Crunch Time: Let's Talk About Your Conflict

Thoughtful Consequences

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 29 Aug 2026 17:00:56 GMT

“The principal called me from Amy’s elementary school. My third-grader is in trouble,” Lonnie said.

I said, “Okay. You sound worried.”

On this late-October call, in the late afternoon, my friend Lonnie—blond ponytailed, feisty single-mom, and professional accountant—multi-tasked. I could hear the clatter of pans.

Lonnie said, “I’m upset. I think the principal is overreacting. He said, ‘At recess time, Amy wandered away from the group. She crossed the yellow line. She was close to the street. That’s not safe. You need to be firm with her. She needs to have some consequence, some sort of punishment.’”

She asked me, “Don’t you think that’s a bit much? Punishing her? For crossing a yellow line?”

Amy had consistently followed all the classroom rules, according to her mom. Lonnie told me she didn’t take this incident too seriously. “Amy was probably just curious. She’s the exploring type.”

But I knew Amy. This little girl was smart. Was she unconsciously trying to get her mom’s attention?

Lonnie was working full time and attending accounting classes at night. She had to arrange child care two nights per week to advance her career. She told me she felt guilty about spending less time with Amy.

Lonnie said, “Should I try to punish her? She’s such a good kid! I feel stupid taking away anything from a little girl who studies hard and does everything to please me.”

I said, “Let’s start with Step One of the Conflict Crunch. We name your conflict. What do you want, and what is getting in your way?”

She said, “I want to hold Amy accountable, but I refuse to punish her for an innocent lapse in judgment.”

I said, “We’re ready for Step Two. How do you feel?”

She said, “Confused.”

“Where in your body is confusion causing pain?”

“My throat is tight. And now I’m starting to cry.”

We paused for a few minutes. Lonnie got herself a glass of water. After a few seconds, she was ready to continue.

“If you have compassion for yourself as you feel this pain, what does self-compassion sound like?”

Lonnie said, “I’d tell myself, ‘You're doing your best,’ and ‘This is so frustrating and sad.’”

She continued breathing in the emotions of sadness, and frustration, still feeling her body’s alert tensing in her throat. Eventually, she mentioned she was feeling calmer.

Together, we considered all the mothers in the world, overwhelmed by their survival needs, and carving out time to connect with their daughters.

Lonnie said, “Well. There is no shortage of suffering, right?”

On to Step Three. Lonnie saw the positive possibilities for holding Amy accountable:

“Safety for Amy, of course. And then, safety for all the children. The staff has to ensure that children know they are following rules for a good reason.”

I said, “Let’s look at the second part of the named conflict: what is positive about your refusal to blame Amy?’”

We rummaged around in the Conflict Crunch tools, and pulled out the Own It tool: I asked Lonnie this question: “Where are you breaking an important rule, Lonnie?”

Lonnie paused for a while. She said, “Twice a week, I park Amy with my sweet neighbor Cindy in the evening. I hate it, but I have to attend class. I’m violating my ‘family first for evenings’ rule.”

I said, “You might hit the nail on the head if you own the issue of botching an important family rule. It’s worth a try. You can always use authority to teach her a lesson, but try sharing your desire to reinforce the family priority rule. And see if there’s a way to reassure her that you love her.”

When Amy got home from school, Lonnie explained to Amy that the principal had told her that Amy had broken a rule. Then Lonnie went on to tell her daughter, “I want to be sure you know how much I love you, and how important you are to me.”

Lonnie told me that Amy perked up and met her mother’s eyes.

Lonnie continued, “Can you promise me that you will always be careful to not cross the yellow playground line?”

Amy nodded.

Lonnie said, “I have broken a rule to myself—the rule about our family coming first. We will watch our favorite nature show on class afternoons from 4-5. This will be our way of reminding ourselves that we’ll get through this difficult time, and we’ll be able to relax and I can give you a proper meal (this involves fresh corn on the cob, Amy’s favorite) and a hug before you go to Cindy’s house. In a few months, we get to be together all week long, like we always have.”

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Lonnie called to tell me that Amy began to chatter away like her old self, before Lonnie’s rough schedule had elbowed out their family time. Amy’s teacher called Lonnie to reassure her that all was well on the playground again. And Amy seemed more like her old, confident self in class.

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

Your kids may need a simple consequence for having broken a rule. But when they’re hurting from unmet needs, punishment will not do much to motivate change. Instead, check in with yourself and see where you might have lost sight of your parental priorities. You may find that your child is helping you to be a great parent.

I’m thrilled to announce that my book, The Conflict Crunch: How to Turn Conflict Into Opportunity is now available for pre-order on Amazon. To receive a copy on your doorstep on the official publication date of September 29, 2026, please order a copy today. Pre-ordering also helps a debut author get noticed by bookstores and algorithms—your support is greatly appreciated!

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Genie at the Airport

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 22 Aug 2026 17:01:01 GMT

From behind the Southwest counter in Phoenix, the gate agent intoned, Ladies and Gentlemen, your flight will be delayed. For two hours. My husband and I groaned in unison.

The last thing we needed? A long airport wait on the heels of a medical challenge. My husband had run the gauntlet of labs and scans, in and out of a Phoenix hospital for three days. He was tired. I was tired for him. We were itching to head home to San Diego.

He had aced pre-surgery and would return to Phoenix in a few weeks for a three hour operation that was uniquely available at this hospital. The surgery would be complex, but my husband would likely be fine.

And yet, we felt weary. Dashing around in 109 degrees had melted our resolve to stay chipper.

As a person who advocates for finding purpose in all sorts of conflict, I asked myself, Can the inconvenience of a delayed flight deliver meaning and miracles?

Ordering iced tea at the airport restaurant, we noticed fellow travelers, now scrolling for relief. We had a choice: device distraction or useful interaction? Could I play with my Conflict Crunch questions? Was there magic in this minor misery?

I started with Step One—Name It: I was ready to get on with life, but we were trapped in wait mode.

On to Step Two—Feel It: I ventured a deep breath: I breathed in my frustration, and I breathed out compassion for my fatigued soul. But there was more than frustration and fatigue.

As I breathed, I heard an internal voice: What if the surgery doesn’t go well? There are risks! Would my husband be okay?

I noted the overkill. I located tension in my throat as I drew a deep breath. On the out-breath, I slathered on compassion.

Finally, a past experience surfaced. A past with the same medical sights and smells: the white coats, the cafeteria air, and the antiseptic corridors, but with the tragic ending of losing a loved one. Nodding to this loss, I felt its weight. Summoning gratitude, I recognized a spiritual connection.

After a few minutes, my throat relaxed. I closed my eyes, and felt a quieting in my heart.

Returning to the here and now of the airport’s rhythms, I saw that my heroic husband already knew that he’d be fine. I hugged him and asked him about his hopes and fears.

We chatted, joked, and made plans. We enjoyed people-watching. We shared greetings with the passers-by. Emerging from the throng of delayed passengers, a tall, silver-haired gent stopped to chat, asking what we’d been doing in Phoenix.

“Mayo Clinic.”

“Ah.”

Then he got curious.

In fact he wanted to know about my husband’s upcoming surgery.

“This is quite a coincidence. I had the same surgery a few years ago. With wonderful results. Actually, I’m an administrator at a local hospital.”

Our new friend gave us a blow-by-blow description of what to expect. He knew our surgeon—confirming our research, stoking our optimism. He spoke the language of pain management in a way that a patient talks about these things. Our gallant buddy spoke from his heart and his experience.

If we’d been handed a magic lantern, this is the helpful genie we would have conjured.

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

You can make it up that the miraculous is available in your life. You can also make it up that the universe is random. Both may be true.

I hold firm to experience. I’m still thrilled to know that when I practice calming my otherwise fretting mind, I experience a different, happier world. When I choose love over fear, or engagement over escape, the world brightens.

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

In any moment of your day, find a moment to pause. Pull yourself away from the calendar, the email, and the nonstop chatter. You may join the science and wonder of breathing in your emotions, and breathing out compassion. A sense of calm may envelope you. You may savor the rich experience of being a human who bows to the wisdom of the heart.

Even with trivial stuff, ask yourself, Can something good this way come?

P.S. Our patient is rocking the recovery!

The Conflict Crunch: How to Turn Conflict Into Opportunity is now available for pre-order on Amazon! To receive a copy on your doorstep on the official publication date of September 29, 2026, please order a copy today. Pre-ordering also helps a debut author get noticed by bookstores and algorithms—your support is greatly appreciated!

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Victory Breath to The Rescue!

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 17:01:12 GMT

“Do you have a phone?” With urgency, with arms waving, an unfamiliar neighbor—a young woman with long honey-colored hair—rushed down the slope of her driveway to meet me on the sidewalk. At the top of the driveway, a VW Bug’s tailpipe puffed warm exhaust into the cool winter air.

This stranger hyperventilated this message: “My baby is in the car. I can’t believe I locked my baby in the car!”

I unlocked my phone and handed it to her. We climbed back to look through the back-seat side-window to note her baby’s untroubled smile.

This mother’s trembling fingers couldn’t dial so I offered to call 911 for her. As she reported her baby-locked-in-the-running-vehicle incident to the police, I learned her name was Stephanie. Then I spied a large mallet resting on the front tire.

She looked at me and nodded, “Yep, I was about to smash the front side-window.” Never underestimate the panic of a mommy separated from her newborn.

