Nr. 37

I had a small epiphany tonight. I was questioning what kind of person I am and I didn’t really have an answer. When I was young I was full of ambition and optimism, bordering on privileged arrogance in hindsight really. As I grew older my aspirations of advancing in any of my selected fields of creative communication was failing (at least in my opinion), I started a tenacious self examination. I discovered empathy based on logic and altruistic intent. This was a driving force for years up until recently. I started questioning if I had egotistical ulterior motifs and if I really was a good person. Quite frankly I don’t really know if I am. The insecurity that has been rooted deep within me for so long has had a far greater longevity than I could ever imagine or foresee. I’ve wobbled between self hatred and inflated self worth. I was convinced I could intellectually overcome any shortcomings I had and use my insight to help people, but in reality I think I just wanted to help myself. I’m not empathetic, at least not enough to be a good and kind person. 

So in my moment of clarity (I think I might’ve jumped on the term ‘epiphany’ prematurely) I saw the standard I’ve put myself up against: my biased opinion of how good of a person my Mother was. I’ve guided myself towards an unattainable standard of kindness in her memory. My mother wasn’t flawless, but she _was_ both kind and selfless, far more than I could ever dream of. However, my own delusional idea of the level she was at is most likely way beyond what was real. 

I’m not sure where this will lead me, but I did feel that I managed to come a bit closer to uncover the core of me. Not that that there is a figurative single core that explains everything, but perhaps I’m soon able to understand a glimmer of what’s wrong with me and why I act and think the way I do. Like an artichoke I feel I peel one astounding layer after the other, yet I fear, much like a real artichoke, that my core isn’t really worth the work I put in and I sort of taste way too bland compared to how expensive I am. I’m overpriced. I’m not even that fond of artichokes!

I understand that my perfectionism is lurking in the shadows here, this entire post is seething with self criticism. But the way I see it is that even if I’m way too harsh on myself; I’m not wrong. There are many things that’s wrong with me (and I’m not saying I’m the worst), but I’m trying really hard to be gentler with myself. And realizing my high standard partially comes from my own distorted idea of goodness applied to my Mother, I think, is a step in regaining some rationality.