When Being Right Gets In The Way

(mouse swishing) (mouse clicking) (bright music) Headspace Studio. (gentle music) (birds chirping) Hi there, Dora here, and welcome to Radio Headspace. So a few months ago, I found myself sitting in front of 12 eager faces in my teacher training program. I was in the middle of explaining this complex mindfulness concept when one of my students raised her hand and said, "Actually, Dora, I think you might have that backwards." My first instinct was that familiar heat of embarrassment rising up. You know that feeling, when your ego is exposed and wants to defend itself at all costs. But then, I paused, I really looked at what she was pointing out and realized she was absolutely right, I had gotten it completely backwards. And in that moment I had a choice, I could try to save face and double down on being wrong, or I could do something radical, I could delight in being wrong. (gentle music) And here's what I teach my mindfulness students and what I had to learn myself that day. Humility isn't just nice to have as a teacher or a practitioner, it's essential. Because the moment we think we know everything, the moment we're so attached to being right, that we can't see where we're wrong, we stop being able to learn, we stop being able to grow, we stop being present to what's actually happening right now. In Zen Buddhism, there's this concept called beginner's mind, approaching everything with openness, eagerness, and freedom from preconceptions, even when you're the expert, even when you're the teacher. And one of the most beautiful things about beginner's mind, it means you get to be wrong, it means I don't know becomes an admirable position, not a shameful one. What if being wrong isn't a failure of intelligence, but a doorway to deeper understanding? (gentle music) So when I first started teaching mindfulness, I thought I had to have all the answers, I thought admitting I didn't know something would make me look incompetent or unqualified. So I'd prepare for classes like I was cramming for a final exam. I'd research every possible question someone might ask, I'd craft answers that sounded wise and authoritative. But the more I tried to be the all-knowing teacher, the more disconnected I became from the actual experience of mindfulness, which is about being present to not knowing, to uncertainty, to the mystery of each moment. A participant asked me about grief, specifically, how to be mindful when you're in the middle of profound loss. I started giving my prepared response about acceptance and letting go, but something felt off. This person was in real pain, and my textbook answer felt hollow. So I stopped mid-sentence and said, "You know what? I actually don't know. I've never lost a spouse like you have. I can only share what I've learned about being present with difficult emotions, but honestly, you might know more about navigating grief mindfully than I do. Would you be willing...