Occasionally, just every now and then, we get caught; we hate being wrong. It’s the moment our world crumbles and we give into the child complex never too far away. Relax. Become humble.
It’s a fact for all of us, this phenomenon of hating being wrong; pride never a stretch too far away from any of us. Perhaps it’s just with the years and the process of maturation of life that we get to resist or quell our pride better—the response—but the stimuli is always the stimuli!
A poem to better catch the light of the mood:
Being wrong like this is the pits,
I think at this I’ll do the splits,
getting along not just now,
think I’m pregnant with a cow!
Based aside foil and knots,
how’d I be such a dirty big clot?
We are there, a tidy-dug team,
think I’ll go bake a dream.
Foisted high, a scolding mess,
now I want to pick some stress,
bullied, confused, a touch upset,
all until I, my love is met.
Dilly, dally, my mind a stew,
here am I feeling quite blue,
not a worry besides that dream,
this time now just feels mean.
Still I’ll gather, promise and strut,
until my turn, a better luck,
whilst I live this mess out too,
right now I’m best to do this true.
Getting over the fact of embarrassment is one thing; what if we’ve got a respected position to hold? Our credibility is somehow shot in the moment, or so we quite often falsely think.
The truth is people love us being wrong and that, of itself, is a huge blessing for us; we have their favour if we handle the situation right. They will love us even more if we can laugh it off or, better, just admit it and accept it.
The only way to right a wrong is own it serendipitously. It tricks the devil every time!
© 2010 S. J. Wickham.