Tag: self-worth

  • Look Behind Their Eyes

    The one who judges is most often reflecting their bitterness rather than the merits of the subject of their judgement. There is a simple but important difference between judging and understanding. In seeking to understand we are compelled to make judgement calls about what we observe. Those judgement calls are in the form of observations or assumptions we make relative to what is visible to us, what we know about the subject, and what we think relates practically to it. In other words, our frame of reference is brought to bear on what we are faced with. We all do this. It’s a normal cycle we go through sub-consciously in order to make sense of the world around us.

    The challenge lies in what we do with this information. The worst among us assume that this set of information is absolute and authoritative and therefore feel confident enough to use it as a basis of judgement against others. The lesser contemptible among us realise that it is only true within our current frame of reference and could change substantially if new information were to come to light. But there must be a simple reason that tells us why we respond so differently, and it cannot be external either. So what is it about how we perceive ourselves that gives us reason to be either arrogant and judgemental, or grounded and understanding?

    I believe it lies in that septic space called self-worth. The lower our self-worth, the greater our inclination to judge, and vice versa. Those that despise themselves seek affirmation in the fact that others are lesser beings than they are. It’s an easy fix to stave off the contempt we feel for our shortcomings when we lack the strength of character required to face it, and deal with it. It’s significantly easier for me to slander the efforts of another than it is for me to raise my game and be as competent or benevolent as they are, all the while fearing insignificance with the current audience if I am seen to be the weaker one.

    The challenge in expecting such bitter souls to reflect is that their bitterness is exactly the distraction that prevents them from reflection, and in turn, mindfulness. I still believe that those that may be bitter but are inherently good, and strive (albeit internally only) to improve their character and humanness, will ultimately attract the right set of circumstances that will force them to set aside the bitterness for long enough to see the truth of themselves that they tried to wish away.

    The clutter in my space is making this thought process very difficult to articulate. When we see someone behaving despicably, our most common response is to despise them and to shun them. We distance ourselves from them from fear of contamination of their vile ways, or at the least, from fear of being associated with them. The former is a lack of our sense of self, and the latter being our need to be perceived well by others. In other words, our need for significance. If we didn’t fall victim to these two obsessions, I would guess that our response to vile behaviour would be very different.

    Instead of shunning or despising, both of which are inherently judgemental, we would seek to look behind the eyes of the contemptible one, and instead of responding harshly, we would see the weakness that drives them to behave the way they do. But this demands of us that which we are most loathe to acknowledge. It demands an embrace of our own weaknesses, and more importantly, our gravest failures. In order to look behind the eyes of another, we need to recognise in them what we once subscribed to as well. Look behind the eyes of anger, and you’ll see a desperate need for significance. Just because they may be demanding that significance in the workplace doesn’t mean that it’s their colleagues that are the root cause of their desperation. Most often we tend to project our aggression on those that are least likely to resist or challenge it, while avoiding such aggression in the presence of those that we wish to appeal to instead. It’s the path of least resistance that enables such behaviour. We are more likely to show aggression in those spheres of our lives where we hold more authority because the coward in us directs us away from those settings where we know the repercussions will be costly. The cost being relative to what we desire.

    It’s for the same reason that parents may vent their anger in the home but be docile and compliant at the office, or vice versa. As despicable as such behaviour may be, the moment we recognise that need for significance, or the need to appear competent, or simply to be liked, we will be able to see the weakness that provokes the brute, rather than believing that the brute is a lesser being than ourselves.

    When we judge prematurely, we recede into a space of arrogance that eventually convinces us that we’ve arrived at the point of awareness in our lives where all we do is impeccably informed, and all we challenge is of a noble cause. That’s when we become the aggressors, and it is then that we should pray that there is one in the audience that will take the time to look behind our eyes so that they may be able to sensitise us to the weakness that has driven us to become the contemptible one.

    If we look behind the eyes of the aggressor, we’ll see that there are no bad people in this world, only weak ones.

    [Yet another incomplete thought process]

  • Instinctively Rigid

    It occurred to me earlier this week that instinct is what grounds me in my old ways. It seemed like a strange truth at first, if a truth at all, but the more I grappled with it the more it became clear to me that instinct, although often the result of years of experience and practice, can often hold me back from growing. But like pretty much everything in life, there are no absolutes. So what then would be the difference between those instincts that hold me back, versus those that propel me forward?

