A little confession of mine…
I desire in all things to be effortlessly superior
Of course between effortless and superior there’s a trade-off.
Usually I favour the effortless.
I only do what’s easy or what shows me off best.
I serve myself. Always. Even when I’m serving you.
I’m entitled – entitled to ease, respect, acclaim, admiration, understanding.
I’m outraged when this sovereign sphere is infringed.
I try to appear better than I am
I need to be right
I enter each conversation with a persona and an agenda
I don’t enter the conversation with me and a servant heart
I rob people of a true heart-to-heart by trying to appear cool/knowledgeable/funny/attractive
If I can’t appear cool/knowledgeable/funny/attractive I’ll withdraw
I’ll give you my talents, knowledge, anecdotes, humour. I won’t give you me.
The ‘me’ and the persona have become difficult to disentangle anyway.
I’m not a bit player in your story, you’re a bit player in mine.
In my story I am a noble sufferer, a heroic knight, a whimsical comic and a wise sage.
I force myself into this role. And I will force you to play along with my fantasy.
Your mistakes are crude, mine are complicated
Your mistakes have no excuses, mine have many excuses. Let me list them…
Your mistakes show your true colours, mine are out of character
If your sins are different to mine, I dismiss you as freakish
If your sins are the same as mine, my inside knowledge makes me dismiss you all the more
I’m devastated by my sins – but only for how bad they made me look (to others and to myself)
I hate myself – but only because I think I deserve better
I’m self-deprecating – but only because it plays well
I’m shy – but only as a cover for real engagement
I’m quiet – but not listening. Just self-absorbed.
By the way… I desperately don’t want you to know all these things. So I’ve got to keep you close enough to buy the persona but not close enough to see through it. In other words, I’ve got to manipulate you. Constantly.
I have a plethora of warm, witty, charming falsehoods to draw you in.
I have an arsenal of cold, sharp, closed quips to keep you back.
This is my complicated splendour.