The Art of Being Wrong
Being wrong does not erase everything good in us. But protecting the person everyone believes us to be can keep us from honestly confronting the person we have sometimes been.
Being wrong does not erase everything good in us. But protecting the person everyone believes us to be can keep us from honestly confronting the person we have sometimes been.
I am not responsible for forcing someone else’s transformation. I am responsible for mine. Maybe my job isn’t to make someone else change. Maybe my job is to keep letting God change me. And then live like it.
Following a heartbreaking murder trial forced me to wrestle with two things that don’t always fit neatly together: empathy and justice. What do we do when both seem equally important?
Sometimes my body recognizes what my mind hasn’t admitted yet. This is an essay about sadness, memory, and the quiet ways our bodies tell the truth before we’re ready to hear it.
We spend so much energy trying to become someone people will accept. But the more I grow, the more I wonder if the real courage is simply letting ourselves be fully known.
I have a long history of wanting to be right. But the older I get, the more I’m realizing certainty isn’t the same thing as wisdom—and maybe humility is a better guide than confidence.
Relationships rarely fall apart because of one conversation. More often, they’re built—or quietly broken—through the thousands of small moments in between.
A broken air conditioner, a power outage, and one very hot Saturday turned me into someone I barely recognized. Sometimes discomfort has a way of introducing us to ourselves.