Introducing our new Blog Post Series by Kristy Klein Davis: Undercurrents

The Assumptions We Make

By Kristy Klein Davis

I caught myself recently in the middle of a conversation readying myself for conflict, already certain I knew what the other person would say. I had built an entire argument in my head, anticipating their resistance, rehearsing my response, preparing for the worst before they finished their first sentence. But they surprised me. It made me wonder how often I do this without noticing, how often the story I’ve written about someone else’s motivations is different than the one they’re preparing to tell.  

In the work of building systems that work for everyone, we spend a great deal of time talking about the assumptions embedded in how we operate with one another. Nonprofits may assume funders don’t really understand what the work requires. Funders may assume more structure and oversight is what’s needed to make the work succeed. Communities may assume institutions are indifferent to what they need. Institutions may assume they already know. These assumptions move through our sector, shaping relationships and narrowing what gets tried. They are rarely named out loud, because naming them feels risky.  

This isn’t limited to any political perspective or professional identity. I see it across the spaces where decisions about health, policy, and community investment are made. There is a well-worn script. We anticipate opposition and brace for bad faith. We walk in already certain what the other person believes, what they will never understand, and what they are unwilling to change. Because we expect a wall, we bring one. 

What makes this harder to untangle is the environment we operate in. We live in a moment when the cost of association (let alone genuine dialogue) can be swift and public. Being in the room with the wrong person or asking a question that complicates a settled narrative can feel professionally or socially dangerous. In this sense, the fear of public consequence does more than silence individuals. It erodes the conditions that make honest exchange possible. When the risk of curiosity is too high, people stop being curious and perform conviction instead. And then the work stops moving. 

I feel this tension myself. This is not an argument for false equivalence or for treating every position as equally worthy. It is an argument against assuming we already know the full story of another person’s intent. Too often that certainty becomes an obstacle, keeping connection out of reach and leaving our communities waiting while we argue. We talk often about trust, partnership, and the belief that the best ideas emerge from multiple perspectives. I believe those things and want to act like them consistently, even when it costs something. 

What would it look like to lead from good intent and possibility? Not to abandon our values or soften our urgency, but to stay genuinely curious about what someone else is trying to protect even when we disagree with their approach? To resist the comfort of a clear villain long enough to ask whether we wrote that character too quickly?  

That kind of engagement requires holding your own perspective firmly while staying open to being surprised. It requires tolerating the discomfort of complexity in a moment that rewards simplicity. 

I don’t have a clean answer. But I think the work begins with noticing, catching ourselves mid-assumption and asking whether our certainty leaves room for something better. Our communities are not waiting for us to be right. They are waiting for us to be useful. That might require loosening our grip on what we are certain of. 

Partnership is not just a value we name. It is a practice that requires believing that the thoughts and ideas of the person across the table have worth. That is harder than it sounds. It might also be the whole thing.