Welcome back to Infinite Threads. I’m your host, Bob.
In the last episode, we talked about how peace can feel unnatural. How the quiet can feel suspicious when we’ve lived in noise for a long time. How stepping out of constant activation can feel like losing something, even when what we’re losing is tension.
Today, I want to go a layer deeper.
Because even when we choose calm… even when we choose love… even when we decide not to react to every storm…
There is something that can quietly remain.
The subtle ego of being right.
This one is harder to see.
When we think about ego, we usually imagine arrogance. Boasting. Loud superiority. The person who dominates the room.
But ego can be much quieter than that.
It can sit politely in the corner of our mind and whisper, “At least I’m the reasonable one.”
It can nod gently and say, “I’m not like them.”
It can cloak itself in morality and tell us, “I’m standing for truth.”
And here’s the part that makes this tricky.
Sometimes we are standing for truth.
Sometimes we are right.
But being right and needing to be right are not the same thing.
That’s the thread we’re pulling today.
There’s a rush that comes with being correct. A small internal tightening. A sense of elevation. Even if we never say it out loud, there can be a quiet satisfaction in knowing we see something clearly while someone else does not.
It feels stable.
It feels grounding.
But if we’re honest — really honest — sometimes it also feels superior.
And superiority is not love.
The ego doesn’t always want truth for the sake of clarity. Sometimes it wants truth for the sake of identity.
It wants to be the wise one.The awake one.The rational one.The compassionate one.The strong one.
And if we aren’t careful, even our pursuit of love can become a performance of righteousness.
That’s the subtle trap.
We stop yelling. We stop reacting. We stay calm.
But internally, we might still be narrating a story where we are the hero and someone else is the problem.
That narration keeps separation alive.
And Infinite Threads has always been about dissolving unnecessary separation.
It’s easy to spot ego when it’s loud and aggressive.
It’s much harder to see when it’s quiet and convinced of its virtue.
Let me say something carefully.
Truth matters.
Discernment matters.
Integrity matters.
This isn’t about pretending everything is equal or that harmful behavior doesn’t exist.
This is about examining what happens inside of us when we attach our identity to being the one who sees clearly.
Because once identity fuses with correctness, compassion can begin to thin.
You may find yourself listening less and waiting more — waiting for the moment to correct. Waiting for the opportunity to clarify. Waiting to subtly demonstrate that you understand something the other person does not.
It can feel harmless.
Even justified.
But notice what happens to your heart in those moments.
Is it open?
Or is it braced?
Is it curious?
Or is it preparing a rebuttal?
The ego of being right often hides in preparation.
Preparation to explain.Preparation to defend.Preparation to dismantle someone else’s perspective.
And while explanation has its place, love rarely begins with dismantling.
There is a difference between standing in truth and standing over someone with it.
One is grounded.
The other is elevated.
And elevation — even subtle elevation — creates distance.
I’ve had to confront this in myself more times than I’d like to admit.
There have been moments where I was calm on the outside, measured in tone, composed in delivery… but internally I was thinking, “If they would just understand what I understand.”
That thought feels harmless.
But embedded in it is hierarchy.
I understand.They don’t.
And hierarchy is the opposite of the thread that says there is no “them,” only “us.”
If we truly believe there is no “them,” then the goal isn’t to win clarity over someone else. The goal is to uncover clarity together.
The ego doesn’t love “together.”
The ego prefers contrast.
It wants the subtle glow of comparison.
And here’s something even more challenging.
Sometimes the ego of being right grows strongest when we’ve been hurt.
When we’ve been dismissed.When we’ve been misunderstood.When we’ve watched harm unfold.
In those moments, being right feels protective.
It feels like armor.
“If I’m correct, I’m safe.”“If I’m correct, I’m justified.”“If I’m correct, I can’t be invalidated.”
But love is not built on invulnerability.
Love is built on courage.
And courage sometimes means releasing the need to be perceived as correct.
That doesn’t mean abandoning your values.
It means loosening your grip on your self-image as the enlightened one.
There’s a kind of humility that says, “I may see something clearly… and I may still be incomplete.”
There’s a softness that says, “Even if I disagree, I will not reduce you.”
There’s a steadiness that says, “I don’t need to win this exchange to remain whole.”
That steadiness is strength without superiority.
And it is far rarer than we think.
When you no longer need to be right, you become more effective.
Because you can listen fully.
You can absorb nuance.
You can ask questions without hidden agendas.
And you can speak truth without that sharp edge that makes others brace themselves.
People can feel when you’re trying to win.
Even if your voice is calm.
They can feel when your words are slightly angled toward proving something.
And the moment they feel that, they stop hearing you.
But when you speak without needing to dominate, something different happens.
The temperature lowers.
The space widens.
The other person’s nervous system doesn’t immediately tighten.
And sometimes — not always, but sometimes — that creates an opening.
An opening where understanding can actually land.
The ego of being right closes doors.
The humility of shared humanity opens them.
This is subtle work.
It’s internal work.
No one will applaud you for not asserting your correctness.
No one will give you a medal for choosing connection over victory.
But something inside you will soften.
And that softening is not weakness.
It is alignment.
There is a kind of freedom that comes when you no longer need to prove yourself in every disagreement.
You can hold your convictions without gripping them so tightly that they become weapons.
You can speak clearly without sharpening your tone.
You can let silence do some of the work.
And perhaps most importantly, you can remain connected to the person in front of you, even if you never agree.
Because love is not agreement.
It is recognition.
Recognition that the person across from you is not an opponent to defeat, but a consciousness navigating their own fears, stories, and blind spots — just like you.
When we release the subtle ego of being right, we don’t lose truth.
We lose tension.
We lose the internal pressure to perform our clarity.
We lose the need to be seen as the wise one.
And what remains is something far more powerful.
Presence.
Presence doesn’t need to be correct to be grounded.
Presence doesn’t need to dominate to be strong.
Presence simply stands.
And from that stance, love becomes less about persuasion and more about embodiment.
You don’t have to prove your alignment with love.
You live it.
And sometimes living it means letting go of the last word.
Even when you could deliver it perfectly.
Especially then.
That’s a hard practice.
But it’s a liberating one.
Because when the need to be right dissolves, something beautiful rises in its place.
Humility.
And humility is fertile ground for transformation.
Not just in others.
In you.
I’m grateful you’re willing to look at these subtle layers with me.
It’s not comfortable work.
But it’s honest work.
And honesty is where the strongest threads are woven.
I’ll see you in the next one.
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