As we waited for the police to arrive, I told her, “In the 1980s, I locked my baby in my Volkswagen Convertible Beetle while its engine chugged away.”

Her furrowed brow cleared. Then laughter. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Nope. My adorable baby girl was two years old. She blinked at me with her big, blue eyes like Tweety Bird. I”ll never forget how panicked I felt when I couldn’t get to her. I had to climb my house’s side fence, jimmy open a bedroom window, crawl through, and retrieve the spare car key. When I finally reached the car to rescue her she was as calm as I’ve ever seen her. I think the Beetle’s clunky vibration was soothing. Maybe you’re in luck with your older model car.”

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Stephanie shook her head with a look of wonder. Suddenly her eyes grew wide. “Oh, my God.”

She ran up the stairs, lifted a potted plant, retrieved the front door key, and rushed in to find the spare for her VW. She burst through the front door and tore down the sloping driveway to open the car door. She hugged her baby, and hugged me.

Stephanie repeatedly thanked the nice police officers for showing up, and she apologized for taking their time. They quipped, “Like us on Yelp.”

Conflict Crunch Take-Away:

Notice what stress does to the caring person. To a larger or smaller degree, your adrenaline bleed is grabbing attention away from your logical solutions.

These are the times that try our human souls. If you’re a normal human, you have personal and professional considerations vying for your attention as well the backdrop of global angst. It’s wise to curb your fight/flight instincts and to nurture your troubled heart.

Try this breathing technique when you’re beside yourself.

Breathe in deeply through your nose.

Silently say, very slowly, "VIC-TO-RY.”

Then breathe slowly out, completely emptying your lungs.

After a few minutes of Victory Breath, you stand a chance of exercising your intelligence.

As summer gives way to fall, we Tiger Mothers of Democracy may need to remind ourselves to breathe. There is a lot at stake in November. Show up, care to involve yourself in protecting what is dear to you, and remember to breathe.

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Not Separate in Suffering

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 01 Aug 2026 17:01:00 GMT

Decades ago, on a blustery winter evening in downtown San Diego, I met my friend Peggy for tea to celebrate my birthday. We’d parked at Horton Plaza, and walked a few blocks to the Horton Grand. This hotel’s white iron filigree brings to mind a wedding cake. Over cucumber sandwiches and scones, we discussed our high school students’ high points. And their high jinks.

Later, passing the hotel’s red-ribboned Christmas tree in the lobby, we exited into the bracing wind. Antique street lamps bounced yellow light off the now-empty pavement.

On our walk to the car, we didn’t see the two men approaching on our left from the dark alley. A empty parked tour-bus loomed on our right.

A tall blond man ran and turned to block our path. His leaner sidekick flanked me on the left. Peggy darted out of their reach and ran into the night towards the mall for help. My mind raced. Now what? I tried to pass them on the side walk. They closed in. The huge bus prevented me—sporting my high heeled boots—from turning to bolt. The dark alley? Nope. And they could easily outrun me if I turned back to the hotel.

The man facing me said, “Do you have change for the bus? We need to get to LA.” My pulse raced.

My conflict, had I had time to articulate it, was this: I want to help people who need help, but I don’t want to encourage theft. Going mano a mano with these guys for a late evening street brawl seemed unwise.

I pulled my bag off my shoulder. As I reached for my wallet, the tall blond guy grabbed my bag. Instinctively, I ripped it back with both hands.

An uneven tug-of-war. Incredibly stupid. People die this way. I was terrified, but I sensed that these guys weren’t going to hurt me. I had less than a few seconds to come up with a response. A reply from my training reached my tongue.

I said, “This is not a win for you, and my strong suggestion is don’t.” Later, Peggy told me she could hear my voice from a block away.

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Inches from my face, my blond would-be aggressor stared at me. After a pause he said, “I’m sorry.”

Stunned, I opened my wallet and handed him enough cash to pay for food. I asked them to be careful. An hour later, soaking in a hot bath, sipping a cup of tea, I felt my body begin to shake.

Tears streamed down my face. I felt suffering and the causes of suffering. Of addiction and the apology of the guy who had grabbed my purse.

Crunch Takeaway:

In less dire straits, it’s useful to remind folks that aggression is not a profound win.

More importantly, it’s wise to remember that we are not separate from those who suffer.

For a rich deep-dive into the long-term responsibility to create a safe, egalitarian populace, listen to Ezra Klein’s interview of Yuvan Noah Harari, Israeli historian and intellectual, in the New York Times opinion section released on May 26, 2026.

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Holiday on ICE?

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 25 Jul 2026 17:00:45 GMT

Gwen, a friend from Minneapolis said, “I think we’re going to bail on hosting Thanksgiving this year.”

Gwen and Mark excel in the fall feast. Their mile-high apple pie resembles a Sunset magazine centerfold. Every year their fragrant hand-crafted harvest wreath makes me think Next year, I’ll try this.

I said, “Why are you bailing?”

“I can’t imagine subjecting our kids to my sister’s husband, Todd. Todd touts his politics, and we’re all miserable. He says things like : ‘I know Trump is awful, but he’s a whole lot better than anyone from your side.’”

She continued, “After ICE officers killed two people on our streets during the protests, we can’t believe that Todd is still indifferent to the abuse of power from this administration. You know?”

I agreed. I had felt sickened when the Minneapolis news first broke. I feel it as the ICE-related tragedies increase in number.

Gwen said, “We considered taking our teenagers on vacation instead of hosting the holiday, but that feels so hollow.”

Gwen was ready to crunch her conflict.

For Step One, I asked Gwen what she wanted, AND what stood in her way. After a few attempts with pen to paper, Gwen came up with:

“I want to host Thanksgiving, but I can’t stomach Todd’s careless indifference to our national plight.”

We were ready for Step Two: to name her emotional response to the conflict. Gwen named “sadness.” She explained, “I’m sad that he doesn’t care how we feel.”

Step Two asks for emotional awareness. With eyes closed, Gwen and I breathed in and out slowly. After about four breaths, I asked Gwen to put her attention on a muscle that might be pinging with tension. Her throat? Her stomach? Her neck?

Gwen said, “I feel my jaw clenching.”

“Okay. Let’s picture sadness tensing your jaw as we breathe in. Then let’s breathe out a thought of compassion.”

Gwen said, “Nothing compassionate comes to mind.”

How about, “I’m so sorry this is happening.”

She said, “That’s true.”

Gwen and I continued our focused breathing for a few more breaths.

We then imagined families torn by political trauma. In came our awareness of sadness, out went a sense of justice and safety for all beings.

We were ready for Step Three, to embrace both sides of Gwen’s conundrum.

What’s good about wanting a traditional Thanksgiving?:

Gwen came up with these considerations:

Our kids help in the kitchen. We start with waffles and apple cider, early enough to stuff the turkey. It’s fun to bicker over chestnuts versus plain.
We have photographs with our parents from every year. It’s the one time we all get together.
I want to teach our kids to be powerful without cancelling relationships.

Gwen and I rummaged through the Conflict Crunch Tool Kit for positive possibilities. Was there a way to find something positive in Gwen’s inability to stomach Todd’s political baiting?

Gwen and Mark could host Thanksgiving and still be honest and authentic.
It might make a difference to share their feelings with Todd and Marcy before the family gathering.
They could institute the Yellow Flag Rule. This rule allows anyone to politely say, “Yellow Flag” if/when someone at the table launches an “alternate fact.” Taking a five minute break to peruse FactCheck.org (approved by the League of Women Voters) invites an invisible mediator into the room.

Gwen and Mark followed through. They shared their feelings with Marcy and Todd over a breakfast meeting. Gwen practiced beforehand. “I feel sad when you tease us about politics because we care deeply about justice and we feel traumatized by recent violence.”

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Gwen called me immediately following the breakfast conversation. She said, “Todd looked stunned when we faced him with our true feelings. He said, “I had no idea you were really upset.”

Gwen continued, “Then he excused himself. When he came back to the table, he tried to change the subject to sports, but we told him about the Yellow Flag solution. And he agreed to cooperate. He agreed to fact checks. Over a second cup of coffee, Todd, for the first time in recent memory, spoke with respect and he listened. We talked about our kids.”

And, yes, Thanksgiving is on.

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

Refusing to cooperate with your own diminishment may involve confronting an unpleasant micro-aggression from a person near to you. If this is a family member or a friend, try sharing your feelings—without a hint of drama or aggression. Your honesty gives your nemesis a moment to consider whether or not they care about your feelings.

If they’re new to experiencing emotions, it’s perfectly acceptable to remind them, “Relationship means we care about how the other person feels. If we don’t care, we don’t actually have a relationship. Valuing our family relationship matters to us.”

See what happens next.

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Insomnia at Sea

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 18 Jul 2026 17:00:33 GMT

My husband crab-walked to the bed. He grabbed his gut and groaned. I fought nausea as I collapsed onto the sitting room couch. I moaned my seasick complaint.

Waves off the coast of Norway reached our windows on the fifth deck of our cruise ship. The Windstar Pride rode the swells. Up . . . Up . . . Up . . . and a swift . . . Boom . . . as our ship slammed the sea.

My conflict? I wanted to sleep, but, come on! High seas had pitched that option out the window. I wanted calm BUT the entire sea was the obstacle in my way. How could a Conflict Crunch reflection possibly make a difference?

