Our brains are strange creations, often incapable of saying the most important things in plain terms. Significant questions can be couched in unreasonable and illogical fears. When you understand what the true question is, the result can be liberating.

"Could I ever go nuts and try to kill millions of people?"

That's actually something I've worried about. To type it is embarassing. This is the sort of question someone who reads too many comic books, spy novels, and science fiction might ask. Even more embarassing, on some level I know I'm simply not that good. There's no chance a scratch-built nuclear weapon would work; I'd have serious trouble building the kit version. As far as genetically engineering some bacteria to take out cities — come on. There's nursing homes with nastier bugs than anything I'd ever manage to create in a lab. My best microbiology skills are growing molds in the refrigerator.

Asking "COuld I ever go nuts and try to kill millions of people?" is even more difficult when you wonder if it's one of those questions that require psychologists to call either the FBI or the local psychiatric catchment center. But ask my shrink I did. I'm sure you can all see the answer coming miles away:

"What do you think?"

Don't you just love psychologists? Sometimes, I wonder why they haven't all been replaced by advanced Eliza programs.

Yesterday, I realized what the question "Could I ever go nuts and try to kill millions of people?" was really asking. There was an argument lately, and everyone started getting a little hot under the collar. I wasn't particularly happy, because I was losing. Of course I know I'm right, which makes losing even more frustrating. The discussion was making an otherwise pleasant event uncomfortable, though, so I decided to back down.

Afterward, someone complimented me on my restraint. She pointed out that I knew enough about one of the people I was discussing with that, with a single sentence, I could have won the argument. In doing so, I would have humiliated a friend, and caused incalculable repercussions.

Honestly? The thought never occurred to me until that someone brought it up. It didn't occur to me because I wasn't looking for it.

"Could I ever go nuts and try to kill millions of people?" was never about dropping nuclear weapons. It was about dropping someone else's personal secret in conversation. The fear was not that I would kill billions, but whether I might hurt a friend. The question wasn't whether I would go insane from some unimaginable grief. It was whether I would casually hurt someone over something trivial.

Would I ever say something to crush a friend to win an argument?

In the past I have. I've been involved in metaphorical mutually-assurred destruction free-for-alls and drive-by-shootings. Looking back, it's shaming. At least I learned from those disasters.

I learned that no one's as lethal as they'd like to think, me included. I learned that revenge is never as much fun in real life as it is playing in your head. I learned that apologies are painful to give or receive. I learned that I don't like to hurt people.

Perhaps most relevant, I've learned that those destructive bon mots don't win the argument, they just make everyone more entrenched. "Going nuclear" isn't good strategy if you're trying to change hearts and minds.

So, while in the past, I was willing to win a debate by any means, I've grown up. I've still got a lifetime of growing up to do, but I'm making significant progress.

I like that.