Suppose it isn't about being wrong. Note that I have chosen to emphasize being wrong rather than being right. We are much more afraid of loss than attracted to gain. So being wrong is particularly dangerous and we spend a lot of energy denying it and pushing blame elsewhere. After all, if I can pin the blame on someone else, it means I can't have been wrong.
Our two-year-old daughter announced with great satisfaction once, “I'm a quite right girl.” But suppose we knock both right and wrong out of the equation, what then? First, a huge amount of energy is freed actually to do something, rather than squirrel around trying to bury our mistakes.
If it doesn't matter whose fault it was that I tripped over the loose sole of my sandal, then bang goes the internal conversation about my clumsiness, laziness (not mending the sole), Bill's thoughtlessness (not gluing it when asked, with a nice diversion over his not listening, never listening), my parsimony (buying cheap shoes), the previous house owner installing a carpet that shows every mark (where I spilt the milk I was carrying). The possibilities are endless and I could spend a fruitless afternoon doing them justice, and at the end it would still be my fault. As Lily Tomlin said, “if you win the rat race, you are still a rat.”
So suppose that it doesn't matter. Then I have a shoe that needs mending and a dirty carpet. So what?
It means that I approach life in a different mood. I just happen to trip and it would be sensible to glue the shoe – or better still, Bill could because we would still be on speaking terms.
Life just unfolds, I observe it, rectify it where practically needed and say sorry genuinely, light-heartedly. And get on with something else.