Despite my serious doubts, I jumped in.

I named my conflict—Conflict Crunch’s first step in finding clarity:

I wanted to sleep, but the sea was a beast.

I breathed with attention to my sick gut, and breathed out compassion. Compassion for me, and for all at sea. I secretly suspected that the I-love-the-rocking-motion bravado of our fellow-cruisers was an exaggeration.

After framing my conflict, i.e. seeing what I wanted and what stood in the way, and after setting aside a few seconds to feel compassion for our suffering selves, I had an epiphany. Kundalini yoga’s tried-and-true Left Nostril Breathing might help. My husband was already snoring gently. According to the National Library of Medicine’s report on Motion Sickness, women are more affected by mal de mer than men. My yuck was clearly out-performing his. Could I conquer my sloshy misery?

Decades ago, I had learned Left Nostril breathing practice from David Shannahoff-Khalsa (that last name is an honorific title). If you’re curious about how this works, read on.

Left Nostril Breathing activates the parasympathetic nervous system. This practice increases serotonin, lowers blood pressure, de-escalates anxiety, and calms the body. Could Kundalini Yoga’s breathing practice reach my seasick self? I’ll share the practice here:

Sit comfortably with feet on the ground. (I sat cross-legged on the nubby blue sofa).
Close the right nostril with your right thumb, and breathe in only through your left nostril for the duration of this practice. Breathe in for 8 seconds; hold your breath for 8 seconds; breathe out for 8 seconds; hold for 8 seconds. Repeat. Do this for 11 minutes.
Expanding the interval-duration to 15 seconds—i.e. Breathe in for 15 seconds; hold for 15 seconds, breathe out for 15 seconds; hold for 15 seconds—delivers a sense of elation and palpable calm.
You can begin with the interval timing that works. Even starting small—with only 8 second intervals or shorter—you will likely feel a quieting.

From David’s website:

From 2011 to the present, David Shannahoff-Khalsa has been a member of the University of California, San Diego, Center for Integrative Medicine. From 2008 to the present, he has served as a consultant and yoga therapist at the Department of Psychiatry, University of California San Diego, Executive Mental Health Program, Center for Wellness and Personal Growth. From July 2009 to the present, Shannahoff-Khalsa has been Director of The Research Group for Body-Mind Dynamics, BioCircuits Institute, University of California, San Diego, previous to which (1994-June 2009) he served as Director of The Research Group for Body-Mind Dynamics, Institute for Nonlinear Science, University of California, San Diego. David Shannahoff-Khalsa has served as a Senior Editor of the Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine since 2009.

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Back to the ship . . .

Against all odds, within about 20 minutes (I needed more relief than the recommended 11 minute stint could deliver), my cold sweat ceased, my stomach settled, and I had access to my logical mind. Given our captain’s instructions, I knew we were safe. I became curious. Could I enjoy the ride?

Having completed my Kundalini breathing, I followed the rhythm of the sea. How long would our ship rise on the surge before we would thump? Panic gave way to fascination. I enjoyed noticing the rise, as my breath climbed with the ship. On the down swoop, I allowed my breath to whoosh out. Rain painted rivulets of silver on the window. I followed the shimmer of rain’s reflection of light against a backdrop of gray and foamy sea. With my now-gentle breathing, I snuggled into my pillow and fell sound asleep.

When you name your conflict, you engage your logic.

Feeling emotion and sending yourself compassion deliver objectivity. You begin to imagine possible solutions, not available when you’re in the throes of panic.

Reassurance from science: the aforementioned article from the National Library of Medicine notes, Behavioral countermeasures against motion sickness are among the most effective treatments . . . Short-term maneuvers include . . . controlled, mindful breathing.

Who knew?

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

Whether at sea, or at home, make peace with the unwanted . . . starting with a calming breath. For a profound peace, give Kundalini Yoga a try.

Happy sailing!

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Buck the Naysayer Within

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 11 Jul 2026 17:01:31 GMT

Beach time! I’d finished grocery shopping early in my schedule, so I had time for a walk along the shore. I headed down the narrow alley in my car to find parking by Windansea Beach, a rocky outpost favored by the surfing community.

Just then, a behemoth truck turned into the narrow alley’s far end and lumbered towards me.

Dr. Seuss fans might imagine two hairy Zax who refuse to budge. The stand-off lasts years. Cities are built around their impasse.

As my personal Zax showed no sign of ceding pavement, despite my having “dibs” since I’d arrived first on this stretch of alleyway, I took the higher road, so to speak. I reverse-chugged my car, ever so slowly, turning the wheel to back into the parking lot whence I’d come, and then I heard the crackle of metal on metal.

I had crunched the driver-side door into a solid steel pole. No good deed goes unpunished!

This self-inflicted wound would be bad enough by itself, but I instantly recalled having pulled this maneuver a few decades earlier at a Nordstrom parking lot in Fashion Valley when I was outmatched by a concrete wall.

And now, at this new humbling moment, the truck lumbered past me. I extricated my car from the wretched steel pole, and pulled over. Yup. I’d collapsed my car’s handle into the car door, maximizing the damage.

My first instinct was to blame the truck driver. Then to blame myself. I should have seen the short, lethal pole.

Then I stopped myself. Instead of tap-dancing to negative vibes and main-lining more adrenalin, I breathed in a deep gust of fresh sea air. On my out-breath, I forced every molecule of air out of my lungs. I did this repeatedly. I felt the robust breathing as a gesture of defiance. A few minutes passed, and then this happened:

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

I forced open my car door, and I laughed. I would not spend another minute of my life beating myself up for mistakes that I would make. Even the are-you-kidding me? I did this again? mistakes. Instead, I returned to the market for an organic popsicle—the fresh watermelon kind.

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

Ignore your ego’s voice—the voice trying to reprimand you when you inadvertently bump into trouble. Breathe, feel, and take a few minutes to give yourself a radical gift of kindness.

Treat yourself like a good friend. Be of good cheer just when your ego tells you that self-punishment will help. It really won’t. Be the parent who holds you rather than scolds you. Be the Department of Connections rather than the Department of Corrections.

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Conflict Takes Flight

Phyllis Olins — Sun, 05 Jul 2026 21:00:31 GMT

My husband and I dragged ourselves up three flights of stairs to our rented condo, sweat dripping off our faces, our open-weave totes bursting with bottles of filtered water, and our patience running dry. In December of 2022, our sleepy-fishing-village holiday in Zihuatanejo, Mexico had turned into an endura-thon when the condo’s air conditioner broke and the tropical climate mocked our flimsy coping strategies—hydration and listless fans. Zihuatanejo has charmed us for more than a decade. But with this heat wave, endless nights of insomnia spelled no más. We decided to cut our trip short.

With tenacious online maneuvering, my husband booked a flight home. The next morning, at the Zihuatanejo airport, ticket agent Laura greeted us with wide smile. She clicked her keyboard to access the flight roster. Then she frowned. She tapped a few more keys. She shook her head. “You’re not on this flight.”

I glanced at my husband. He stared at the agent in disbelief. He then delivered a logical explanation; we certainly were booked. Yesterday an airline agent had confirmed our reservations—orally and in writing. That guy had charged us two hundred dollars online for our change of plans. As Laura continued to explain that we were not on her roster, my husband’s eyes grew wide with concern.

You may be thinking: this is hardly a conflict. However, fatigue and heat shortened our fuses. Holiday-urgent passengers with bulky suitcases pressed forward. Frustrated travelers behind us muttered their disapproval at our delaying of their check-in.

In this unsettling moment at the airport, I went through the first few steps of The Conflict Crunch. Step One—Name the Conflict. Simple: I wanted to go home, but my husband and the agent were arguing instead of solving the problem. Step Two—Experience Emotions. In this public place, could I feel my feelings?

I turned away from the dispute. I listened to the rhythmic whoosh of the airport’s automatic doors as sweat trickled down my face onto my neck. I breathed in, feeling the tension in my throat. I breathed out slowly, completely emptying my lungs. I grounded my feet on the marble floor, picturing strong roots growing from my feet through the marble, through the concrete, into the earth. I envisioned my spiritual roots growing even thicker and twisting deeper.

I practiced non-attachment; It wouldn’t kill us to stay in Mexico for a few more days. No one was bleeding from the eyeballs, and my over-reaction would not be helpful. I continued to breathe deeply.

Next, I zeroed in on my body’s reaction. Anxiety had tightened my throat. I took a moment to feel that tension, and breathe out compassion for myself.

I then imagined all beings on the planet who were currently displaced; I saw the faces of human beings fleeing from climate extremes and from political chaos. In a flash, my so-called conflict shrank to its realistic size. I felt compassion. I breathed out a prayer: May they be free from the causes of suffering.

Finally, I returned to our airport conundrum. My first instinct was to scold my husband, Why are you arguing with this agent? Can’t you see you’re making her more defensive? Instead of following my judgmental instincts, I softened my heart enough to exercise logic.

I reached for a tool from Chapter Three to examine my own behavior. This awareness strategy is called “disowned self.” Once I admitted that I too was frustrated—we had evidence that we’d paid for our new tickets—I stopped judging my husband. I felt compassion for his frustration.

I didn’t need to correct or to instruct. I could hold out the possibility, by suggestion, that they were trying their best. Instead of looking for flaws, I looked for evidence of their civility and maturity.

