Last week, Leland and I got into one of those stupid arguments that married couples have. We were debating when we’d planted our tomatoes last spring. I was dead certain it was the first week of May. He swore up and down it was mid-April. For ten solid minutes, we went at it. I’m pulling out evidence: “It was right after my sister visited!” He fires back: “Nope, definitely before Easter because I remember thinking we were planting early.” Then the poor guy whips out his phone and checks his photos. April 18th. Right there, timestamped and everything, a picture of us planting those darn tomato seedlings.
I was wrong. Completely, utterly, embarrassingly wrong. And what did I do? Did I gracefully admit my mistake? Sigh…..no. My first instinct was to argue with photographic evidence. “Well, maybe that’s when we transplanted them…” I was literally ready to die on the hill of tomato planting dates rather than just say “Oops, my bad.”
Why We’d Rather Be Right Than Happy
What is it about being wrong that makes us lose our minds? Why would I rather look like an idiot arguing with a timestamped photo than just admit I remembered something incorrectly? It’s like we’ve all bought into this toxic idea that being wrong about anything, even something as meaningless as garden timing, makes us fundamentally defective human beings In meetings, we’ll defend terrible ideas rather than say, “You know what, I’m not sure about this.” In relationships, we’ll turn minor disagreements into World War III rather than admit we might be off base. Online, we’d rather delete an entire post than add “Edit: I was wrong about this.”
And here’s the kicker—half the time, we know we’re probably wrong. There’s that little voice in the back of your head going “Actually, you might be full of crap about this.” But do we listen? Nope. We just dig in deeper.
What All This “Being Right” Costs Us
This whole obsession with never being wrong? It’s exhausting. And honestly, pretty sad when you think about it. In order to avoid saying “I was mistaken”, we waste ridiculous amounts of time defending positions we’re not even sure about. We torch relationships over details that won’t matter in six months. Worst of all, we completely shut down any chance of learning something new. Every time you refuse to admit you’re wrong, you’re basically announcing to the world: “I already know everything worth knowing about this.” This isn’t just arrogant, it’s a surefire way to stay exactly as ignorant as you are right now.
Your Memory Is a Liar
Let’s talk about how to feel better about being wrong all the time? Let’s start with the reality that your memory is basically a pathological liar. Dr. Elizabeth Loftus has spent decades proving human memory is flawed. Our memories aren’t like security camera footage we can replay exactly. They’re more like that friend who tells the same story differently every time, adding and subtracting details based on their mood and who’s listening.
When you remember something, you’re not accessing a file. Instead you are rebuilding it from scratch. That reconstruction gets influenced by what you had for breakfast, what you watched on Netflix last night, and whether the person you’re talking to seems skeptical. In short, you are not the same person you were when you originally lived the memory.
Amazingly, scientists have actually convinced people they remember being lost in a mall as a kid—completely made-up events that never happened. If researchers can plant false childhood memories with a few “suggestion sessions”, how sure should we really be about when we planted some tomatoes?
We Edit Our Own Memories
It gets worse. Not only is your memory unreliable, but your brain actively edits your memories to make you look better. We unconsciously adjust our recollections so we seem smarter, more consistent, more right than we actually were. So, when Leland and I were arguing about planting dates, we weren’t just dealing with faulty memory—we were working with memories that our own brains had already doctored to support whatever story felt most comfortable.
What If Being Wrong Was Actually Fine?
Picture this: instead of my ridiculous tomato defense, what if I’d just said, “Huh, you’re right! I totally remembered that wrong.” The whole argument would’ve been over in thirty seconds. Nobody’s feelings are hurt. I have some humility about how terrible my memory is, and we could’ve spent those ten minutes doing literally anything else.
I also find there’s something almost rebellious about just saying, “I was wrong.” It goes against everything our egos want us to do. But what if we started treating being wrong like what it actually is—just information, not a personal attack on our character?
The People Who Get It Right
The smartest people I know are the ones who can admit they’re wrong without having a complete identity crisis about it. There’s something genuinely refreshing about someone who can say “You know what? I don’t think I had that right.” and then just… move on with their life. This isn’t about becoming some wishy-washy person who never has opinions. It’s about being secure enough in who you are that you don’t need to be right about everything to feel okay about yourself.
Maybe We’re All Just Guessing
Here’s a thought: what if we all just admitted we’re working with incomplete, edited, probably wrong information most of the time? Instead of “That’s not how it happened,” what if we tried “That’s not how I remember it, but who knows?” I’m not saying all opinions are equally valid or that facts don’t matter. I’m just saying maybe we could hold our memories, especially the details, a little more loosely.
The Weird Freedom of Being Wrong
Here’s what I’m starting to figure out: being wrong isn’t the opposite of being smart. Being too scared to admit you’re wrong—that’s what makes you stupid. The smartest people I know are the ones who can pivot when they get new information. Who can hear something and think “Huh, I never thought of it that way” instead of immediately looking for reasons why the other person is an idiot.
There’s actually something liberating about just accepting that you’re going to be wrong about stuff. It takes all the pressure off. You don’t have to defend every random thing you’ve ever said. You can just learn stuff and change your mind and move on.
Here’s to Being Wrong
So here’s my toast: to being wrong—messily, obviously, without shame. To saying “I was mistaken” and discovering the world doesn’t actually end when you do.
Because honestly? In a world where everyone’s fighting to be right about everything, maybe the most badass thing you can do is just be comfortable being wrong about stuff.
Trust me, your tomato planting arguments will go much better.
References:
Loftus, E. F. (2005). Planting misinformation in the human mind: A 30-year investigation of the malleability of memory. Learning & Memory, 12(4), 361-366.
Braun, K. A., Ellis, R., & Loftus, E. F. (2002). Make my memory: How advertising can change our memories of the past. Psychology & Marketing, 19(1), 1-23.