What If I'm Wrong?

Sometimes the greatest growth begins with a simple question: "What if I'm wrong?"

For years, I appreciated the band Rush far more than I actually enjoyed them.

That probably sounds strange coming from someone who loves music as much as I do, but it's true. I respected the band's incredible musicianship: Neil Peart was one of the most innovative drummers of all time, Geddy Lee's voice and bass playing were unmistakable, and Alex Lifeson never seemed interested in simply shredding on the guitar (even though he most certainly could). In other words, I understood why Rush had such a passionate following; I just never really shared it.

Sure, I'd crank up Tom Sawyer or Limelight when they came on the radio, but that was about as far as it went. My conclusion was simple: They're an incredibly talented band, but they're really not for me.

Then one day in January of this year, I really listened to Subdivisions.

For whatever reason, that song landed differently. I'm not sure if it was the driving rhythm and mix of keyboards, guitar, and drums, Neil Peart's biting lyrics about fitting in, or maybe I heard it at the right time in my life. Whatever the reason, it caused me to do something I hadn't done before.

It made me question my conclusion.

I went back and listened to Rush again with fresh ears. I decided that albums I'd never given much attention to deserved another chance, and songs I'd skipped over suddenly sounded different as I really began to hear every aspect of them. In fact, I got into them so much this past spring, I found myself digging deep into their catalog and eventually seeing them during their three-night run in Chicago.

What I realized was that Rush hadn't changed; I had, and that surprised me. For years, I assumed my opinion of the band was fixed because the band was fixed, and it never once occurred to me that I was the variable. The older I get, the more I think that’s true.

Sometimes we don't need new information as much as we need the humility to revisit old judgments. We often decide we don't like a particular author, a certain food, a new technology, or even another person. And, once we've made up our minds, we end up pushing them aside, assuming the case has been closed.

But if we pay attention and are open to it, life can have an interesting way of shifting our perspectives. The experiences we have, the people we meet, the challenges we face, and even the disappointments we encounter all shape how we see the world. Yet we often cling to opinions that were formed by a younger version of ourselves, rarely stopping to ask whether they still fit the person we've become.

I've come to believe that one of the healthiest questions we can ask ourselves isn't "How do I prove I'm right? "It's simply "What if I'm wrong?"

Changing your mind isn’t some sort of bizarre admission that you’re wrong. It does, however, acknowledge that you've gained enough experience to see something differently than you once did and actually grow as a human. I honestly believe this matters in business just as much as it does in life. We form opinions about clients, competitors, industries, technologies, and even ourselves. Some of those conclusions are absolutely correct while others may simply be incomplete. The danger isn't making the wrong call once in a while, as making mistakes is part of the human condition. The real danger is becoming so attached to being right that we stop being curious.

The people I admire the most are not the ones who always think they have the answers. They're the ones who are confident enough to reconsider them.

Looking back, I'm genuinely glad I was wrong about Rush, and not because I found another band to add to my ever-growing playlist. I'm glad because it helped me realize that growth doesn't always come from finding new answers as much as from asking better questions, like "What if I'm wrong?"

That realization has me wondering, what - or who - am I wrong about today?  I have a feeling the answer says a lot more about me than anything else.