I faced Laura and my husband.

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Rather than chastising them, I commended both of them for their command of extraordinary patience. I felt affection for them, and expressed my gratitude for their willingness to find a solution. I explained, “After all, you’re both certain that you are right. No one is getting ugly. You are trying to explain the problem, and you’re hoping that that will help.”

My husband, noting my thinly-veiled nudge, laughed, “I’m the only one being impatient here.”

He quickly made a course-correction to a softer approach, asking positive questions that held potential solutions.

The ticket agent, no longer defending the airline’s position, was free to advise and help. Now our gracious agent found available seats. She advised that we report the fraudulent online agent to the Better Business Bureau.

We did manage to get on that flight. But more than that, with the help of Conflict Crunch’s basic training, we had responded to our mini-conflict with a pinch of awareness instead of reactive aggression. On a borrowed sheet of paper, using the tall counter as a raised desk, I wrote a quick note to our agent’s boss, commending Laura for her helpful pivot in a sticky situation.

What had just happened? I’d named the conflict, felt my emotions, and owned the behavior that I was judging.

By leading with compassion and positive possibilities, I could stop myself from adding mass to our conflict.

Finally, we gained perspective and recognized the plight of the truly displaced. Once home, our awareness and contribution to the refugee crisis expanded.

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

When you’re caught in a conflict, rather than launching into the fray, take a time out. Walk to a quiet place. See the conflict. Feel your emotions.

Now, think of one positive suggestion that might turn the tide. Rather than judging the mess, see a tiny glimmer of good. Breathe life into that little spark. Insist on the basic goodness of those around you. When you do, they may jump to the challenge.

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Transcending Tara’s Tantrum

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 27 Jun 2026 17:00:55 GMT

I don’t give a crap.

Tara, a high school sophomore of burgundy lipstick and long, black trench coat had tossed her D-minus graded exam onto the floor next to my desk.

I felt a sharp pang of sadness. Tara’s daily greetings and lively class participation were now a distant memory.

Obviously, Tara had a problem. And obviously, she didn’t want to discuss it with me. But Tara’s problem was now my problem, as her defiance was getting the attention of the students close to my desk.

Rather than reacting to Tara’s outburst, I said, “I want to know what’s happening. Please see me after school.”

She shrugged, “Whatever.”

After school, when she slumped into her desk, I said, “What’s up?”

Tara blasted me with a rapid-fire verbal attack that stunned me with its volume and force.

The teacher from the adjoining classroom opened his door. “Are you all right in here? I can call the assistant principal.”

I said, “We’re fine.” To his credit, Jim closed the door.

I turned to Tara. “I’m not going away. You’re a great student and a good person, and your character has always been above reproach.”

Telling a wildly inappropriate student that her terrible behavior is not like her has yet to elicit an argument. This was my trusted student, not a total stranger, so I knew a better angel lurked behind her long black bangs and coal-black eyeliner.

Tara dropped her defensive posturing. She blurted out, through sobs, “My boyfriend is giving me crystal methamphetamine at parties. I’ve been trying it and I’m scared. And my parents are fighting about their business, and they are probably going to get a divorce.”

I said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. You’re going to need some help. I can support you in all of this, but you’re going to have to tell your parents the truth about your problems and about your fears.”

I called her parents, and they agreed to meet.

At our meeting with her parents, Tara told them of her acting out behavior and of her fear that they would divorce.

Her parents blinked with astonishment.

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Tara’s parents apologized to her for their contentious arguments. The whole family agreed to counseling. Over time, Tara returned to her true self with sober support, and with her college ambitions intact.

Conflict Crunch Takeaway

There is no shortage of suffering in the world. Whenever possible, take a deep breath and feel compassion for yourself in the painful moments of contention and distress. Then look for the good in your fellow sufferers, even when they’re hissing with disrespect and/or challenging your patience. Insist that they have good in them. See what happens next.

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Old Friends, New Affection

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 20 Jun 2026 17:01:16 GMT

“You’re obviously out of your league here, George.” My friend Sarah’s glare telegraphed hostility. Sarah is a friend I’d not seen since eighth grade. She had traveled from the midwest to La Jolla, my new home town, and had texted, Meet me for lunch at the beach?

Sarah had seemed unchanged except for the gray in her long, dark hair. She was athletic and lanky and thrilled to be in Southern California for a professional conference.

Earlier, we’d enjoyed pasta, and then had meandered to the boardwalk, ice cream dripping over cones and sticking to our napkins. I had introduced her to George, a local restaurant-manager friend who bumped into us on the sandy boardwalk. We stopped to comment on kayakers paddling high over breaking waves.

When George teased Sarah about her Chicago accent—George exaggerated the word Chicago with all the nasal “a” he could muster—Sarah bristled and launched the out-of-your-league slight, denigrating his poor attempt at humor.

I winced at Sarah’s outsized insult. I thought, That went wrong in so many ways. After George pulled himself together, he climbed the hotel restaurant’s stairs to return to work, hazarding a goodbye wave.

Sarah smirked. “I put him in his place.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. My embarrassment vied with disappointment. She’s out of control! I’ll cancel tomorrow’s plans.

I wanted to cherish my childhood friend, but I reeled at her aggressive put-down. It was time for me to Crunch my conflict. Having named the conflict, I could next address my emotions.

First I breathed in my disappointment. Nature’s soundtrack of crashing waves and shrieking gulls calmed my busy mind. I felt compassion for my disappointed self.

Once calm, I wondered if my friend’s aggression masked a deep insecurity. Then I asked myself a classic Crunch question, Can you see yourself in Sarah’s behavior? Where in your life does insecurity lead to aggression?

Could I own that same defensiveness in myself? Did I have something to learn here?

I am marketing my book in anticipation of its publication this fall. This sales-pitch season dredges up memories of my five-year-old-self selling lemonade on the corner. I remember marketing PhoneMate at the Broadway Department store in Los Angeles as a college student. In the case of the lemonade, no customers. With PhoneMate, I actually talked people out of buying the device.

Seeing my own insecurity, I felt motivated to tell the truth. Publicity rattles me.

Then it dawned on me:

I’m unconsciously questioning my worth not only as an author but also as a human being.

As the book nears its publication, I have begun slinking around my life with an I-really-have-no-idea-what-I’m-doing sense of alarm. I am excelling in the imposter syndrome part of the author’s journey.

What happened after I saw my insecurity? I saw that my friend might be suffering from terrible self-doubt, just like me. My condemnation of Sarah shifted to concern.

Conflict Crunch Clincher

Instead of punishing my friend (I’d probably have passive/aggressive’d her with my grim face) I asked Sarah to sit with me on a park bench. I said, “Tell me more about putting people in their place.”

Sarah said, “When I was a kid, I felt like I had to defend myself all the time. Mom was drunk almost every day. I couldn’t invite friends over after school. She didn’t pay bills, and we didn’t see any of the aunts, uncles and cousins, even on holidays.”

Sarah cried as we talked. Her tough-kid-on-the-block persona gave way to a vulnerable and sensitive friend. Paradoxically, she seemed stronger as she told me the truth.

Now I look forward to my FaceTime chats with Sarah. Her humor tickles my memories of childhood antics. She’s taken to crunching a few of her meatier conflicts.

As for me? Imposter syndrome is giving way to “Oh, who cares?” Letting go of perfection is helping enormously here.

As for George, he later said, “Maybe I can lighten up on the ribbing.” Not bad, George.

Conflict Crunch Takeaway

When we convince ourselves that we are victims, we give ourselves permission to cause harm. We insult total strangers, or we judge our friends and ignore their pain. We may even attack ourselves in challenging moments. If judging and demeaning worked, we could endorse our aggressive tendencies. But the satisfaction is short-lived.

Instead of hatred, feeling affection for our insecure selves might be helpful. Discovering the universality of human vulnerability feels like power. Extending compassion feels whole.

“Somebody must have sense enough and morality enough to cut off the chain of hate and the chain of evil in the universe. And you do that by love.”

—Martin Luther King, Junior

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Polite? Schmolite!

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 13 Jun 2026 17:01:07 GMT

In June of 2026, with atmospheric and political temperatures rising, Sheila and I met at the local smoothie bar to discuss her recent couple-kerfuffle. Sheila said, “I can’t believe that my husband Roger and I are squabbling.”

I said, “Tell me more.”

Sheila continued, “Roger and I went to a dinner party last night. My friend Luz tossed out a question: ‘What do you think of Trump’s cover up of the Epstein files?’ The host, Tom, dismissed her concerns: ‘The Epstein files will blow over in no time.’ So, I said, ‘I don’t agree, Tom. The need for justice won’t blow over for the girls who were victimized by these monsters. Epstein’s foreign pervert pals are investigated and punished.’”

Sheila continued, “My push-back killed the dinner conversation, and we left early. On our way home, Roger asked me, ‘Why did you challenge Tom? He won’t change his mind. If anything, Tom will dig in his heels.’

Roger was white-hot angry with me last night, and I’m not pleased with him.”

I asked Sheila, “What do you want from this experience?”

Sheila said, “I want to make peace with Roger, but I am disappointed that he failed to take my side.”

I said, “What are you feeling right now?”

She said, “Mostly sadness and frustration.”

“Okay, where do you feel these emotions in your body?”

“I feel my chest tightening and my throat swelling.”

