Recently in a group I posed a question.
"Who is someone you were wrong about?"
People dropped into that silence of pondering, in which their minds scanned past interactions. Gradually they came up for air.
My own story pivoted around someone I had closed the books on. Based on a slender factor I had judged them as barbed. But as chance, or maybe God, would have it we were alone at a table chatting over lunch. In the space of an hour my blinders fell off, and while the food is gone the delicious humor and compassion of this woman lingers.
As I listened to each member of the circle it occurred to me that being wrong can be a blessing. If only I can grease the hinges on my impressions, what marvels could there be waiting?
It turns out that being right is sometimes the booby prize.
