There’s this feeling, right? This little fizz of pure, unadulterated happiness that rushes through you when you realize you were right. You knew that road was the shorter route. You said that stock was a dud. You told your friend he’d regret dating that guy who talks to pigeons. And you were right.
It’s almost a drug, this feeling. It makes you a part of the pack, a smart one, a guru, a silent chai-sipping Yoda with a smug smirk. We’re all chasing it, this feeling of being right. It’s a core operating system.
But I’ve noticed a small, sneaky virus in the system.
A lot of the time, we aren’t just trying to be right. We’re working overtime to show that someone else was wrong.
Think about it. We’re on autopilot. We’ve installed this weird firmware in our brains that just runs in the background. It’s like a secret mission you didn’t know you were on.
You see it everywhere.
That colleague who left his old job and joined your company? Watch him. He’ll constantly suggest things that are the exact opposite of what his old company did. It’s not about finding the best way; it’s about proving his last boss was a fool. His old organization, the one he’s no longer part of, is still living in his head, renting space for free. He’s fighting a ghost war, a solo match against a phantom opponent.
And we do it, too. Don’t act like you haven’t.
Remember that teacher from school? The one who told you that your art project was a waste of time and that you’d never make a living as a creative? If you’re a successful artist today, I can almost guarantee there’s a small, silent part of you that is doing this just to rub it in their face. That’s your motivation. That’s your fuel.
The same goes for that one person who told you you can’t cook for nuts. Now, when you whip up a perfectly spiced chicken biryani, you’re not doing it just for yourself. You’re doing it for the imaginary, cheering crowd… and the one person who said you couldn’t. It’s the invisible need to prove them wrong.
Here’s the deal, though. When you do things to prove others wrong, your existence is dependent on theirs. You are still tied to them, a puppet with strings controlled by their old judgment. Even if they’ve forgotten you, you’re still living in their shadow.
That’s a weird kind of freedom, isn’t it? Being free from a place but still mentally chained to it.
Maybe it’s time to change the firmware. To do things not because someone else was wrong, but because you know it’s right for you. Because let’s face it, the person who planted that doubt might not even be around tomorrow. They’ve moved on.
But your mind, your head space? That’s your home forever. Make sure the people renting space there are the right ones.
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