Sheila and I breathed together for a few minutes. With each in-breath, Sheila focused on her physical tension. On each out-breath, she sent herself compassion—I’m so sorry this is painful.

Next, we envisioned fellow-sufferers on the planet who might share Sheila’s sadness and frustration with high tensions in stressful times. There were legions, of course. We sent them lovingkindness.

With a newfound calm, we were ready for the next step of the Conflict Crunch inquiry. I said, “There’s so much good in your wanting to make peace with Roger. Let’s notice what’s great about that.”

Sheila said:

I know that there is common ground here somewhere. Our disagreement is really about style of communication rather than substance of our beliefs.
We care about each other’s feelings,
And we’re passionate about saving our struggling democracy.”

I said, “Now the Crunch challenge: What’s good about his failure to take your side.?”

Sheila said,

Our relationship doesn’t require us to always agree.
I’m proud of being true to my self.
His concern about my delivery could motivate me to sharpen my persuasive skills.

Sheila and I agreed that she is wise to advocate for those who are victimized.

And she was ready to persuade more powerfully. Could Sheila benefit from understanding Tom’s confirmation bias? She might begin to understand how Tom could tune out the tragedies of child molestation.

Research tells us that the human brain stores information from a perceived foe in a sort of cerebral spam file. Tom hears about the Epstein files from outside his political tribe, and he stores the information in a part of the brain that dismisses the reliability of the information. (See Lilliana Marsha’s Uncivil Agreements for a scientific explanation of confirmation bias theory).

Sheila said, “So what makes a difference with people like Tom who act as if human trafficking is okay?”

I said, “Over time, people may flip if they feel mounting anxiety because their core values are violated. We’re beginning to see former Trump loyalists peel away.

Also, people learn through example. Peaceful protests demonstrate strength of conviction.

Sheila and I discussed more Conflict Crunch theory: In a crisis, you may be hoping to find the right action or the right thing to say to garner support for your cause.

But, we cannot know in advance which of our gestures might make a difference.

Whether in our personal lives, our work environment, or on the political front, when we’re caught in a conflict we can reduce our stress by understanding that our efforts are merely symbolic gestures. We say something or do something that we hope will make a difference. We hope. We don’t know for certain. We swing at the ball. We miss. We swing at the ball again.

Then there was this ironic twist:

“You can’t know for certain that your dinner party comment fell on deaf ears. Picture Tom and his wife Natalie washing dishes after the party. She hands him the towel to dry dishes, and says, ‘You know, Tommy, I have to agree with Sheila. These women are still carrying the shame. One of them killed herself after revealing her story. It may be time to take a stand for the victims.’”

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Roger joined us at the smoothie bar. Sheila and I shared our conversation’s high notes with Roger. Sheila said, “I’ll work on my delivery, but I hope you support me.” Roger said, “Of course.”

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

Take a look at the Buddhist tradition called Right Speech:

We aspire to speak truthfully, kindly and helpfully. The goal is to use speech to create harmony and reduce suffering.

Asking questions like, Why do you say that? And What do you hope for? can reflect your curiosity. Your ability to listen to your detractors sets the stage for equanimity.

If you’re looking for a powerful role model for equanimity, think Pete Buttigieg!

Finally, take good care of yourself.

Especially for today,

May you be happy,

peaceful,

healthy,

safe,

at ease,

free from suffering,

And free from the causes of suffering.

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Conflict as Crème Brulée

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 30 May 2026 17:01:16 GMT

“I feel so angry I could spit.” Petite Trina of long blond hair had called me for help regarding a marital rift. We met at the Flower Pot Cafe in La Jolla. Privacy by way of soft music and spacious seating.

Trina said, “Tim (Trina’s tall husband) found a tree trimmer online. Joe came to give us an estimate to remove a whole bunch of trees.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, our neighbor Jenny also wants her tree cut down.”

“Fine.”

“But every time I tried to ask the tree guy about Jenny’s tree, Tim cut me off.”

“Keep going.”

“What rattled me was Tim’s glare.”

I said, “What do you want, Trina? And what stands in your way?”

“I want good marriage, but I’m afraid Tim is morphing into a monster.”

I said, Let’s go to Step Two: “How do you feel?”

“I’m still fuming.”

I asked her where she felt her anger in her body.

“My neck is tight.”

I asked Trina to get familiar with the tightening. “Breathing in, can you see the taut muscles of your neck in your mind’s eye? On your out-breath, can you soothe yourself with a word or two of compassion?”

“Okay, I”ll try, but I have no compassion for myself. I’m feeling too angry.”

“Try again. Breathe in, focus on your neck. Then when you breathe out, just say the word ‘compassion.’”

After a long while Trina said, “My neck is feeling better, and I guess I just want to feel loved.”

I asked her to consider every frustrated mate, and to send them compassion.

Trina laughed. “That’s a lot of people.”

I nodded, “At any given moment, of course.”

Trina was visibly more relaxed.

After a few minutes, we were ready for Step Three. I asked Trina what was positive about wanting a great marriage. “I love our familiarity. And our shared humor and values.”

“What’s good about being afraid that he’s turning into a total jerk? Can you describe the behavior that pushed your buttons?”

“He glared at me!”

This was the moment in Step Three where Owning Your Conflict can crack the surface of a fierce grudge.

“Tell me about the last time that you glared at Tim.”

“I would never do that!”

“Think about it. Have you distanced him without realizing it?”

Long pause.

A few sips of coffee.

“Okay . . . it’s tax season, so I’ve not been able to talk with him. Tim understands that I’m having to file for clients, so I hold up my hand and I won’t let him in my office.”

“I wonder how he felt in those moments.”

“Wow. Not great.”

Owning the same behavior that she had earlier condemned in Tim, Trina’s eyes grew wide. “I was impatient. I don’t think I looked very lovingly at him. In fact, I may have glared at him. But I was stressed.”

I said, “Before you go, what else is good in being afraid that he’s turning into a monster.”

“Okay. It’s good that I want to be treated with respect. AND we’re pretty good about sharing emotions most of the time.”

Trina practiced communicating her feelings. These were Tina’s words to share later: I felt confused when you cut me off because it seemed like you hated me. You looked so angry.

Trina said, “But I want to tell him first that I’m sorry for cutting him off all week.”

She then added, “I was certain that Tim didn’t love me when he glared at me. Tim was trying to focus on the tree task. Just like I was trying to focus on work. He probably doesn’t hate me.

When my dad left the family, I was little. I think I was feeling that same panicky feeling I felt about my angry dad.”

Later, Trina called. “I apologized to Tim for my cold glare. I told him, ‘No more tax tyrant. I’ll take more breaks to be together.’ Then I shared the part about feeling scared when he glared at me.”

Trina paused and her voice caught, “He cared. He apologized. He said he was just stressed out.”

I asked her to add a little communication starter for evenings: a light conversation prompt to end each day. Each person can weigh in, answering three simple questions regarding the day’s events:

Three Simple Prompts

Name:

A good thing.

A challenging thing.

A unexpected moment of grace.

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Sweetness ensued. Here’s the cool part. Taxes and trees weren’t the root causes of distress. What gnarly challenges lay beneath this couple’s cold glares? After long chats —see the three simple prompts above—deeper challenges surfaced. For Tim? A scary surgery waited around the corner. For Trina? A flood of tech-related complications in filing.

Tim would need more time, information, and reassurance to face the next month with grace. Trina? A tech assistant for the next three weeks turned the tables on her irritation. Their Conflict Crunch action plan included a few beach picnics.

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

If you’re in a white-hot rage, try owning the behavior that you’re about to condemn. Crack beneath that hard surface of outrage to find the sweetness of connection. Serve with blueberries.

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Sleepless in San Diego

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 23 May 2026 17:01:18 GMT

Elaine said, “Is anyone here getting any sleep?” The war in Iran was just revving up.

Are-you-kidding! guffaws exploded from our feisty writers group that morning on Zoom. In our non-writing lives, two members practice psychotherapy; I weigh in as conflict counselor; and Elaine trots the globe, culling material for her next travel article.

We had, all of us, dragged ourselves through the past eight weeks, since the start of America’s war with Iran. We are dizzy with distrust, and sleepless with the stark reality of war.

Elaine continued, “I’ve tried long walks, herbal tea, activism and writing, but the subconscious revs up its engines at 3 a.m. I don’t want to take Ambien!”

I was making-do with five hours instead of my longed-for eight hours per night. I was ready to Crunch the heck out of this plaguing problem.

There is nothing good about insomnia, right? Insomnia renders us sandy-eyed, grouchy and physically depleted. Long-term insomnia threatens our safety on the road and cuts years off our lives. Not great.

Anticipating the awareness that blossoms from answering the Conflict Crunch questions, I picked my head up off the desk and willed myself into action.

As a Conflict Cruncher—a person who transcends everyday conflicts—I looked forward to digging deeper into my dilemma. I ambled into the guest room, fluffed the pillows, and hunkered down to the journal page.

When insomnia snuggles up next to you and chats you up in the wee hours of the morning, what recourse do you have? Here’s my invitation: answer the same questions that I’m answering. You will have your own unique take!

Here we go: The Conflict Crunch:

Step One: What do you want, and what is getting in your way?:

I want to sleep but my brain races with calamitous thoughts like, “Really? No exit plan for this war?”

I was ready for the second step.