    I believe it lies in defining the focus of what I wish to hone as a preferred response. Whenever that response was focused on my external reactions, including the manner in which I verbalised my thoughts, then it most often developed into instinctive responses to external challenges that caused me to cement my position very convincingly without giving me reason to pause for long enough to consider if there may be merit in what I was challenged with. I guess it’s the difference between having a prepared response for a similar situation, versus an assumed response for tokens of a similar situation. The difference is subtle, but important.

    It’s the same as wanting  to raise your hand to defend yourself from a perceived threat of an incoming blow when all that was done was someone standing close to you wanting to reach out and remove some lint from your shirt. Because we weren’t paying attention, the hand gesture appeared as a potential threat and instinctively we responded by going into attack mode. Fortunately, in such a situation it’s easy to very quickly realise that the attack is not in fact an attack, so we are able to restrain ourselves before striking at the person for their kind gesture. That’s the easy part.

    The difficulty lies in our instincts that are informed by the internal conversations that we have. The smallest trigger from someone that invokes memories of a hardship or pain that left a scar we wish to hide from the world results in us responding to the storyline in our heads, with just enough attention being paid to the conversation at hand to ensure that we present our defence as a carefully considered retort to something that was implied, even though it most probably was not. It’s almost as tiring as that last sentence was to write.

    Instinct does not create new realisations. It simply reinforces what we’ve learnt before. Each time our instinct proves to be a successful response to a perceived threat, it becomes ingrained even deeper and defended more fiercely than ever. If our focus is on growth, our instinctive responses will be observed so that we constantly adapt it relevant to the new realisations that we acquire with each moment that passes. If our focus is on defending the struggles of our lives, then we’ll remain rooted in developing our defences aimed at demanding recognition for every battle we fought. Most fall into the latter category, that is why we find ourselves in a society that is instinctively victims by nature, and violent in expression.

  • Obliviously Resilient

    I’ve always taken comfort from my sense of resilience, but noticed recently that it appears to be waning. I seem to be more sensitive than before to the emotional jarring that goes with betrayal, and this concerns me. Well, at first it did, but now I’m simply afraid of reflecting any further on the subject. There have been times when in the moment, I found myself unfazed by the abrasiveness or abuse being meted out towards me. It always appeared to be black or white for me. Something was either right, or it was wrong, and the underlying principle that supported my observation or perception was all that I cared about. It was such an easy way to live.

    Life isn’t as simple anymore. Principles still drive me, but they’re not as defining as they used to be. The reason I’m afraid of reflecting further is because I’ve realised that the more I grow to understand my weaknesses, my needs, or my flaws, the more I relate to the flaws and weaknesses and failings of others. Unfortunately, this also implies that the reverse is true as well, not in them knowing me, but rather in me also being able to grow more familiar with the arrogance, the aloofness, and the smug condescension that lurks behind the smile that dresses the words of so many I meet. It is in this realisation that I start doubting my past resilience and wonder if it was in fact resilience based on strength of character, or was it resilience grounded in obliviousness.

    The net effect remains a beneficial one, so the concern I feel must be an indulgence in my own ego. Anyone claiming to be free of their ego is in fact driven by it. I guess that is the obvious sibling to the realisation that the proclamation of humility is in fact arrogance. I’m so easily distracted from the point of my ramblings these days. Being oblivious, not by choice, therefore appears to be a blessing. It’s what causes us to appear resilient, but it also causes us to appear grounded and uninterested in things that don’t concern us. Strangely enough I am once again reminded of the parallels between this and humility. I’ve previously argued that humility can only be observed and not practiced. I guess in some way, the same applies to resilience.

    The same way that I may appear humble when in fact I am too jaded to acknowledge the superficial praises of others makes me jaded, not humble. Similarly, being oblivious to the true repercussions of the events I am experiencing results in a resilience that is unintended, although mostly beneficial. I think there is a point in here somewhere. I think my distracted state is a source of inspiration. I’m just too distracted to figure out how to put it to good use.

    Perhaps distraction and naivety are the precursors to obliviousness. Such obliviousness, where its roots are not conscious choices, contributes to our sense of resilience. Questioning that resilience appears to be akin to looking a gift horse in the mouth. So perhaps I should be grateful for my inclination to be unconcerned about the fickleness of society, and instead of questioning how I may have appeared to others in my moments of oblivion that I previously embraced as resilience, I should draw on those experiences to harness this innate ability to be oblivious so that I can continue to feign resilience.

