Prove Me Wrong
I’m always right. I swear. I am. And that should feel like a gift—but it doesn’t.
I remember sitting across from my high school boyfriend, trying to ignore the feeling in my throat that had crawled up from my gut. There was a girl. And although there were no confirmations, there was still that same quiet certainty I always get. “She has feelings for you,” I said. He laughed it off. A year after we broke up, they started dating.
And the worst part is, this isn’t new. I’ve always been like this.
Eight-year-old me, stylish, journal of predictions clutched in hand, ironically leaned up against a gator.
Image Courtesy: Jayden Weiss
I’ve always had this super-sense. Plenty of my friends (the brilliantly smart pre-med and pre-law girls with 4.0 GPAs) are always spot-on with stoichiometry or comparative political statistics, but my accuracy is quite… different. From the breaking of friendships to parting with past partners, whether it’s about someone else or myself, I know what’ll happen. An unassuming stranger might think that sounds crazy. I can’t always be right. I can’t possibly know everything.
But it’s in my blood. My mom (a model mother and perfectionist planner) shares the same sense. My dad likes to say he knows everything, and yes, he does most of the time (I’ll give him that), but when it comes to my mom, I’ve been there for far too many of her “I knew it!” moments to succumb to ignorance. The older I get, the easier it is to see where I get it from as I gradually grow into her. Now, more than ever, I know it.
My intuition is unerring.
My beautiful mom and I.
Image Courtesy: Jayden Weiss
Despite it all, I’ve always been trusting. Trying to see the good in everyone is my specialty. I wear my heart on my sleeve because I want to, but also because it’s tattooed on my arm, turning my fervor into something I can never hide. You can usually tell how I feel before I say anything. My face gives away what my mind hasn’t figured out how to express yet
Everyone loves to be right, but nobody talks about the weight of always knowing. Since middle school, I've written letters to myself at the end of each year to start the next. These letters were full of questions and predictions about my own relationships and those of others. With every opening, little middle school me had a field day with every successful prediction.
Image Courtesy: Jayden Weiss
Keeping such a mentality is quite arduous when you’re so used to doubt. But how can anyone deny my talents when, case after case, I’m infallible?
Case #1:
I think I’m right, and I am.
That girl I had a feeling about? I was right.
My first relationship ever, a high school sweetheart of sorts, ultimately became a breeding ground for my little predictions. Most of those years are childhood memories now, but they're still meaningful experiences. Everyone should be a healthy amount of wary, but if you have a feeling, address it. I met her. I knew it. I got the ending I predicted—but I also helped create it. My feelings about the situation stood, communicated, but unreceived. So instead of directly addressing it, I continued to dwell until thinking about him meant thinking about her. With every thought, the problem I perceived materialized, creating a strain far greater than necessary.
Said high school sweetheart’s cat wearing a scarf I made him.
Image Courtesy: Jayden Weiss
Don’t get me wrong. I love being right. There is a certain satisfaction in being correct, in predicting exactly how things will turn out for you. Even when those things affect you negatively, at least your suspicion was flawless. Nonetheless, that breakup had absolutely nothing to do with said girl, and I probably spent so much time focused on eventually being right that I missed out on the last good moments of that time in my life. I lingered deep in my head, dependent on the outcome. The pure sentiment I knew was there can only be remembered as a waiting room for the ultimate end of our time together. That satisfaction, too, ended up dragging into my college relationships. Everywhere I looked, I couldn't imagine falling in love or making friends without first questioning whether my initial forecast would come to fruition.
Craving to be correct can push you to hope things won’t work out. You learn to seek it. I started wondering if I had learned to hold so much confidence in my instinct, I had begun to manifest the outcomes. Was I… magic? Sorrowfully, there’s nothing magical about relying so heavily on satisfaction; you start to pick people who you know will hurt you, so that you can say you knew it all along. That’s just about when the optimist in me started dying.
Case #2:
I know I’m right, but I don't want to be.
Then, there are times when I desperately want to be wrong.
My freshman year was spent pining over a girl—one I knew had no interest in me—but our relationship kept me holding out hope. You know how it goes. When the people you trust are telling you what you want to hear, it’s hard to trust yourself.
“She wouldn’t act that way if she didn’t like you!”
They were absolutely convinced, having known her too. Begrudgingly, though, I knew. Even my dad stayed optimistic about me. When your dad, of all people, is so invested in your possible happiness, you want to throw away all you’ve ever thought about your instinct.
A year later, I confessed. And lo and behold, guess who was right?
Not my dad.
My beautiful dad and I.
Image Courtesy: Jayden Weiss
These types of cases make it hard for you ever to try to justify what other people describe as “irrational thoughts” (what you know will happen) from all your other relationships. Stubbornness bleeds and dries into your skin. What undermines all positive possibilities becomes impossible to reject. How are you ever supposed to let someone prove you wrong when you’ve only ever been proven right?
Case #3:
I think I’m wrong, but I’ve always been right.
Just when you think:
That’s it, this is how it’ll always be. Successfully right, and successfully disappointed.
The same rollercoaster you’ve always been on, the one you’ve spent years studying, the same expected twists and turns, goes through an unexpected loop.
I met a girl who loves to sit in the sun. When you meet someone who’s so healing, so full of contagious light, you can’t help but put all of your trust in them. Everything grows giddy, hazy, and positively delightful. You grow forgetful; it's inevitable you’ll revert. You still rely on your gut when an old crush of theirs (who’s still a friend) casually reaches out with "Don’t be a stranger!” You get feelings, of course. A small, dingy, old alarm goes off in your head—the one that’s usually followed by paperwork (rigorous journaling) and pressing the “all-clear” (I was right) button to get it to turn off.
But this time is different—the thoughts actually feel irrational. You want them to be. Even with someone who reassures you amidst your daunting feelings, it's Herculean to detach from a pattern that’s etched itself in your brain. When something has always been, it’s difficult ever to let it become something else.
Image Courtesy: Jayden Weiss
This whole time, being right has been a constant, unchanging, dependable quality of mine. But when it comes to the present, am I wrong? Or do I just want to be wrong again?
The satisfaction of being right is an addiction. The desire rips you from the reality of what’s in front of you—what’s good and true. You get to a point of needing it so badly–just to feel in control–you end up missing out on the bliss of being wrong.
The truth is, I get proven wrong every day.
Your expectations are falsified, even after past experiences made you believe you could never have, or never deserve, what you have now. You discover that outdated patterns should not affect your present and come to understand the distinction between illogical paranoia and your gut feeling. You drop the ego, let go of the past.
I’ll still say I’m always right, but I’ve never been more excited to be wrong.
Strike Out,
Writer: Jayden Weiss
Editor: Francesca Jaques
Jayden Weiss is a brand ambassador for Strike Magazine GNV. You’ll usually find her at her favorite vegan café or strolling through campus, sunglasses on, listening to Clairo, complete with a tote bag on her shoulder. Her photo album is filled with pictures of her friends and the pets of every stranger she encounters. You can reach her by Instagram @jaydenleighweiss or by email at jaydenleighweiss@gmail.com
