Learning to be wrong

and a recipe for the right salad for spring

I have to admit I like being right.

Anyone who knows me well can attest to that. And while I think I’m a quick study in most things, in the matter of my own set ways, I can be as thick as molasses.

In the slow wisdom of getting older, I’m realising being both stubborn and trying to always be right is a bit of a recipe for disaster.

If there’s one thing I know, it’s that the lessons are always there, waiting to be learned. Signs and signals, chance encounters, a passage read, a story told—tracing the patterns and putting them together can reveal a richness of wisdom, there at our fingertips.

Learning to be wrong

“We learn nothing by being right.”

—Elizabeth Asquith Bibesco, English socialite and writer

The “rightness” that we feel comfortable in can be as mundane as how to load dishwasher properly or iron a shirt and ratchet up to being convinced that our chosen ideology—whether religious or political—is the only one worth subscribing to. When we run into a different approach or an opposing view, we have two choices: open up to the possibilities or double down and close our mind.

Bibesco’s quote reminds us that we need to break away from binary choices: not right or wrong but what about? It allows an in for those of us (ahem, me) who can get stuck in black and white, when all around us are a million beautiful shades to marvel at.

Act beautifully

Seen today in an alleyway in Toronto

As all of this has been running through my head, I read a post yesterday on Facebook from my friend Penny. Beautifully written, it describes what‘s happening as we’ve let being right become the driving force behind everything we do—and how quickly it becomes being mean-spirited, forgetting about kindness, and most of all, gratitude.

With her permission, I’m sharing it here.

Whatever happened to kindness? To understanding that others have burdens to bear that we know nothing of?

The hate, lies, derision, the all encompassing drive to be 'right', to one-up others, self serving 'altruism', the glee at humiliating others, has become the background music of our society...if we allow it in. The lack of relevance of life, and to life, the utter banality, is at first overwhelming, and then numbing. Being mean turns the most outwardly beautiful or handsome, into just ugly and ordinary, in the sea of mediocrity. I can't listen to, watch, or read, that worthless shit.

Gratitude would change absolutely everything.  But it's sad that so many people seem to have no fucking idea what that actually is, in a continuous, or even basic occasional awareness of consciousness.

Life IS beautiful. Truly.

Wishing you all peace, meaning, kindness, gratitude, love.

You matter. And so does everyone else.

As I hit up against the wall of right, I’m trying to keep creating cracks in the mortar. I may get a few knocks in the head along the way (my stubborn head) but hopefully I’ll learn how to stop repeating the same mistakes.

A springtime salad to welcome asparagus

serves 4

May is upon us, and with it, the promise of all the things I love to eat. Mother Nature, ever clever, mirrors the tender green of the budding leaves with the bounty of the market.

The weeks ahead will be full of this wonder. As the first asparagus and peas appear, put this simple salad on heavy rotation. Dare I say it’s exactly the right thing to eat now?

Note: this salad has infinite possibilities. Skip the peas, add radishes, use your favourite vinaigrette, eliminate the lemon. When fresh seasonal ingredients are available, let them shine.

Ingredients

One fat bunch asparagus, trimmed and steamed until just tender

2 cups peas, fresh or frozen, and steamed until tender

1 medium fennel bulb, trimmed, cored, cut in half and thinly sliced (tip: put the fennel slices in cold water with a generous squeeze of lemon to prevent them from browning. Drain before adding to the salad)

1 green onion, trimmed and cut into ¼ inch slices

⅓ cup roughly chopped mint

2 tablespoons fresh oregano leaves

½ lemon, seeded, and thinly sliced

⅓ cup olive oil

2 tablespoon apple cider vinegar

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1 teaspoon honey

Salt and pepper to taste

Prep all the ingredients as described above. Put the asparagus, peas, fennel, green onion, herbs and lemon slices in a large platter. Put the olive oil, vinegar, mustard, honey, salt and pepper in a small mason jar. Cover and shake until well blended. Taste and adjust for flavour, then add the dressing to salad and toss gently with your hands.