It's All About Rightness...Or Is It?

I don’t have to be right.

At least not all the time.

There are some situations where I like to be right. Such as in arguments with my partner or my son.

But other times, I’m open—I love to learn, to be curious, to explore the far reaches of the world that I do not yet understand.

There are a few deal breakers. Conversation stoppers. A handful of areas where I am quite attached to my position: around justice and equity, for example. It’s something I feel in my bones.

If you have areas like that too, they are probably linked to your core values. I recently shared with my colleagues that if there were a perspective more right than believing in equity for all of humanity, I would be willing to consider that perspective.

They laughed.

Because my colleagues all believe in uplifting human beings too. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be non-profit consultants and coaches.

Sometimes, though, I can get a bit too attached to rightness in these areas. This is when it becomes more like righteousness and judgment. This kind of rightness carries the same energy as perfectionism—which can be a characteristic of white supremacy, holding other's work to an unreasonable standard set by those with the most privilege.

Whaaaaat?

I was blown away when I first heard that. I like high standards. I like things to be perfect. I like things to be error-free—that’s what led me to be an editor for 10 years. I pride myself in finding errors, typos, mistakes.

But perfectionism can bring good work to a grinding halt. I have coaching clients who can get stuck in this. When faced with a dilemma, they become frozen in a never-ending loop of what-if scenarios, asking over and over, “Yeah, but what is the right thing to do?”

We can get stuck when we believe the right thing is the only way that is perfect. There is one way that is right, other ways that are wrong, and I better pick the right one.

But in these cases, “Do I take this path or that path?” or “Do I respond this way or that way?”, it doesn’t really matter which path you take—it just matters that you choose one and then align with it.

So, rather than focusing on what is right, a more useful thing is to choose what is skillful. Or what is whole.

When you get stuck, you can ask, “What is the skillful thing to do here?” Or “What is the whole thing to do?” If I were naturally creative, resourceful, and whole, what would I do then?

I was scanning through some of my poetry the other day. I have a few hundred unfinished poems in a writing folder. I realized when reading the poems that I miss them.

And I think they miss me.

But what is the right thing for me to do in the coming year? It’s probably to keep investing the majority of my time in my work, because that is how I pay for my mortgage, and save for retirement.

But what would be the whole thing to do?

To go sit in a cabin in Vermont and evolve those 200 poems into a book manuscript.

Realistically, I am not going to do that. I do need to generate a solid living, contribute to the mortgage, and pay off some student loans.

And there are plenty of other lovely parts of my life that I enjoy also. I can’t become a hermit—I need to keep my wits about me so I can keep winning those arguments with my partner and son. There’s that.

But when you aren’t whole, it eats away at you though, doesn’t it?

I do think I will carve out a week or two in 2025 to go do some writing in the woods somewhere.

What does whole look like for you?

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