also freeing.
Because once you see it in yourself, you can start fixing it.
What I’ve Learned
Here’s what I’ve carried with me:
Don’t assume words mean the same thing to everyone. Stop and ask.
Don’t argue until you know you’re on the same battlefield. Define the ground first.
Don’t confuse defending yourself with being understood. They’re not the same.
Don’t let pride stop you from admitting you’ve missed the point. Pride builds walls faster than any argument.
I’ve learned that conversations are like building bridges. Each side has to send beams toward the middle. If only one side builds, the span never meets.
Closing Reflection
Talking past people is frustrating, yes. But it’s also human.
We’re not built to think alike. We’re built to wrestle with meaning, to stumble, to miss, to try again.
The trick is not to let the misses harden into walls.
I think back to that client years ago. I wonder how different the meeting would’ve been if I’d stopped and said, “When you say energy savings, what do you mean?”
I think back to that fight with my brother. I wonder if I’d asked, “What do you need from me?” instead of rattling off my chore list.
I think back to the love I lost because silence meant one thing to me and another to her. I wonder if we could have spared each other the wounds if we’d only slowed down long enough to check the dictionary between us.
Life is too short to spend it shouting across gaps that don’t need to exist.
So now, when I catch myself in that fog, I try to pause.
I ask. I listen.
And if nothing else, I walk away knowing I at least swung at the right target.
That’s all anyone can do—try to hear, try to be heard, and keep building the bridge until the words meet in the middle.
- Rinaldo
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What began as daily reflections on Substack has grown into full books. You can now find them on Amazon, Remi’s Journey, Rediscovering Vancouver, and Dancing Letters.
Inspiration for This Story.
We all know the frustration of speaking plain words and watching them miss the mark. Too often, we use the same language but live in different meanings. That gap can break deals, friendships, even families. But it doesn’t have to. The lesson is simple: slow down, ask, and listen. Define the ground before you fight on it. Don’t assume you’re understood—make sure you are. Conversations aren’t battles to win; they’re bridges to build. And the strength of those bridges decides whether we drift apart or finally meet in the middle.
—John Rinaldo
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Clarity in communication is always necessary since we understand concepts differently and contexts vary. Even after 37 years of marriage, my husband and I need to clarify meanings sometimes and not assume we understand what the other understands by the same thing. You've touched on an important issue!
Really enjoyed reading this and it hit close to home💯❤️❤️❤️