Maybe it was because I was young but I always used to enjoy being right. I loved winning arguments. I loved thinking something through and working it all out and coming up with an answer. It was alright if we were both right but if it turned out that I was right and you were wrong then I could live off that feeling of self satisfaction for weeks.
Or maybe it was because I spent so much time being bullied into nothing and the only thing I had was my intellect. I had to use it. I had to win somehow. And it took a lot longer than I would care to admit for that to go away.
To be brutally honest, it hasn’t totally gone away. Maybe it won’t. Twice this week (this week!) I found myself ranting at The Dude that I was right. On at least one occasion, I apologised anyway. There was a time I wouldn’t have entertained the idea. Principles and all that .
But here’s the thing . There are more important things than being right (shock! horror!).
If being right turns a person into a problem, it’s wrong.
If being right means the widow and orphan go hungry, it’s wrong.
If being right makes another person less than worthy of your love, it’s wrong.
If being right means judging other people by your standards, it’s wrong.
But don’t take my word for it. I might be wrong.