Hot Takes and Flaming Tweets

Why We Can’t Resist (But Probably Should)

It always starts innocently enough. You’re sipping your morning coffee, basking in the quiet before the daily onslaught begins, glancing at a social media app on your phone. And there it is—an argumentative message from someone you follow, admire, or maybe barely know. 

Your heart rate picks up a notch. You read the words, and suddenly, you’re on fire too. You feel compelled to respond, to throw your own hot coal into the mix. 

Why? Is it the need to correct them? To be right? Or just to scratch that itch of immediate indignation?

I’ve been there, countless times. As a person steeped in both Taoist wisdom and, let’s be honest, an occasional indulgence in righteous fury, I’ve learned one fundamental truth: engaging in these spats is like picking up burning embers and expecting not to get scorched. 

Yet, why is it so hard to resist? And how can we learn to respond—or not respond—without setting ourselves on fire?

The Illusion of Correction

Let’s start with the seductive notion that we can “correct” someone online. Oh, I’ve fallen into this trap more times than I’d like to admit. I’ve been that person who, with a perfectly worded response, aimed to deliver enlightenment unto the masses (or at least, that one person who clearly needed it). 

I imagined them reading my tweet, their mind blown, humbled by my superior argumentation, and perhaps even offering me an emoji-clad apology.

Reality check: It never happens like that.

In fact, every time I’ve tried to “correct” someone, the conversation has either spiraled into a never-ending back-and-forth or, worse, turned into a dumpster fire of passive-aggressive jabs. 

It becomes a battle of egos, not enlightenment. Why? Because these interactions are rarely about learning or open-mindedness. They’re about digging in our heels, reinforcing our own biases, and making sure the world knows we’re right.

Taoism’s Take: Let Go of the Rope

Taoism has an elegant solution to this, though it’s far easier said than done: let go. The ancient Taoists understood something that we often forget in our hyperconnected, notification-obsessed lives—most arguments are futile. 

Lao Tzu tells us, “Those who know do not speak. Those who speak do not know.” In other words, the more we feel the need to argue, the further we drift from wisdom.

When someone hurls their metaphorical hot coal your way, Taoism invites us to do the unthinkable: don’t pick it up. Don’t engage. Let it pass through you, like wind through the trees. Imagine that? 

The sheer audacity of not responding. It feels counterintuitive, especially in a culture where not speaking up can be seen as a weakness or an endorsement of the opposing view. 

But here’s the kicker: silence often speaks louder than any argument ever could. It signals a detachment from the need to be right, from the chaos of others’ projections.

The Presidential Election and the Art of Non-Response

As we near the upcoming U.S. presidential election, the pressure to engage in political flame-throwing will only increase. Tweets, texts, and Facebook rants will fly fast and furious, and it will be tempting—oh, so tempting—to jump into the fray. 

After all, what’s at stake is enormous. And yet, it’s during these times of heightened emotion that the Taoist perspective is most crucial.

One Taoist concept that I hold dear in these moments is wu wei, or “non-action.” But this doesn’t mean passivity. In the context of responding to fiery texts and tweets, it means thoughtful restraint. 

It means pausing to ask yourself, “Am I responding from a place of wisdom or ego?” And if it’s ego—and let’s be honest, 99% of the time it is—take a step back.

The truth is, no tweet ever changed the course of history, and no Facebook rant has ever transformed someone’s political beliefs. Our responses, especially in these times, should be like water: fluid, adaptable, and, most importantly, calm. 

As Lao Tzu said, “Water is fluid, soft, and yielding. But water will wear away rock, which is rigid and cannot yield.” A calm, composed non-response can wear down even the most impassioned firebrand.

My Own (Futile) Attempts At Times to Resist

I’d love to tell you that I’ve mastered this art of non-response, but I haven’t. Just last week, I saw a message on social media about a ethical issue I care deeply about. My mind, previously at peace, suddenly lit up with a hundred potential comebacks. For a brief moment, I considered setting aside my practice to engage.

But then I remembered: the Tao is about flowing with life, not against it. I let out a breath, turned off my phone, and returned to what I was doing. 

Did the person on the other end learn the error of their ways? Probably not. But I emerged from my session feeling more centered, more peaceful, and, most importantly, not scorched by their flames.

So next time someone tosses a flaming message that you think is directed your way, consider the Taoist approach. Let go of the rope, don’t pick up the coal, and choose peace over the futile quest to be right. 

In doing so, you not only preserve your own well-being but might just become the calm, fluid water that others need to see in these chaotic times.

Remember, silence can be the most powerful response of all. Plus, it’s way better for your qi energy.

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Diamond-Michael Scott

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