Wrong

I hope to allow enough space in my life to be wrong. For so very long, it has been important to be certain about many things. Then I started to let go.

The anxiety about being wrong gradually diminished. I began to relax about having things turn out as I wanted, intended or planned. I slowly realized there were few wrong ways of going. I accepted that all paths go somewhere.

My expectations of myself and others slowly faded. I accepted there were many ways to see reality and my view as but one out of infinite possibilities.

To see things as they really are became less of a pursuit of truth narrowly defined. Seeing things as they are became more of an invitation to see the infinite possibility in every thing and everyone.

Becoming a lover of the world has meant accepting my own fragmented, broken view of everything and everyone I come across. I have learned that seeing things and loving them as they really are means admitting I am mostly wrong. My notion of reality is flawed, misguided by my ideas about how things must be.

I am letting go of my learned narrow view of everything and everyone. I am accepting that I am wrong about most everything. It has become such a flight of freedom to escape being right all the time, any time.