When I was a little girl my parents would tell me over and over that you got more flies with honey than with a fly swatter. I was smart enough to know what that old adage meant, but was thick enough to nearly never heed it - even after I had grown up. You see, from toddlerhood I knew I was on the right side of good, and therefore always right. I must never allow the other side to stomp on my dignity and lacerate my honor! Even when I was woefully outnumbered by critics and detractors I lashed out Quixote-like. My life seemed to be one series of windmill tilts after another. Guess who came out with the painful knocks and bruises?
Like Dr. Phil says" Would you rather be right, or would you rather be happy?" I might have been right a lot of the time, but I kept losing my battles and nursing big hate eggs. It must be in the family genetics to ever righteously tilt headlong at a foe instead of cooling down long enough to let a little logic seep in first.
It was only in the past decade or so that it finally got drummed into my stubborn old gray-haired head that one against many cannot win in direct battle. I learned never to respond with flashing eyes and a hot retort, even though I seethed inside. I was never in a position to win my fights that way. Instead I took my welts home and allowed them to subside while I calmed down to consider using more subtle tactics - or none at all; just let things be until they sorted themselves out in their own way. Who wants to walk around with a virtual bloody nose and a fat lip all the time?