Somewhere along the way, I realised something uncomfortable about myself.

I really liked being right.

Not in a loud, aggressive way.
In a quieter, more insidious way.

The kind where you nod politely while mentally preparing your counterpoint.
The kind where you’re listening, but only enough to find the gap in someone else’s logic.
The kind where the conversation isn’t really a conversation – it’s a slow-motion debate you’re trying to win.

I didn’t think of it as ego at the time.
I thought of it as intelligence.
Or clarity.
Or “just telling it how it is.”

But the older I get, the more obvious it becomes that being right and being useful are not the same thing.

And most of the time, they’re not even on the same path.

Being right feels good for about ten seconds.
Being useful tends to last a lot longer.

The Stoics were very clear on this, even if they didn’t phrase it in modern terms.

They weren’t interested in winning arguments.
They were interested in living well.

Marcus Aurelius wasn’t sitting around thinking about how to dominate conversations.
Epictetus didn’t measure his days by how often he proved someone wrong.

They cared about conduct.
About contribution.
About whether their actions actually helped anyone.

That distinction has been quietly reshaping how I move through the world.

I see it most clearly in small moments.

A conversation where I could correct someone… or I could let the point go and keep the relationship intact.
A situation where I could point out why something wouldn’t work… or help make it better.
A moment with my kids where I could assert authority… or guide them calmly to the outcome anyway.

Being right usually serves my ego.
Being useful usually serves the moment.

And here’s the thing no one really talks about – being right rarely changes people.

You can win the argument and still lose the room.
You can have the facts and still damage trust.
You can be correct and completely unhelpful at the same time.

I’ve done it plenty.

There were times I walked away from a conversation technically victorious and emotionally isolated.
Times I felt justified but not proud.
Times where I thought, “Well, I was right,” and yet nothing actually improved because of it.

That’s when the question started shifting in my head.

Instead of “Am I right?”
I began asking, “Is this useful?”

Useful to who?
Useful for what?
Useful right now?

That one change alters everything.

Sometimes the most useful thing is speaking up.
Sometimes it’s shutting up.
Sometimes it’s offering help.
Sometimes it’s stepping back.
Sometimes it’s clarity.
Sometimes it’s kindness.

The answer isn’t fixed.
It depends on the moment.

Stoicism isn’t passive.
It’s responsive.

It asks you to consider what the situation actually needs, not what your ego wants to prove.

I’ve noticed that when I prioritise usefulness over correctness, a few things happen almost immediately.

Conversations soften.
People listen more.
Defensiveness drops.
Progress becomes possible.

Not because I lowered my standards.
But because I raised my awareness.

This shows up everywhere.

In leadership, being right might get you compliance.
Being useful gets you trust.

In parenting, being right might end the argument.
Being useful teaches the lesson.

In relationships, being right might protect your pride.
Being useful protects the connection.

And in life generally, being right keeps you stuck in your head.
Being useful keeps you grounded in reality.

The irony is that when you stop trying to be right all the time, you often end up being more effective.

People don’t need you to win.
They need you to help.

That doesn’t mean abandoning your values.
It doesn’t mean tolerating nonsense.
It doesn’t mean shrinking yourself.

It means choosing the outcome over the applause.

The Stoics believed wisdom should be practical.
If your philosophy doesn’t help you live better, relate better, and respond better, it’s just decoration.

I still care about truth.
I still care about thinking clearly.
I still care about honesty.

I just care more about whether my presence improves the situation or poisons it.

That’s a harder standard to live by.
It requires restraint.
It requires humility.
It requires noticing when the desire to be right is really just the desire to feel superior.

And I fail at it regularly.

But the difference now is that I notice the failure faster.
I correct sooner.
I choose usefulness more often than I used to.

That’s progress.

If there’s a Stoic lesson I keep returning to, it’s this – life isn’t a courtroom.
You’re not here to win cases.
You’re here to contribute something worthwhile while you’re passing through.

Being right might make you feel clever.
Being useful makes you matter.

That’s the choice I’m trying to make more often.

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Until next time,
Broden Johnson