…the way out of digging in and doubling down
In Finding Shelley’s Shoes, my current work-in-progress, eldest sister Claud is at odds with her younger sisters over the past, the present, and ultimately, the future. They reminisce, they argue, they discuss—the topic transforms several times. Yet, through all the discussions and changes in the book, she never actually admits that she’s wrong. She uses many words, she explains her behavior, even saying it’s not an excuse, but she never admits she’s wrong. And I’m not going to change that.
Admitting you are wrong is difficult — as our political arena has proven. But, it is a skill absolutely necessary to human existence.
it betters relationships; no one likes someone who is right all the time
it paves the way for mediation; organizations—such as government—can’t function if no one will admit they’ve been wrong so the sides can take a step towards an agreement
it brings us nearer the truth; no one person or side knows it all. When a theory or idea is proven wrong, or even unworkable, admitting it allows everyone to cast it off and move on. In science and in communal projects, this helps us arrive at the truth sooner. Not to mention with less argument.
When dealing with critiques, admitting you were ‘wrong’, ie, a section of your writing doesn’t work, is key to improving your manuscript. You ditch the offending words and replace them with ones that work. Sometimes that’s tough, if you’ve turned a neat phrase or feel you’ve captured something essential about your character’s inner self. Still, it’s not too difficult to work through that. It’s the bigger changes that are tougher to tackle.
In Finding Shelley’s Shoes, I — even as the writer—wondered why the arguments continued. Why do the sisters gnaw away at various sides of the same problem, never coming to conclusions that make a difference? Even at the end of the story, there is much to be worked on in their relationships. Because Claud remains obstinate, only reaching the point of wondering how or if she could have done things differently, the only step down the road of fixing things has been agreeing that there has been a wound and that it needs to be fixed. There is still a vital next step to making everything work again. To do that, someday Claud will have to admit she was wrong. …. Okay, so maybe I’m wrong to say I won’t change it. Maybe she should say it within the covers of the book. And maybe I’ll have to change it, for both her family’s sake and the sake of my book.
Being able to admit you are wrong—and doing it when you should—is one of the greatest wheel-greasers known to humankind. It is efficient. It is wise. It is even noble.
From protagonist to parent to politician—we all need to know how to take it back a notch, re-examine our own ideas, recognize our failings, and own up to our mistakes. We need to take the high road, admit we are wrong, and make the requisite moves to heal. There is no shame or weakness in admitting a mistake. On the contrary, taking responsibility for one and changing it to something better is a thing to be proud of. It makes you a better human.
What if we don’t?
In a world full of chaos, such as today’s, there is an abundance of stance-taking, declaration, and—well, partisanship. Once you have taken the stance, made the declaration, or chosen the side, it can seem that there is only one way to go: Full support; complete fealty; blind, eternal loyalty.
You marshal your arguments, organize your reasons, and pull together your colleagues to make your cause move forward. Confronted by opposition, you throw everything you have at them, determined to defeat them.
And if they call you out or point out flaws in your reasoning, what do you do?
Well, you can’t abandon your issues or your comrades in arms. You’re fighting for what you believe in! Who walks away from that? And so begins the repetition of your position, the frantic search for more evidence and ammunition, the vows to never change your allegiance or allow reality to affect your reasoning.
There is no rethinking a position, there is no reconsideration of the ramifications. There is only reiteration of “I am right.” And no realization —or even recognition—that maybe you should be saying “I was wrong.”
You have stuck to your guns.
But at what cost?
In writing, it could be at the cost of your manuscript’s success. In parenting, it could be the loss of your child’s respect, and even affection. In politics, it could be the loss of the ability to govern, global respect, and the nation we have worked to hard to build.
Actually, it’s pretty basic. Which is worth more to you? To say, “That’s how I wrote it, and I’m not changing it!” and your story languishes there? Or to reconsider whether or not there could be a better way, try it, and be able to say, “My story was picked up. It’s being published!”
The concept is applicable everywhere.