Step Two asks: What emotions do you feel and where do you feel them? I felt a pounding fear that begged for attention.

I dragged out the old navy blue meditation cushion and settled into reflection. I breathed in. Hello, fear. I felt an ache above my eyebrows. On the out-breath I filled my heart with compassion, You’re doing your best to cope. On the in-breath, I felt the pinging of my headache. On the out-breath, I uttered more words of kindness, You’ll get through this.

My head’s throbbing lost intensity as I breathed in deeply and exhaled with an abundance of soothing thoughts.

Next, I pictured terrified people throughout the world, coping with war’s destruction. As I breathed in and out, as I felt sadness, anger and grief, I recognized emotions that I’d been holding in check for weeks.

If we are not separate from others, we feel each others’ pain. Or we seek ways to numb our discomfort. I saw how grief-avoidance had invited in childhood cravings: tell-tale Netflix binge-watching ? Pumpkin-spice Snickerdoodles? Both bogarted my reading and meditation. I showed the restraint of an off-leash golden retriever. With Step Two’s bath of awareness, I held close my sadness, fear and anger as sacred advisors.

Step Three: It was time to embrace my conflict. I got to ask myself, What is good about what you want? And then, Can you find purpose in what you don’t want?

What was great about wanting sleep? Sleep delivers health in mind, body, and spirit. So, of course, yes to sleep! Much wanted.

What on earth could possibly be good about my racing mind at 3:00 a.m.? Nothing!

Then I found this, from the National Institute of Neurological Disorders:

High mental activity at night is associated with intelligent minds.

Well, shucks.

Then the nickel dropped:

This conflict demands a boost in my old practices.

Please note: the above sentence is not a revelation. It’s a reminder.

Of course we cannot succumb to the barrage of bad that is visiting us on a daily basis. So, why do we succumb to despair? Under stress, we all regress. So, it is wise to pause and to re-commit to making sense.

I jumped into the next question:

Step Four (a brainstorming step): What opportunity does this conflict present?

I could revisit integrative medicine.

Step Five (an enhanced brainstorming step): What do you really want; what if you had a magic wand; and what would a miracle look like?

I really wanted to feel the ease of sleep;

If I had a magic wand? I would share insomnia cures with my friends on Substack.

A miracle? I would find rest and find ways to promote peace.

Step Six: What is the essence of what you want, and list some actions.

I wanted wisdom. See the action list below:

Stanford professor Dr. Andrew Huberman notes that blue-light exposure disrupts sleep. My TV screen, my iPad, my phone, and my laptop all spark alertness. And they all suppress melatonin. I vowed to drop the devices after 8:00 p.m. to allow two hours to wind down.
Next, I rediscovered Dr. Andrew Weil’s and Dr. Rubin Naiman’s 4-7-8 Breathing—four counts breathing in (through the nose), hold seven counts; eight counts breathing out (through the mouth, with a whoosh sound!). 4-7-8 breathing, from their audiobook Healthy Sleep, used to work. I could add research from James Nestor’s book Breath. The lower portion of the lungs holds calming neurons. Breathe in deeply, and benefit. Breathe out completely (pushing air out), and watch the difference it makes. You might yawn, as I did after three rounds of this practice. Dr. Naiman suggests that by eight rounds, he always conks out.
After calming my mind with the above practices, I was open for support from a higher power. Anne Lamott’s prayer, “Please help” came to mind. With a boost from Centering Prayer practices, I found my true north.
Science says, to promote mental health: make decisions; take action. Here’s my action for today: I request that you take a look at the Substack of Heather Cox Richardson. Her deep dive into history restores a much-needed historical perspective in these interesting times.

Steps Seven and Eight reinforced my Conflict Crunch.

Step 7: Not wanting insomnia pointed in the direction of wanting a deepening of peaceful practices.

Step 8:

Who would I be in the presence of my conflict?

A Buddhist practitioner, awakening with compassion.

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Following the above actions, sleep dropped like a velvet curtain.

Also this. I carried Deep Breathing—a simple practice of breathing in for five seconds and out for five seconds, completely emptying the lungs—into the next day. On an otherwise mundane grocery run, I saw jacaranda trees as if their purple had been painted by Renoir.

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

When conflict is completely out of your control, enhance your nightly routines. And don’t forget to enlist your friends for the cause of peace. May you float to sleep on a cloud of well-being.

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Good Grief!

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 16 May 2026 17:02:10 GMT

“It is perhaps the eggplant that makes you cry?” said a French-accented voice in the produce section at Jimbo’s grocery store in Del Mar, California.

A European stranger peered at me through his John Lennon glasses. He wore a navy beret. His kind smile signaled sincerity and gentle humor. He waited as I rummaged through my backpack for a tissue while balancing the eggplant in my left hand. He waited while I wiped my tears and caught my breath.

He asked if I would like to talk about what was happening in my life.

I said, “I just found out that my mom has only a few days to live.”

The bespectacled stranger told me that he had traveled from Belgium to present a lecture at a local university. The subject of his lecture? Grief. He smiled as my eyes widened with astonishment.

He said, “I might be able to help.”

Suddenly, next to us in the lettuce aisle, from above, a recorded thunderclap, and the spray of water on parsley. We both jumped. Does the universe have a slapstick sense of humor?

We exchanged phone numbers.

I called him when I got home. To this day, I recall his essential message; Don’t miss the beauty of this moment. This would sound so much sweeter if you could hear his Belgian accent.

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

When I returned to the hospital after dinner, I felt joy. Delight in my mother’s life. This was an otherworldly moment. I sat next to her and whispered to her all that I had loved, her Norwegian meatballs, shrimp creole, and key lime pie.

Her affection for our boxer dogs, we had two, Bambi and Flicka, who drooled for cookies at our after school snack times.

Her love of literature, and her solid faith in everyone’s goodness. Her kindness to our neighbors. Good orderly direction. Day in and day out kindnesses. And shopping at Marshall Fields for Easter hats and winter coats.

Had I been focused on our loss, properly somber with death, I may have underestimated the beauty of this sacred last moment with my mother. Her eyes met mine, and she communicated a deep truth. A peace that passes understanding.

Conflict Crunch Take-Away:

Only this: this thing we call love, the power of a loving spirit that we may or may not call God, is bigger than we can imagine.

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Chloe Slays the Sexist

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 09 May 2026 17:01:17 GMT

What’s a young businesswoman to do? Chloe and her boss, Larry, had orchestrated a power lunch. Hugo, a client of wing-tipped shoes, sat across from the young consultants, ready to sign.

Their conversation at a trendy local San Diego restaurant was winding down. Out of the blue, Hugo spewed a joke so lewd that Larry’s face flushed bright red.

Chloe thought, What a jerk! Chloe didn’t want to condone Hugo’s aggressive messaging, but she and Larry needed to build their business. She had a conflict, and she had a few seconds to inject some respect at the lunch table. A seasoned Conflict Cruncher, Chloe reached for the 3 Bs. See how that worked for her:

B #1: Breathe

Chloe felt pulsing sensations of anger gripping her throat. She focused attention on her throat as she breathed slowly in and out. She held herself in the warm embrace of compassion. She told herself, “Hugo’s insecurity has nothing to do with me.” Chloe’s pain shifted to a quiet oasis of her own making.

B #2: Boundaries

Chloe had learned to put a boundary between herself and micro-aggression. But could Chloe find some good in this uneven moment?

Without sarcasm or cruelty Chloe said, “That’s a funny game, Hugo. What do you want?”

Chloe knew that insecurity drove Hugo’s attempt at humor. When she allowed herself to explore her own insecurity, she softened with compassion. She told herself: Hugo is revealing a deeper vulnerability. Self-confident men don’t demean women as a routine.

Let’s return to Chloe’s earlier question: What do you want? To Chloe’s astonishment, Hugo replied, “I want to be useful to others.”

Chloe put down her fork. She grabbed her pen and flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. The team wove philanthropy into their mission statement. This energizing brainstorm session would change the company’s course.

B #3: Balance

What balance did Chloe want? Following the luncheon, Chloe reflected on her desire for a balanced life: a balance of her personal well-being with the demands of work. She asked to meet with Larry to de-brief.

Chloe asked for support. They agreed: if Hugo’s acting-out behavior continued, they would deliver a direct statement of that humor doesn’t work for our team.

Larry apologized for his failure to school the client. He said, “I appreciate your handling this. The Good-Old-Boys habit is tenacious. And it’s upsetting. I’m glad you pushed back.”

Chloe ventured, “Isn’t this a great time for me head directly to the gym?” Way to balance, Chloe!

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Chloe felt more confidence in future meetings, knowing that she could speak truth to the wobbly power of an insecure soul.

Conflict Crunch Take-Away:

Breathe, and refuse to cooperate with your own diminishment. When someone pipes up with their thinly veiled aggression, note their suffering and Crunch the conversation.

How Clara Got Her Groove Back

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 02 May 2026 17:00:59 GMT

“Could your work be considered toxic positivity?”

Even Peet’s smoothest blend couldn’t sweeten my new friend Clara’s acidic comment. Sitting across from me at a beach cafe, Clara’s eyes telegraphed cynicism.

Her words came on the heels of my humble brag—thinly veiled pride in a client who recently turned her conflict into connection.

I felt defensive, but then I wondered, “Is my work grounded in reality?”

For those unfamiliar with the term, toxic positivity indicates dismissing another person’s negative feelings and overwhelming challenges.

