What if you’re wrong? That everything you’re thinking and believing about someone is wrong. That you are in error and believing your own white lies. What if you sat back and looked at yourself, deep into yourself, and admitted that you are refusing to acknowledge that you don’t want to admit you’re wrong.
That to admit you are wrong is to acknowledge that part of you is selfish, arrogant, ego, and unwilling to back away and say out loud: I am wrong.
How much have you allowed someone else to influence your feelings toward someone else? To reverse everything you ever thought or felt about that person? How much have you listened to someone and then looked at another through their eyes and not your own.
Is it truly that difficult to look back at that other person and say, sorry, but that’s not who I see and know when talking about another?
If we can agree to disagree on world politics, world religions, even on something as simple as a television show, how come we can’t stand up and say: the person you’re seeing isn’t the person I see.
Is our need to be right…perfect…the wounded one…the betrayed…self-righteous…so strong we forget that while believing “they” are wrong, we may also be, just as much…or more.
What have you lost, what’s been your cost, in order to be right?
I think it boils down to pride. Some don't want to admit that in fact that they're wrong. It's hard to take that first step and admit it.
Hi, Kim. Thanks for coming over…pride, that's the other word I was searching for.