About a quarter of the way up to the beautiful summit that awaits at the top of the treacherous 12 miles of beautiful incline that is rist canyon, I realized that I don’t want to be right.
Because if I was right.
I wouldn’t have made it anywhere on this canyon
I would have gotten a flat tire
I would have run out of water about five minutes into the ride
I would have died before reaching the top of the canyon
I never would have seen a deer (Indeed, I saw many)
I would have frozen to death.
If I was right, everything else would go wrong.
So why would I want to be right? As I spun (slowly) aroung a curve in the road, staring at the beautiful sky and senery around me, I was thinking about all of the possible things that could happen, all of the negatives. I then became 100% aware that I welcomed the chance of being wrong. I kick my own negativity to the dust.
Because if I was right
Every storm would become a tornado or maybe a flood
The toast would always burn
I would never wake up to my alarm clock.
Maybe everyday would be Saturday, as I often find myself waking to the thought of Saturday when the reality is that it is a Tuesday.
Sure there would be positives, optimistic as I am Like the tests that would always be a week from “today”. But the truth is that I’m only human. My mind is often jumping to the worst conclusion.
Every mole would be a sign of cancer and every headache would turn into a migrane
The friends that are late would have been killed in an accident on the way.
I would die of boredom or a stubbed toe many times.
So in all honesty, I don’t want to be right. I am okay with being wrong. In fact, I’m often very glad to be wrong. From here on out I may stop pushing to win my side of the arguement and maybe examine the benefit of loosing to someone else who can prove me wrong.