In all fairness, Clara had a point—I do seek the positive in conflict. And this unique road to resolution differs so dramatically from traditional approaches to conflict that the hard U-Turn can feel like a whiplash. So, I was surprised when she said, “I wonder if it could work for me.”

I said, “Let’s take one of your conflicts to The Conflict Crunch. Just a few steps. You can tell me if it feels poisonous.”

Clara turned to me. “My twin boys are driving me crazy. They ditched 8th grade commencement practice to light firecrackers behind the locker room. They’re not handing in their homework. It’s like they want to get into trouble.”

Since Clara’s soon-to-be-ex announced his need for more freedom, Clara’s new role as single parent came with a steep learning curve.

When I asked Clara what she wanted and what was getting in her way—in other words, to name her conflict—she said, “I want to be a good mom, but I’m overwhelmed.”

We were ready to move on to Step Two, Feel It.

I said, “In this step, scan your body for tension.

Breathe in, notice where your tension resides, then

breathe out, and say to yourself, ‘I’m so sorry.’

We’ll repeat this for a bit.”

We began with closed eyes. Tears streaked down Clara’s face after our first few minutes of quiet reflection. Clara said, “I feel sadness. I feel it gripping my throat. Randy is indifferent to the kids’ needs. He is wrapped up in his new romance.”

We closed our eyes and tried again.

I said, “What do you feel now?”

She said, “I feel queasy with fear. How will we manage? Even with child support, my salary doesn’t cover rent, groceries and all the extras.”

I asked Clara to take a moment to experience fear as a physical sensation.

She spent a few minutes breathing in, feeling the tightness in her breathing. Clara stayed with this simple Feel It instruction from Step Two of The Conflict Crunch.

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Clara began an early morning ritual of feeling emotion and extending self-compassion. She shuddered with pain on some mornings, but she stayed with her breath until she felt some degree of reassurance. She said, “I breathe in my emotion, but on my out-breath, I just focus on air leaving my nostrils.”

“After about ten minutes, I start thinking of normal stuff like dinner plans and baseball practice.”

She added, “After the first week of feeling my emotions every morning, my certain-death scenarios lost their punch. I contacted the local college job center to ask for help with household chores in exchange for room and board.”

She continued, “I’m talking with other single parents at the school. And, until the boys calm down, I meet weekly with the school counselor to monitor their progress. The boys gripe a lot, but they turn in homework on time.”

Over time, Clara’s life was populated with friends and support.

I said, “Anything hopeful arising as you relax?”

Clara said, “Kind of? Randy’s been emotionally absent for a long time. So, maybe I’ve got this.”

I said, “Hold onto that thought.”

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

Of course you feel jarred by a tone-deaf friend who insists that all is well when you’re visited with unthinkable loss.

However, you need not freeze with your fears. Rather than ignoring your challenges, name your conflict (take that, looming deadline!) and then feel the uggghhh that has taken up residence in your gut. Stay with that wretched discomfort. Face it until it blurs. Once quiet, your mind may even send you a plot twist.

There is no hammer in the universe big enough to make you rush through your human response to loss. When you are ready, declare what you want, and note what gets in your way.

Feel your emotions like there’s no tomorrow. And chirp some encouragement.

Ultimately, you get to write the story of your life. The raw material is merely that— just raw material. You get to make up what you say about yourself in the context of the whole catastrophe.

Make up something you’d love to have and then go for it. Beneath your nervous system’s resounding bullhorn, you may find that you are, indeed, gutsy.

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Drowning in Anger? Crunch it!

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 25 Apr 2026 17:00:57 GMT

Susan, my otherwise bouncy buddy, said, “You’ve heard the news that the Trump administration is dismantling FEMA? He just cut my son’s job in D.C. I’m so angry I could scream.” We were hiking the path that overlooks the Pacific Ocean in Torrey Pines State Park in La Jolla, California. She fumed. “I don’t know how to console Michael. Can you help?”

I said, “Let’s try Step One of the Conflict Crunch: What do you want and what stands in your way?”

Susan said, “I want to call my son, but I’m afraid that my anger will only make him feel worse.”

We found a bench that faced the sea and watched white foam leap from the shore breaks. The salt air and the Coppertone of a nearby teenager wafted our way.

Having defined the conflict, we moved on to Step Two: Feel It.

Me: “Where in your body do you feel anger?”

Susan: “My jaw.”

Me: “Okay, good. Breathe in. Focus all your attention on your jaw muscles. Breathe out, saying words of compassion for yourself.”

Susan: “I’m not sure what that would sound like.”

Me: “‘I’m sorry’ works for some people.”

Susan nodded. Together we breathed in with an awareness of physical strain, then breathed out, silently saying I’m so sorry. We stayed with the focused in-and-out breathing.

Next, we followed the Conflict Crunch practice of breathing in the anger of all people who share her experience. Susan said, “I picture other parents like me. All over the planet. I feel their anger.”

I asked Susan what she would wish for these folks. She said, “‘Safety.”

We breathed together for a few minutes, feeling the fear of people whose livelihoods have been taken. We breathed out a sense of safety and belonging, wishing that for all sentient beings.

A quick note: when your conflict is big enough to circle the globe, you may feel as if you’re taking in too much pain with the expansion of awareness beyond your own plight. However, if you are not separate from fellow sufferers, wherever they are, their reality matters to you.

Your willingness to extend your awareness to others is not a clarion call to single-handedly rescue the universe. It’s merely a heart-opening reality check.

We were poised to embrace her conflict. Could we find some good in wanting to cope? Could we then find some good in being too angry to calm down?

Susan noted that, for her, coping meant focusing on her job, buying fresh veggies and protein for dinners, and showing up for the gym, even if she could only squeeze in a half hour of aerobics. Of course she wanted to thrive!

What possible good could anger inject into Susan’s life?

After talking a bit, Susan noted that anger was the soldier trying to shield her from despair. Anger was letting her know that she could fight. Susan said, “I want to fight smart.”

Conflict Crunch Clincher: Susan revisited what she didn’t want: to drown in her own anger. Instead, she wanted to create joy. How about offering her spare room to her son and his wife? They could rent out their condo, save money and catch their breath.

Susan called her son. He picked up immediately. He said, “Perfect timing. We were about to call you! How about a few months? I’ll do a cyber-search for work. Nancy is already working online.”

Conflict Crunch Takeaway: When faced with adversity, your ego wants you to pummel someone, to bolt, or to shut down. This fight/flight/freeze trio serves you well in a world of physical challenges, but in a world of complexity, your ego robs you of awareness. Rather than slipping and sliding on the hard ice of fast reactions, take a moment to explore your possibilities by crunching your conflicts.

I’m thrilled to announce that my book, The Conflict Crunch: How to Turn Conflict Into Opportunity is now available for pre-order on Amazon! To receive a copy on your doorstep on the official publication date of September 29, 2026, please order a copy today. Pre-ordering also helps a debut author get noticed by bookstores and algorithms—your support is greatly appreciated!

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Holy Healing!

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 18 Apr 2026 17:00:58 GMT

On Easter morning, 2026, I couldn’t unsee or un-hear the infernal messaging from a broken soul.

I had a conflict: I want a stable government, but I’m looking at Trump, his troubled wife, and a weary Easter bunny.

Since Trump’s false and alarming bravado pops up like a wack-a-mole, I try to avoid a knee jerk reaction. He doesn’t get to call all the shots. Instead, I tend to my heart.

I go to nature, to the yoga mat and to the next No Kings march. I watch Minnesotans link elbows against tyrannical overkill, and I learn courage. I participate with my local justice organization, and then shift the whole human catastrophe to a place of reverence and faith within.

And yet, I had another conflict: I wanted to breathe but both my husband and I had fierce colds.

I’d gone limp with battle fatigue. Here’s how I crunched conflict on Easter morning: I went to bed.

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

After a deep sleep, I wandered into the kitchen to see the show-off-y purple-green kale from my husband’s garden. Research tells us that in chaotic times, the simple comfort of preparing food, the normalcy of engaging the senses—color and fragrance and sound—can deliver a balm. Cue your favorite playlist. We chose Norah Jones for her honey-sweet delivery.

Here’s my hopeful vegetarian recipe for a 2026 year of healing. It’s a recipe born of longing, and it’s the only recipe I’ve ever found worthy of sharing. The iron skillet is key to a barbecue-smoky grilled-kale topping.

Holy Pasta!

Prepare in advance:

Your favorite corkscrew pasta (ours is gluten free quinoa and brown rice pasta).

Rinse and chop about two cups of basil.

Chop two cups of heirloom or other juicy fresh tomatoes.

Cut one cup of hearts of palm into disks.

Chop a handful of sun-dried tomatoes.

Add parmesan cheese (either vegan or real cheese will do.

Toss all of this with a few tablespoons of olive oil.

Your pasta dish is ready. Put that bowl aside.

Next, the fun part. Sear the kale.

Chop 6 cups of kale and sauté until tender-ish.

Add a handful of fresh chopped garlic cloves and cook until tender.

Then add lemon juice, to your taste.

Allow to simmer. Now stir, wafting the aromas into the air.

Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Plunk the garlic/kale concoction on top of your pasta.

Sprinkle with feta cheese.

Enjoy. The cold bugs don’t stand a chance.

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

Together, we are not helpless.

