The old farmer who is ornery about his tractor might yell at the sky. He won’t yell at the kid who wanders onto his land to fetch a ball. He’ll just grumble, hand the ball back, and mutter about “kids these days” under his breath. That’s the difference.
But I’ve started to think that a little bit of orneriness—judiciously applied—is not a character flaw. It is a survival mechanism.
Go on. Be a little difficult today. The world will try to move you, but you don't have to budge. The old farmer who is ornery about his
In a world that begs for our compliance—buy this, click that, agree with this, smile for that—stubbornness is the pause button. Orneriness is the voice that says,
There is a particular kind of glint in the eye of an ornery person. It is not the bright flash of anger, nor the dull haze of apathy. It is a low, steady burn. A “go ahead, try me” flicker. That’s the difference
That is productive orneriness.
We hear the "bad-tempered" part and we run for the hills. Nobody wants to be the grump at the party. But I want to focus on the second half: Stubborn. It is a low
They annoy us. But they also anchor us.