Love Being Wrong

I love being wrong.

It's taken a very long time to get there but I can honestly say that it feels good to be wrong from time to time.

I was wrong about my high school boyfriend.

I was wrong about my belief that being skinny meant being happy.
And that alcohol would lead me home to myself.

I was wrong that any place or thing or person would fix the aching inside me.
(Apparently it's an inside job.)

I've been wrong about so many people. Just snap judgments.

Just this week I had a conversation that turned into an argument. It left such a bad feeling in me and I felt that I had been wronged. Then yesterday as I was laying on my yoga mat I realized, "It's me."

That meant a phone call. An apology. Some ownership. 
On both behalfs.
What a gift.

Perspective pared with ego is a scary thing. It's a belief with teeth that is willing to take down any unsuspecting passerby. At the root of it all, it's just fear disguised as pride. It can be lethal. Being wrong is humbling. Admitting our human-ness, that sometimes that wrong is the "best" we have to offer.

When I can let go of my grip of being right or getting it "right," I'm able to just be in the game. As Brene Brown says, "If you aren't in the arena also getting your ass kicked, I'm not interested in your feedback."


Because fuck guys, I'm in it right now. 

Just yesterday a colleague and I were reflecting on the past year and I said that there's been so much change and there's just no going back. The only way is forward and that's showing up as fully as I can every single day and doing the work. And loving myself when I get it wrong because I am bound to do so.

Try loving up your wrongs. 
Enjoy a more compassionate and spacious perspective in exchange.

Mary Beth LaRue1 Comment