Dream up some hopeful, fresh recipes and/or other creative projects in the next several months. Hang out with healthy friends, drink plenty of water, and show up in ways that fill your heart with joy.

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Crunch in the Classroom

Phyllis Olins — Sat, 11 Apr 2026 17:01:29 GMT

Second-year high school Spanish class included sophomores and juniors who needed two years of foreign language to qualify for college and fluent freshmen who spoke Spanish as their first language. Every fall, the suspense of meeting a fresh crop of teenagers was inevitable. They were boisterous and insecure, confident and confounded, and also wise beyond their years. But late one autumn afternoon, there was that one student, the inevitable attention-seeker, piping up from his front row seat:

“I like your skirt, Profe.”

Raymond’s before-class comment was unexpected and unwelcome.

The bell rang. It was time for my sixth period Spanish class to begin. I felt mortified as I turned from the dry erase board to face my students. I considered my knee-length skirt. Coco Chanel would have nodded her approval.

The raised eyebrows of his buddies confirmed that Raymond had skipped over the humor line, landing squarely in the territory of disrespect. I thought of a polite pivot— “what-a-great-day-to-celebrate-the-future-tense” — followed by an engaging class in conversational Spanish. But Raymond’s was no random comment, and these teens comprised a community, all bonded together with a fierce dread of appearing uncool. When one of us was suffering, we all suffered.

Raymond smirked. My discomfort mounted. Would I hammer him with detentions? Laugh off his inappropriate comment? Pretend I hadn’t heard? I liked Raymond. He was our innocuous class clown. Today felt off.

My conflict? I wanted to launch into the lesson, but Raymond’s comment begged for a response. I felt annoyance gripping my throat. Over-reacting or under-reacting to Raymond’s barb would flop. I wanted to dive beneath the surface issue to find the root cause. He’d hijacked my attention for a reason. Time was ticking.

I finally said, “That’s a funny game, Raymond. What do you want?”

The students within earshot chuckled. They returned to work, apparently satisfied the drama had been quashed.

I continued, at his side, “You’re not a bad person. I don’t know what you’re up to, but we need to talk.”

Raymond said, “It’s no big deal.”

I insisted, “This isn’t like you. You’re a thoughtful person and a good student.” He ducked his head and then agreed to meet me after class.

“Tell me what is going on in your life. Why this lapse in judgment?”

Raymond admitted that he was upset. “I’m in serious trouble. When I’m with my father, I steal stuff. Like, we’re at Best Buy, and I’ll grab something off the shelf. Yesterday my dad caught me. He’s grounded me for life, and he won’t talk to me.”

I felt stunned. This was Raymond. An otherwise happy camper. I called Raymond’s parents, Sara and Daniel.

The next afternoon, Raymond and his parents met me in a conference room. Raymond plopped himself into a corner seat at the far end of the table from the adults.

I said to the parents, “Can we look for some meaning in Raymond’s stealing?” Sara and Daniel nodded.

I said, “Let’s drop any sort of judgment.” I explained my process of looking for meaning in conflict. Then I asked Daniel, Raymond’s community-leader father, “How does stealing affect you? Is there a reason your son may be trying to get your attention?”

With a choked voice, Daniel said, “When I was a kid, I stole and never got caught.”

Daniel’s candor impressed me. But Raymond looked like he’d been hit over the head with a desk. His father’s history was news to Raymond. He shook his head and stared at his father.

Daniel said, “When my mother lost her job, we all went hungry. My little sister cried. I stole food from the grocery store.” His face flushed with emotion. We nodded.

Raymond said. “Damn. You should have said.”

Sara said, “I knew, but Daniel and I decided to spare our kids from my husband’s past.”

I asked Daniel to consider a possibility. As a child he had seen no other options. Could Daniel embrace his courageous younger self’s commitment to his family?

After Daniel acknowledged that he was doing his best to cope with life as a young man, he admitted that he’d been over-zealous with Raymond. The one unforgivable crime? The one thing the father had insisted not happen on his watch as parent? Stealing.

Daniel’s face twisted with emotion. He reached for Raymond and they embraced. Raymond’s mother flashed me a grateful smile.

Conflict Crunch Clincher:

Back to the classroom. The following week, Raymond participated in class and chummed around with friends. Of course, his grades improved. A few weeks after the parent conference, Raymond asked me if we could talk. When my last student clamored down the stairs of the trailer, I saw Raymond kicking the sand at the bottom of the stairs. Looking up, he said, “I’ve volunteered to be a Big Brother.”

Conflict Crunch Takeaway:

Is someone throwing you the curve ball of conflict? See the humanity in your perceived foe.

Insist that your troublesome detractor is basically a good person. Think of their mutterings or manipulations as bound-up invitations to play. They’re hurling themselves into your space. Use this meteor moment to transcend a conflict.

Start by asking, “What do you want?”

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How Chris Fixed My Tic

Phyllis Olins — Tue, 03 Mar 2026 19:08:09 GMT

My twitching left eyelid reminded me of Inspector Dreyfus, the boss of Peter Seller’s character in the film, The Pink Panther. (I know, you’ll probably have to dig around to unearth Pink Panther movies, but you may be desperate for comic relief.)

Pre-tic, I had planned to hike at Torrey Pines Reserve with friends, then a yoga session at the Y, followed by a dinner date with my husband at our favorite—Bernini’s in La Jolla. Would my eyelid shudder its way through all these events? . . . and then on into eternity? Was there no end in sight?

I had already attempted to tackle this minor annoyance with acupuncture, relaxing massage, and homeopathic remedies. We all know that conflict can manifest as a medical condition, but this tic had legs. In the company of friends, family, and total strangers, even alone while brushing my teeth, my eyelid pulled and pulsed.

My tic wasn’t earth-shattering in nature; I still hoped to calm the quivering without resorting to prescription medication. On the hunt for the tic’s underlying cause, I dragged the annoying dilemma to the Conflict Crunch. Could my template of questions conquer a physical plight? I was already doing everything imaginable to deal with this problem. But, okay conflict counselor. Heal thyself!

Using the first step of the template, I named the conflict—I wanted to be well, BUT I had this annoying tic. I already felt lighter. Help was on the way.

Step Two’s prodding allowed for a recognition of my body’s tension. I was tight from head to toe. So, I sat, I named frustration as my presenting emotion, and then I breathed out compassion for myself. I stayed with the in-and-out-breathing for ten minutes. All the while, I felt the pulsing in my eyelid.

I next envisioned all beings who have coiled themselves into a tight spring of tension. I felt the full weight of humanity’s struggle to make sense of everything everywhere all at once. I breathed in the coal dust of distress, and I breathed out light for all of us. In and out, I pictured my body willing to transform suffering to wisdom.

What floated up to my awareness? I wanted peace where there was war, I hoped for more time for marketing my new book where there was no room on my calendar, and I longed to see my family members who live a plane flight away. Somewhere there lived the potential for a loving context for each of these challenges. I thought of Anne Lamott’s suggestion: I could go Bird by Bird. I could handle one conflict at a time. I gathered the aforementioned hopes and wants and slated them for future Crunches. And I moved on.

How we carry the world will vary from one being to another. We are hammered daily with images of disorder, mayhem and the stoking of division by our own leaders who should, well . . . lead. We may be carrying more than we realize. I recognized that my suffering may be percolating from the depths of collective helplessness, and I’d been schlepping this tension as my own private carry-on. As if this defensive tensing would be of use. In a jungle, yes. In the confines of my kitchen, not so much.

I was ready to get creative. Step Three of the Conflict Crunch template prodded me to find positive aspects of wanting to be well, and positive aspects of having the wretched tic.

Of course I wanted to be well! I wanted to have my life back: agency, connection, and joy minus the distraction of the tic. Okay, then. The next question was harder. What could be positive about the tic’s relentless pulling? Perhaps the tic was trying to get my attention.

As I considered this, it dawned on me that I had missed three months of my much-loved Centering Prayer time led weekly by my friend Chris. I had prioritized what felt like an avalanche of work-related tasks.

Conflict Crunch Clincher: I vowed to return to my prayer sessions. After grimacing through the weekend, I Zoomed myself into this beloved community of friends. After our twenty minutes of silence, Chris shared a teaching regarding the energy of striving.

I felt an internal cha-ching. I had unconsciously thrown myself into work to avoid feeling despair; a knee-jerk reaction I’d not fully recognized. After Chris’s prayer, I took a nap. I’ve not taken a nap in years. I rose from that luxurious rest and immediately noted the calm eyelid. I teased Chris, “We’ll call this incident How Chris Fixed my Tic.” One year later, still no tic.

We are packing our bags for those family visits. And work just got easier.

Conflict Crunch Take-Away:

Taking time to reflect on your specific conflict can deliver a connection with your true self; your answers can be informed from a place deep within. How is it possible that my friend’s shared wisdom connected so deeply? Science indicates that we are all more healthy in loving communities where our souls can finally breathe.

Take your woes to the 8 steps of the Conflict Crunch. Personal, global, physical and existential conflicts are all grist for the Conflict Crunch mill. If you create time for deep reflection, you may be surprised by the powerful connection to your truer self.

If you’re new to Crunch Time, welcome! A quick introduction is called for. The Conflict Crunch is the title of my upcoming book. It’s also a simple process you can learn to break through the surface of conflict to find deeper meaning and then take helpful action.