Thanks to all the readers who’ve written in about this post. Many of you were only too happy to inform me that the culprit behind the Unnamed Evil Known As Being Wrong is little more than a big fat OD on pride. While there’s likely some truth to that, filing the whole phenomenon under an attack of egotism seems like an oversimplification. Being right (or, at least, the absence of being wrong) isn’t just about coddling and nurturing your swollen ego; it’s about a need to feed something deep inside the inky mess that passes for our consciousness, a ravenous uncertainty that’s always craning its neck and purling for food like a chick nesting in our emotional makeup. When we’re wrong, it means something - that we’re not good enough, not smart or capable, not part of the larger group, not deserving of our goals or accomplishments, or, worst of all, unworthy of the love we want. It’s like a trigger waiting to shoot BB pellets at still-purple bruises. No matter how wise or powerful or successful we become, we’re always ready to go right back to that place where we’re deeply, unforgivably unworthy, and having the right answers in life seems like the only way to keep everyone else from knowing it. A great strategy, except for the fact that it’s set up to fail.
February 9th, 2007