It’s Better to Admit You Were Wrong than Prove You Were Right

Confidence comes from connection more than it does from control

Have you ever been certain that you’re right about something only to find out later you were wrong?

Of course you have. That’s a universal human experience.

The question is, what did you do in that situation?

Did you attempt to downplay your error in the eyes of others or for yourself and move on as quickly as possible from the discomfort? Or have you ever been willing to examine and investigate your investment in being right in the first place?

I’m going to share a story about feeling right, being wrong, and attempting to learn something about myself in the process.

At the end I’ll share my discovery of the essential difference between being confident and being in control.

I’m constantly ranting about the inattention of others

We have a free-standing garage that has its own entrance. My son uses the garage a lot because he has a crafting space as well as his sporting equipment stored there.

We’ve hung a key to the garage in a designated spot in the house so anyone who needs to get in can easily do so.

To give the key better visibility we’ve tied it to a decorative strawberry to make it harder to misplace.

I’m constantly ranting about people who don’t return the key to the hook when they’re done with it. If I see the hook empty, I’ll often go looking for the key, and the last person who used it, so that it doesn’t get lost.

Everyone in my family can tell you how obsessed I am with keeping track of that key.

I am definitely not proud of the methods I default to when trying to motivate others to pay attention to returning the key. No matter what I say, my mood and tone usually convey some type of judgment about the person who has misplaced it and the fact that they have not yet developed the power of attention and mindfulness that is clearly the superior way to navigate life.

I am definitely not proud of the methods I default to when trying to motivate others to pay attention to returning the key.

The implication is of course the fact that I obviously have these strengths. We could even say that I feel very confident about my virtues in this area.

What happened to the key?

The key went missing again a while ago, and being absolutely sure of my capacity to remember things and treat objects mindfully, I launched into what felt to me like a gentle and respectful inquiry regarding its whereabouts.

I asked questions like “Where do you think you might have put it?” And made statements like “I’m sure it will show up just like it has in strange places before.”

All of my comments were made in a casual tone, but the underlying assumption that someone else had misplaced the key made it feel more like an inquisition to them than an inquiry.

My “confidence” here was backfiring. The result is that no one was enrolled in searching for the key with the same commitment that I was. And even with the amount of help I did get, our efforts to locate it failed and it appeared to have disappeared for good.

My “confidence” here was backfiring.

A few days ago I went to the closet to put on the old mangy jacket I use for doing yard work. I reached into my coat pocket to pull out my gardening gloves, which I always mindfully keep there so I always know where they are. As I pulled my gloves out, however, what fell on the floor was the strawberry key.

Yes, it had been in my coat pocket all along

In my supreme confidence about my mindful qualities, I hadn’t seriously considered I may have been the one who misplaced the key. And yes, I did share its discovery and my chagrin at being the culprit.

What’s notable here is the dynamic where my confidence requires comparison in order to bolster itself.

There are a number of things I’m actually good at. Public speaking, writing, entertaining. I don’t need anyone else to be substandard at those things to feel confident about my competency in those areas.

Here’s my latest insight about how to tell the difference between real confidence and confidence masquerading as control.

If my sense of confidence about a skill, ability or capacity in any way necessitates others NOT being good at that thing, that’s a sign it’s not actually confidence I feel, but insecurity and fear.

The real magic of confidence

A common reaction to feeling insecurity and fear is the need for control. So the entire dynamic of needing things to all remain in a particular place is attended by the need to believe that I am good at keeping track of things. But then I wind up using others as foils to reinforce my identity as a mindful, in-control person who can successfully maintain the order of his universe.

The cost to relationship is high with this dynamic, so I’m actively working with it, because what I want and need most of all is a sense of connection and trust among me and my family members.

Sharing that it was me who misplaced the key was a step in the right direction. In fact, trusting that our bond could withstand the open confession of my hubris is a far greater demonstration of confidence than perfectly managing the objects in our household.

There’s a kind of open-hearted power in being uncertain and unsure—shifting some of the investment we’ve made in our own self-image and instead putting our faith in human relationships as the solid ground we’re really looking for.

This is the kind of confidence I want in my life. Risking exposure to unknown and uncontrollable elements, to my own fears, to things that produce anxiety, shoulder to shoulder with my intimates, and discovering we’re acceptable to each other as we are.

What about you? What’s your strawberry key?

Do you have any form of confidence that requires comparison or a sense of superiority and separation to sustain it?

And if so, can you admit it to yourself, and possibly to others, so that true confidence can start to work its magic?