Pride

Pride is a funny thing and can appear in many guises. Everyone recognizes the nefarious version, the sort that twiddles its mustache and flares its cape, or perhaps blares its own horn in order to be heard above the other host of quacking brass.

But there are more dangerous forms of pride, the subtle types, the ones that grow like weeds among flowers, or rust eating at the underneath of your car, unnoticeable until the beautiful blossoms are squeezed to tapioca or your dash suddenly collapses through the floorboards, your tires rolling merrily off in all directions.

Nuances, perhaps, but reducing your contributions to the world nonetheless.

For example, setting the bar for your performance at a certain level, and not being willing to operate below that level even when the task MUST be accomplished. No one loves to do something poorly, but there are those who refuse to do something merely adequately, tacitly demanding that every swing send the ball sizzling over the far-field fence and drive the spectators up to their feet in admiration. When your perfectionism begins to hamper your ability to get the job done solidly, if not as good as you wish, then pride has taken a priority to the work.

Or perhaps not contributing to an ongoing discussion in which you are involved, because you are afraid of making a mistake, being misunderstood, irking someone, or maybe even looking stupid for not being able to speak from an informed point of view on every angle of the conversation.

Of course, if you already knew everything about the topic in question, there would be no need for a discussion, would there? We all understand that, even if it doesn’t drive away the deep-seated urge to be seen as intelligent and perceptive. Still, withholding your contributions for the sole purpose of preserving your image is another case of placing yourself ahead of the work to be done.

And other things as well. Demanding that others meet standards they can’t possibly meet, because their current skill levels or temperaments aren’t up to it. Or not building a relationship with someone merely because you feel as if you’re a terrible conversationalist and hate that awkward feeling of fumbling for words. Or letting others drive your schedule or performance level, when you firmly believe your efforts are better spent elsewhere.

The more I step outside my own life, the more I find that to accomplish anything of value means that I must set aside myself, my reputation, my self-image, the ways I desperately want to be perceived by others. Life is too short, there is too much to accomplish, there is no room for those sorts of aspirations involving the reputation I desire.

I have to make a choice about what is more important to me. I have to let something go.

Either I cling to promoting that desirable image of myself – that always wise, intelligent, perfect paragon of excellence that I’d like to be seen as -- or I accept my shortcomings and time restraints, the gracelessness of being human, and instead throw myself into the work that I believe so desperately needs to be done, all those ways in which I can contribute uniquely to the world, even when my efforts sometimes feel barely adequate.