We all use lazy language sometimes, but certain repeated phrases can quietly reveal a pattern of shallow thinking—and once you know what to listen for, it’s hard to un-hear.
A quick caveat before we jump in: everyone—me included—uses lazy language when we’re tired, stressed, or just not paying attention.
A single phrase doesn’t define a person’s intelligence.
What matters is the pattern: when someone leans on certain phrases over and over, it can signal low-effort thinking, poor reasoning habits, or a lack of curiosity.
With that in mind, here are the nine phrases I pay attention to—and what to say instead if you catch yourself using them.
1. “I already know everything I need to know.”
When I hear this, I don’t think “confidence.” I think “closed door.”
Psychologists have long noted that people who are less skilled or knowledgeable in a domain are often the most certain they’ve got it figured out.
This overconfidence pattern is well documented in research on the Dunning–Kruger effect, where limited ability can come with inflated self-assessment.
If you want to communicate thoughtfulness instead, try: “Here’s what I know so far—what am I missing?”
It keeps the conversation open and shows you’re willing to update your map when you find new terrain.
2. “That’s just the way it is.”
I get why people say this—especially at the end of a long day.
But it’s a verbal shrug that shuts down problem-solving.
Behind the phrase is a craving for cognitive closure: the quick relief that comes from ending a question before we’ve really explored it.
In my analyst days, I saw projects stall not because the math was hard, but because someone defaulted to “that’s just how we’ve always done it.”
A better move is to add one curious word: “for now.” As in, “That’s how we do it for now—do we have any wiggle room?”
You turn a period into a comma.
3. “Everyone knows that…”
Who is “everyone,” exactly?
This is a classic appeal to a vague consensus. It feels persuasive because it piggybacks on social proof, but it rarely comes with sources or specifics.
When I volunteer at the farmers’ market, I hear versions of this a lot: “Everyone knows organic always means pesticide-free.” (It doesn’t.)
The phrase lets the speaker avoid the heavier lift of evidence.
Try replacing it with: “Here’s what I’ve seen so far,” or “Here are two sources I’m relying on.”
That small swap forces clearer thinking.
4. “That’s just your opinion.”
Sure, opinions exist. But this phrase often pops up when facts are inconvenient.
It blurs the line between taste (“vanilla is better than chocolate”) and claims about the world (“this fertilizer reduces runoff”).
As noted by research on fast (intuitive) and slow (deliberate) thinking, we’re all tempted to protect our first impressions and wave away disconfirming data.
Daniel Kahneman’s work is a helpful gateway to noticing that reflex—and slowing it down enough to compare claims against evidence.
Instead of swatting back with “that’s just your opinion,” try: “What would change your mind? Here’s what would change mine.”
Now you’re both naming standards.
5. “I don’t care about the details.”
In casual talk, this can be shorthand for “spare me the jargon.”
But when it becomes a stance, it signals cognitive miserliness—the habit of conserving mental effort even when precision matters.
Details are where assumptions get caught.
When I’m writing or running trail routes with friends, the details—miles, elevation, weather—keep us safe and on time.
Skipping them isn’t efficient; it’s expensive later.
If details feel heavy, ask for the right ones: “Give me the two numbers that matter,” or “What’s the single assumption holding this up?”
6. “It’s not my fault; they made me.”
This phrase waves a banner for an external locus of control—everything happens to me, and I have no agency.
It can be comforting in the moment, but it stalls learning. If outcomes are always someone else’s doing, there’s nothing to examine and nothing to improve.
When I catch myself heading down that road (usually after a deadline crunch), I force a tiny reframe: “What part of this was mine?”
I don’t let myself stop until I find one tweak I control next time.
Ownership—even of a small slice—keeps your thinking active.
7. “You’re either with me or against me.”
Black-and-white framing looks decisive, but it’s usually a signal that nuance has left the building.
Psychologists call this a false dichotomy: collapsing a spectrum into two camps so we can win faster.
The quickest antidote is to name at least one middle path: “Maybe we both want X; we just differ on the timeline.”
The moment you insert a third option, the conversation expands—and intelligence shows up as flexibility, not stubborn certainty.
8. “I did my own research.”
Sometimes this means, “I spent an hour reading high-quality sources.”
Often it means, “I watched two videos that confirmed what I already believed.”
There’s nothing wrong with curiosity. The trouble is when “my research” becomes a shield against standards of evidence.
As the astronomer Carl Sagan liked to remind us, “Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.”
If you truly did the work, you can show it: share methods, link sources with different viewpoints, and note what would change your mind.
Otherwise, try “I’m still looking into it—here’s what I’ve seen so far and where I might be biased.”
9. “Whatever.” / “It is what it is.”
We all toss these out sometimes. But as a conversational habit, they signal learned helplessness and a kind of mental off-switch.
When I hear them repeatedly, I don’t assume calm acceptance; I assume avoidance.
One gentle upgrade is to keep the acceptance and add agency: “It is what it is—and here’s what I’ll do next.”
That second half turns resignation into response.
How to listen for the deeper habit (and what to practice instead)
If you’re reading this thinking, “Oh no, I’ve said half of these in the last week,” welcome to the club.
The goal isn’t to scrub your speech of imperfect phrases. It’s to notice what they often point to underneath:
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Overconfidence without feedback (#1).
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Cognitive closure that feels soothing but blocks learning (#2).
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Appeals to vague authority instead of sourcing (#3).
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Relativism as a shield against facts (#4).
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Effort avoidance when precision matters (#5).
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Externalization that kills agency (#6).
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All-or-nothing thinking that squeezes out nuance (#7).
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Motivated reasoning dressed up as “research” (#8).
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Resignation that halts problem-solving (#9).
A smart conversational practice is to build a handful of go-to replacements. I keep these on a sticky note near my desk:
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“Here’s what I think—and here’s what would change my mind.”
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“What’s the strongest counter-argument to my view?”
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“Can we put numbers to that?”
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“What options sit between A and B?”
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“What one step is in my control right now?”
They’re fast to say, but they slow you down in the best way.
Final thoughts
Intelligence isn’t only about test scores; it’s about habits of mind.
When our language leans on overconfidence, vague consensus, all-or-nothing frames, and resignation, we broadcast that we’re not interested in learning.
When our language leans on curiosity, specificity, and openness to revision, we invite better ideas to the table.
If a phrase in this list stung a little, don’t beat yourself up.
Pick one upgrade and run it for a week.
Ask better questions. Name your standards. Share sources. And when you feel the itch to say “that’s just the way it is,” try adding two words that change everything: for now.
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