What if we weren’t wrong . . .

I’m spending time with a group of individuals who are asking questions.  Not the demanding, investigative-type of questions.  More of the shades of wonder-type questions.

I’ve been in other groups (though not for very long) that have asked questions, too.  Invariably, their questions center on the mistakes of the past.  “Why didn’t we see that we were so wrong?”  I’ve stood by in horror as these people, acting in typical mob fashion, have castigated their predecessors — and occasionally themselves.

The constant messages ring out . . .

“We have arrived . . . We have attained a level of wisdom never before seen  . . . We have been lifted from our previous stupor of ignorance . . . We are begotten of fools and ignorant people.”

But what if, in those not too distant moments when we or others believed or thought or felt differently, we weren’t wrong?  What if we or our parents or previous administrations were right for the moment?  What if our state of being was a result of the best we could do or think or feel at that time?

The group I’m now in asks questions that have no room for blame.  Only capacity for gain.  What should we be doing?  Where should we be going? How is the best way to get there?  Who could come with us?  When should we take our next step?

The conversation that follows moves quickly.  By not having to tread and retread the slick pavement of fault, we gain traction in things of importance.  We move more rapidly towards making a difference.

Wait, you say.  What if you or your predecessors were wrong?  What then?  What if you were wrong. . .

Then, I have to believe that a power greater than us will influence the current decision.  I’m convinced that life is not marked by right answers, only best answers for the moment.  And, if that’s true, we can stop worrying about being wrong and invest instead in doing what we hope and pray is best.

Wisdom, in the final setting, is not about being right.  Wisdom is being open to what is right.

On drawing lines

“I’ve just about had enough.”

A phrase most often coupled by parents with “Don’t make me come back there.”

Some how, some way, we all want to set boundaries on what we can live with.  And often, we want to back that up with some promise of force or other action if any one is so bold as to cross that line.  After all, don’t people need to know that invading boundaries invokes consequences?

I’m a boundary-loving person — but not big on consequences.  That’s not to say that I don’t impose consequences.  I’m just not thrilled about it.

Yet, consequences are a natural . . . well, uh . . . consequence of life.  Any action I take or word I speak holds tremendous potential for ripples.  And when the boundaries are the right ones, then the attendant, well-reasoned consequences serve a noble purpose — even if the consequences are difficult.

But what happens if my “line in the sand” is misplaced?

Perhaps because of my distaste for imposing consequences, I’m fairly even-handed in dealing them out.  My difficulty, it seems, comes in staking out the wrong boundaries or sometimes the right boundaries for the wrong reasons.  That’s not to say that the lines I draw aren’t close to the right vicinity.  However, if I can’t explain why they’re there, do I dare defend them?

William Ury in his book, The Power of a Positive No, addresses this problem with his concept of packaging a “No” as three answers.  The first answer is a “Yes!” to yourself and your own values.  The second is a firm “No.” to the person or persons making demands or asking you to shift your boundaries.  The final answer is a “Yes?” that can spur further conversation.

Even though I violated all sorts of writing styles in including them, the punctuation on those answers is important.  The exclamation point on the first “Yes!” shows the enthusiasm and positive energy we should feel in recognizing where our own interests are.  The period on the “No.” makes it a calm, flat statement.  A negative answer is often delivered with anxiety and in a way that provokes argument or, even worse, ends all conversation.  A healthy, well-meaning “No” leaves room for continued dialog.  The question mark on the final “Yes?” invites others into a discussion of what could be.  In other words, “Yes?” says, “Your position or request is outside of my current boundaries.  Could we talk about our common interests and see if there is some place we could agree?  Who knows?  Perhaps our boundaries could use adjustment.”

I’m not sure that my “first yes” in all situations bears that exclamation point.  I doubt whether I’ve always invested in discovering and testing those personal boundaries. Since it’s the first piece of a positive “no,” my work is cut out for me.

I’ll be taking drawing lessons in the near future.  Who would have thought that sketching an exclamation point could present such a challenge?