    Fake it until you make it, right? Who can truly lay claim to sincerity when such a claim requires a healthy dose of self-indulgence to begin with? But that’s a post for another day. My brain is tired. And if you can make sense of this post, please take a moment to explain it to me as well.

  • Defining Moments

    I’ve often mulled over the idea of one day listing the moments that I believe defined me in ways I often still don’t fully understand.

    The images that flash through my mind when I contemplate those defining moments are often not scenes of hope and happiness, but most often they’re scenes of struggles, pain, isolation, betrayal, and detachment. Being one of six siblings in a small house makes it easy to disappear into the clutter. Sibling rivalry never needed solicitation.

    Standing in the cold night air urinating into the flower bed in front of my uncle’s house when I was a scared little kid barely 6 years old, I remember staring across the road at the sight of my mother standing in tears under the carport of our house out of concern for my wellbeing. I was physically dragged by my collar and kicked out of the house for not being able to find something I didn’t lose. A lesson my father thought was very much needed in order to teach me not to forget my jacket outside after playing with my cousins; so he chose to hide it away until he was ready to stop teaching me that lesson. It worked. I’m anally responsible these days.

    Moments like those were numerous and such a harsh approach to establishing discipline was the norm. I often find myself resisting the inclination to apply similarly harsh measures in dealing with untoward behaviour from my children. It’s strange how easily we adopt the nature of those that reared us, despite having had distinctly distasteful moments at their hands. I was born with an inherent resilience that prevented me from seeking affirmation from others. I was odd and I didn’t give a damn, and for the most part I still don’t. I sat and browsed through encyclopaedias that showed me life in full colour while siblings, cousins, and friends played cricket in the streets of the township where we lived. I sometimes joined them, but it often ended in injury, so there was hardly ever much attraction for me to immerse myself into the sporting experiences that others seemed to live for. This, I realised later in life, was a source of much disappointment for my father. It didn’t deter me. For as long as I can remember, anyone attempting to coerce me into doing something I didn’t like or want for myself often departed frustrated and unfulfilled in their attempts to prevail over me, or the situation.

    My academic achievements at school were largely unnoticed and barely celebrated, until I lost total interest, slipped from the top of the grade to the bottom of the pile, and eventually dropped out of high school without anyone caring, including me. Girls wouldn’t talk to me and guys wouldn’t bully me because neither group knew what to expect in return. But those weren’t particularly defining moments for me.

    Being jailed for bogus charges of domestic violence and child abuse against my own children. Now that was a defining moment, especially since I was the one that called the police to stop the abuse meted out against me for years. My timing as always was impeccable. I chose to do that at a time when domestic violence against women was a priority for the South African justice system. Nonetheless, it spelt the end of a tumultuous relationship with a depraved soul that was diagnosed as having several severe mental disorders, when in fact all she cried for in the most destructive ways was security and affirmation from parents that made dysfunction look like an admirable next step in life. Unfortunately she projected her demons on me and found it therapeutic to win the favour of others by demonising me instead. It was during those four distasteful years that I lost the very few friends whose presence I always cherished in my life up to that point.

    Pacing around the courtyard of the holding cells at our local police station on the coldest night of winter that year left me even more detached. My pleas to the police officer for common sense to prevail echoing in my head while the nagging knowledge of having hardened criminals sleeping in the cell alongside me left little space for peace. But the moon looked distinctly beautiful that night as I watched it cross the sky through the metal grids that sealed the courtyard above the 20 foot high walls, just in case someone was able to climb up the sheer face of it. It was odd how the police officer that arrived on the scene appeared to be more traumatised than I was. I later discovered that he had presided over another arrest relating to domestic violence during which the alleged perpetrator hanged himself in the bathroom. No wonder the indignity I was afforded when I needed to use the bathroom that night before being taken away by the police. I still smile at the memories of standing in the holding cells below the courthouse and having random convicts coming over to me to tell me their stories of claimed innocence. I seem to attract the weirdest kind.

