The Art of Being Wrong

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I love it when I am wrong. It’s one of my favourite things – up there with kale and foam rollers. Being wrong is like an unexpected magical door appearing as if from nowhere, inviting me into an expansive land of fresh insight and deeper understanding. It is not a door to be slammed shut.

There was a time, of course, back in my dashing arrogant days (daze) when I much preferred to be oh-so-right about just about anything and everything. Alas, that proved to be a very un-fun and precarious weight to be carrying around. I mean, really, who could enjoy the pressure of needing to be right all the time? Especially when we consider just how vast time and space are with such a multitude of unknowns unknown and never to be known… so, how can we fool ourselves into believing that we know, or even can know, anything?  2 + 2 = 4… can we be sure?

So i’ve given up knowledge. I abstain from being right. I have views, of course, and i’ll share them for your consideration, but I am an eternal beginner – open, curious, and, most definitely, naive. And, anyway, surely it is better to be proven wrong but take a step closer to a potential truth than it is to fight to be right but to, actually, just be buddying up to ignorance?

I don’t want to be blinded. I don’t want to live in a dead end. I don’t want the condemning full-stop of ‘knowledge’. I want to have all the cool ideas and perspectives that life and Universe has on offer. I want to entertain the idea that the Queen is a reptilian over-lord from the lower astral planes of the fourth dimension… it’s just more interesting, and if I don’t know and you don’t know, then who are any of us to dismiss anything, however incredible, however unlikely.

I mean, it’s nice and helpful to have a sense of what works and what doesn’t work to guide me wisely along The Way, but more than that I just want to be open to that beautiful moment when something comes along that works that little bit better – something that corrects my path, exposes my errors, and casts my perspectives into a new, lovelier light.  (This is not about love).

Why would I not want to be wrong? Why would I not want to become aware of something better? What kind of fool would I be to refuse a glorious mansion just so I can snuggle up all smug in my bedsit apartment with a shared bathroom and kitchen? Do you know how gross shared bathrooms are? Why would I want to give up all the growth and learning and possibilities of life, just to save some face and be seen as ‘right’?

And, my God, how much pain and suffering has this world been ridden with just because someone had to be right?

So, I say hell no. What do I know? I don’t think that I know a thing… I don’t know that I don’t know a thing, because maybe I and we do, but I see no benefits in planting that flag if we can’t know that we know.

Of course, I hope one day that I can be right – truly right, as in truly enlightened, truly wise, truly compassionate, truly motivated, truly acting, truly speaking, truly thinking… and, maybe, all that is possible, but until that divine moment I want to be as wrong as many times as it takes to get there, and no longer will I allow but a single atom of vain, deluded, preposterous arrogant ‘knowing’ to stand in my way.

So, am I right, or am I right?

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