When I moved from France to Australia, one thing stood out quite quickly. In my experience, conversations felt different. Careful, and often surface level: weather, real estate, cost of living. At work and in social settings, people were warm and friendly, but there was often a reluctance to disagree openly. To say something that might be taken the wrong way. Not because people did not have opinions, but because there seemed to be an unspoken line around what was acceptable to say.
France has its own issues (I left 10 years ago because of them), but speaking up is not one of them. Debate is constant, almost exhaustingly so, and often to the point where people argue for the sake of it. Holding firmly to one’s position is often seen as a strength. I found this uncomfortable, and at times, unproductive.
In Australia, I experienced something quite different. Ideas were shared, but not always explored.
Disagreement was softened, or avoided altogether. People held back. At first, it felt more peaceful. But then I realised that when people hold back, ideas do not get tested. And if ideas are not tested, they do not evolve. They either remain shallow, or they move elsewhere, into more private spaces, where they often become more rigid.
Around the same time, I noticed something else. The content I was consuming had become increasingly narrow. The more I read, the more I was shown similar perspectives. The algorithms were doing their job well, but in doing so, they were removing the very friction that helps ideas evolve.
Think & Think Again started as a response to both of these observations.
At the beginning, it was simply a shared space where a small group of people exchanged articles, podcasts, or ideas that had made them “think again”, along with a short reflection on why or how. The aim was to think a little more carefully about what we were engaging with.
What surprised me was not just what people shared, but how they responded to each other. Someone would post something they didn’t fully agree with, almost as a question. Another would build on it, or gently challenge it. The tone was different. Less about being right, more about working something through. That dynamic carried into the conversations. Over time, I realised that for a meaningful conversation to emerge, a few things really matter.
First, the environment. Many of our gatherings happen outside, in parks or open spaces. It’s calm, neutral, and removes some of the formality you might find in other settings. People can hear themselves think, and more importantly, they can listen.
Second, the people. The community is intentionally curated. Not around what people believe, but around how they engage. There is a shared willingness to be challenged, to sit with different perspectives, and to try to understand rather than convince.
And third, the theme. Each conversation is anchored in a topic that is broad enough to allow for different angles, but with a few directions to explore. It gives just enough structure to go deeper, without closing things down.
In one of our early sessions, two people came in with fairly opposing views on a topic that could easily have turned into a debate. Instead, they spent most of the time trying to understand how the other had arrived there. By the end, neither had changed their position entirely, but both had shifted something in how they saw it. One of them later said that it was the first time they had felt comfortable saying what they actually thought without needing to defend it. Those moments are small, but they stay with you.
Over time, the group has grown into a broader, international community. People meet in small groups, sometimes in person, sometimes online across time zones, to explore a shared theme. The goal is simple: to explore it together. Not to convince. Not to perform. But to better understand how others see things, and to test our own thinking in the process.
As the person organising this from the back end, I have also had to learn a few things. That you cannot force good conversation, only create the right conditions for it. That a mix of backgrounds does not automatically lead to different ways of thinking unless people feel able to express them. And that most people are far more open and curious than we give each other credit for, if the setting allows for it.
The effects are subtle but real. People are exposed to perspectives they would not normally encounter. They become more comfortable sitting with uncertainty. They practise expressing ideas without needing to hold onto them too tightly. And they experience a type of connection that is not based on agreement, but on curiosity.
This matters because when dialogue breaks down, so does our ability to think well together.
We do not improve ideas in isolation. We improve them by putting them into the world, having them questioned, and refining them in response. Remove that process, and thinking becomes narrower, both individually and collectively.
Think & Think Again is a small attempt to keep that process alive. If you’re curious, you can explore it here.
