Not Really a Fan of Opinions

Opinions are everywhere. Offered freely, defended loudly, and traded as if having one were more important than understanding anything at all. I’m not really a fan of opinions — not because thinking is bad, but because certainty has become too cheap.

An opinion used to imply effort. Reading. Listening. Sitting with ambiguity long enough to earn a position. Now it often means reacting quickly and standing firmly, regardless of how thin the ground underneath might be. The speed at which opinions form has outpaced the depth required to justify them.

What bothers me most isn’t disagreement; it’s attachment. Opinions are held like identities, protected from revision as if changing one’s mind were a weakness instead of evidence of learning. Once an opinion becomes part of who you are, curiosity turns into a threat. Questions feel like attacks. Nuance becomes inconvenient.

Opinions also have a way of filling space that silence once occupied. Silence used to signal thoughtfulness or restraint. Now it’s treated as absence — something to be corrected with a take, any take. The pressure isn’t to be right, but to be audible.

There’s a subtle comfort in opinions. They simplify complexity and offer the illusion of control. Declaring where you stand can feel like understanding what you’re standing on. But complexity doesn’t dissolve just because it’s been labeled, and repeating a belief doesn’t make it sturdier.

Being not really a fan of opinions doesn’t mean rejecting viewpoints or refusing to think critically. It means preferring questions to declarations, observation to performance. It means valuing provisional understanding over permanent stances.

I’m not really a fan of opinions because they often arrive finished, closed to improvement. I’m more interested in thoughts that remain open — flexible enough to change, strong enough to withstand doubt, and honest enough to admit when they don’t yet know.

NRAF