The Architecture of Choice: Navigating the Gap Between Right and Good

Life, when viewed through the lens of a child, is often painted in primary colors. There is a "right" way to act, a "wrong" way to behave, and a "good" outcome we all strive for. But as we mature, the primary colors bleed into a vast, misty gray. I have spent a lifetime navigating that gray, guided by a unique constellation of parents—two fathers and three mothers. Each provided a different coordinate on my moral map, but it was my two fathers who defined the tension I live by today: the realization that what is right is not always good, and what is good is not always right.

My biological father was the architect of my foundation. From him, I learned the iron laws of responsibility and accountability. In his world, "right" was a matter of integrity to the contract. If you made a promise, you kept it. If you caused a problem, you fixed it. If the law said "X," you did not do "Y."

This version of "right" is the backbone of a functioning society. It is the "right" of the spreadsheet, the "right" of the law, and the "right" of the individual who stands by their word. It taught me that my actions have weight and that I must be prepared to carry that weight without complaint.

But then there was my second father, my maternal grandfather. He was the philosopher of my heart. He didn't just teach me how to follow a rule; he taught me how to judge the rule itself. He taught me values—the difficult, often agonizing process of making moral judgments in situations where the rulebook offered no comfort.

He showed me that "goodness" is a deeper, more fluid thing than "rightness." Through him, I learned that moral judgments are most difficult precisely because they require us to weigh the situation, the humanity involved, and the long-term impact against the cold, hard facts of being "right."

To understand this, we must look at the "right" as a standard of correctness and the "good" as a standard of compassion and well-being.

Imagine a company facing a financial crisis. The "right" thing to do—the responsible, accountable action for a CEO—is to cut costs immediately to save the entity. This often means laying off hundreds of employees. On paper, it is right. It fulfills the accountability to the board and the survival of the institution.

However, is it good? When you look at the families shattered, the loss of dignity, and the community impact, the "right" decision feels hollow. In this scenario, being right is a surgical necessity, but it lacks the warmth of being good. My grandfather would have asked: "You have met your accountability to the bank, but have you met your responsibility to the human spirit?"

Conversely, we often encounter the "good" that fails the test of "right." Think of a parent who constantly shields their child from the consequences of their mistakes. The parent’s intent is good—it comes from a place of love, a desire to prevent pain, and a wish to see the child happy.

But this "good" is not right. It violates the principle of accountability that my biological father held dear. By being "good" in the moment, the parent fails the "right" task of preparing the child for a world that will not be so forgiving. Here, the "good" act weakens the character, proving that kindness without the structure of what is right can become a form of harm.

My grandfather’s lessons were the most difficult to implement because they required discernment. He taught me that morality is not a checklist; it is a scale.

He once told me that sometimes, to do something good, you have to be willing to be "wrong" in the eyes of the world. And sometimes, to be right, you have to accept that you might not feel like a "good" person in that moment.

Living with the influence of two fathers means I am always in a state of internal dialogue. When I face a crossroad, one voice asks: "What is your obligation? What did you promise?" (The Right). The other voice asks: "Who is being hurt? Where is the grace in this?" (The Good).

As I grow older, I realize that the most impactful leaders and humans are those who can sit in the discomfort of this tension. They are people who don't just ask "Is this legal?" or "Is this the rule?" but also ask "Is this kind?" and "Is this healing?"

I am the product of five distinct souls who raised me, but the bridge I walk every day was built by my two fathers. One gave me the boots to walk the path of accountability, and the other gave me the compass to ensure the path was leading toward a more merciful world.

In your own life, when you are certain you are "right," I invite you to pause and ask if you are being "good." And when you feel you are doing "good," ensure you aren't sacrificing the "right" foundations that keep our character intact. The beauty of life isn't in choosing one over the other, but in the struggle to honor both.

Be awesome: Buy us a Coffee

    By visiting our ❤️ page.

If you haven't subscribed yet to The Somebody, Nobody, Anybody and Everybody Blog!, please do so by filling out your email ID in the Subscribe by Email form and clicking on submit. (Check your INBOX OR JUNK folder for the subscription confirmation email.)

Help us support the causes that matter:

Society for the Empowerment of DeafBlind | NVDA | GAAD Foundation | EYEWAY | Billion Strong

   

Be awesome: Like what you read? Share it!