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the gift of being wrong

We are all wrong about all kinds of things in our lives and make many errors and assumptions that are completely off the mark.

What is interesting is that as I age I am learning to be more analytical and to appreciate the value in being wrong. It has allowed me to find better and more satisfying answers to things I thought I understood.

We grow up swallowing things and accepting them verbatim and hopefully with the passage of time apply more and more discernment as a litmus test for their veracity. Hence knowing what we don't know has as much value as what we do because we can stop ourselves from solidifying an opinion until we gather more data.

Have you noticed that very ignorant people tend to be easily led into a type of thinking and buy into it like sheep? Arrogance as a flip side also breeds thinking that won't yield to contradictory evidence.

However, ignorance is not bliss either. I think that understanding one might be wrong should be the signal to dig deeper for a more appropriate explanation or narrative.

There is no shame in admitting we don't know everything and can be wrong because we are naturally biased beings. I would even argue that we are the product of an indoctrination which we need to examine more closely as we advance and that failure to do so is akin to stagnation.

Our knowledge mixes with our inclinations and preferences and creates a cocktail which may not reflect reality and recognizing we are doing this and self correcting is where true wisdom lies.


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No, I don't mind

When Halle and I last got together the woman serving us said:

"I can't wait to get home and take off my bra you know what I mean ladies?"

Arguably the statement wasn't the most elegant thing to say to perfect strangers but it made me reflect.

The thing is I don't mind wearing a bra because it is one more reminder that I am trans. Feeling my breast forms pressed up against my skin and cupped within the confines of my bra makes me comfortable and is another piece which contributes towards soothing my gender dysphoria.

There are days when the combination of the feel of my bra and forms, the pull of my dangly earrings and the feel of my feet in heels is a powerful combination which feeds my soul. I used to think this was me fooling myself until I finally admitted that my identity is being affirmed through these accoutrements. They are like badges that allow me to be addressed and treated in the manner I want; like a woman.

The gender identity of cis people is fed in …