"We can always choose to perceive things differently. You can focus on what's wrong in your life, or you can focus on what's right"
About this Quote
Williamson’s line is self-help with a missionary glint: it doesn’t argue you out of despair so much as recruit you into a practice. The first sentence (“We can always choose”) is the lever. It turns perception into agency, and agency into a moral posture. “Always” is doing heavy lifting here, flattening the messy middle where trauma, poverty, illness, and structural constraint make “choice” feel less like freedom and more like a scolding. That absolutism is also why it works: it offers a clean exit ramp from rumination, a script you can repeat when your mind is spinning.
The second sentence sharpens the binary. “What’s wrong” versus “what’s right” isn’t a nuanced diagnostic; it’s a fork in the road. The rhythm mirrors cognitive-behavioral language without the clinical caveats, translating therapy-adjacent ideas into a bumper-sticker theology of attention. Subtext: your attention is your life. If you direct it, you reclaim power; if you don’t, you’re consenting to misery. It’s an appealing bargain in a culture saturated with helplessness and outrage-as-habit.
Context matters. Williamson’s broader brand fuses spirituality, affirmation, and a politics of inner change. This quote is calibrated for a late-20th/early-21st century audience trained to see the self as a project: optimize your mindset, curate your inputs, reframe the narrative. It offers comfort, but also responsibility. The gentleness is real; so is the quiet pressure. The promise isn’t that circumstances improve. It’s that you can stop giving your worst moments exclusive rights to the microphone.
The second sentence sharpens the binary. “What’s wrong” versus “what’s right” isn’t a nuanced diagnostic; it’s a fork in the road. The rhythm mirrors cognitive-behavioral language without the clinical caveats, translating therapy-adjacent ideas into a bumper-sticker theology of attention. Subtext: your attention is your life. If you direct it, you reclaim power; if you don’t, you’re consenting to misery. It’s an appealing bargain in a culture saturated with helplessness and outrage-as-habit.
Context matters. Williamson’s broader brand fuses spirituality, affirmation, and a politics of inner change. This quote is calibrated for a late-20th/early-21st century audience trained to see the self as a project: optimize your mindset, curate your inputs, reframe the narrative. It offers comfort, but also responsibility. The gentleness is real; so is the quiet pressure. The promise isn’t that circumstances improve. It’s that you can stop giving your worst moments exclusive rights to the microphone.
Quote Details
| Topic | Optimism |
|---|---|
| Source | A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles (Marianne Williamson, 1992) — passage widely attributed to Williamson in this book. |
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