    Wintery nights seem to be the common thread in many defining moments. Years before, I was held at gunpoint by my previous wife while she went through yet another crazy mood swing demanding that I call the police to settle an argument or else she would shoot me with my gun while holding our daughter in my arms. You read that right. It didn’t make sense to me either, but such is the logic of a recovering drug addict. Again, the police were sympathetic towards her, while confiscating my firearm that she mishandled, and asked me to leave the house while entrusting my daughter into her care for the night. Amazing what the weaker sex can get away with.

    My naivety has been a loyal friend throughout my life, and still remains a bosom buddy if recent events are anything to go by. Many accuse me of gullibility, but I would rather live a life of being consciously naïve than to live suspiciously.

    I’ve had good moments, and even a few great ones. I’ve recoiled at the unexpected loss of loved ones, but always receded into a private space to grieve, rarely showing my pain to the world. It’s none of their business after all. The buoyancy of my spirit often mocks me because it leaves me confused about who is being fooled. Or perhaps no one is being fooled, and in fact this inherent resilience that I cannot lay claim to, but nonetheless do possess, perhaps this is what makes it possible for me to see the present moment for what it is rather than what it should be relative to the souring experiences of my past.

    The moments that have defined me are many, but their realisation and conscious recollection still largely eludes me. There is a strong undertone of changes blowing through my life right now. Profound changes that barely show in the normal light of day. Perhaps this is why my mind has been distracted to the point of mild dyslexia recently. My sub-conscious mind is pre-occupied with contemplating these changes, while my conscious mind knows nothing of it in the face of the routine that effortlessly persists.

    I still feel a need to define who I am, but I suspect that I may never fully achieve this goal in this lifetime. Life is…undefinable, and I remain a mystery to myself, and most often, to those around me as well.

  • Introverts don’t exist

    I’ve often been accused of being an introvert. Some apologists would say that it’s not a bad thing, but then they’ll continue to describe specific adaptations in behaviour that ‘normal’ people should adopt in order to understand or engage with introverts more meaningfully. They’re idiots, and so is every other person that allows some idiot with a degree to classify their state of being by attaching a label to it.

    I am not an introvert. I choose to be introspective. I choose to observe before flying my mouth off, and I choose to be measured in my responses only after I am comfortable that I have grasped the true nature of what I am dealing with. That is not being introverted, that is being reasonable. Yet once again, because spontaneity and instant gratification is worshipped by the masses, those that choose to live with substance rather than overt expression, are considered as lesser beings.

    To a much lesser extent extroverts are similarly labelled. The irony of that label is that it places many of ‘them’ on a pedestal, which denies them the ability to assume a quiet and introspective disposition when needed because there is always someone waiting to accuse them of being in a bad or sad mood. Those that don’t care for the labels will shun such shallowness and continue their introspection, while most will succumb and find the next best distraction through which to express their extrovert-ism.

    Labels will be the death of many kind souls because just the term introvert has such negative connotations. According to our friend Google, the dictionary definition of introvert is:

    image

    As if that isn’t enough against which to rest my case, I would go further to suggest that many consider introverted behaviour to be a personality disorder. Those that buy into this Neanderthal way of thinking embrace that label, and then go through life trying to find coping mechanisms defined by the ‘normal’ idiots with degrees so that they can fit into someone else’s retarded definition of what their behaviour should be like.

    It takes a healthy dose of a superiority complex to assume that just because you do not relate to the disposition of another, your inane academic qualification endows you with the right to define them as flawed in capacity and therefore a charitable case for those that compensate for this apparent shortcoming in introverts. This post is deliberately condescending because the hogwash about supposed introverts seems to prevail regardless of the logical reasoning offered in return.

    Just because someone doesn’t like your company, or because they prefer their own company to that of the gossipers, the nit-pickers, the shallow ones, or the distracted ones, doesn’t make them flawed. In fact, if you were honest with yourself, and you subscribed to the label of being an extrovert or a ‘normal’ person that is neither introverted nor extroverted, seeing someone shying away from company should prompt you to consider what is distasteful to them rather than assuming that they have a mental disorder that was created by sadistic capitalists with a degree is psychiatry.

    The world has learnt more, and benefited more, from those that are introspective by choice, than they have by the party animals that throw caution to the wind in order to appease the fickleness of the masses with which they surround themselves. Distractions rarely inspire growth. The art of introspection is to navigate through those distractions in order to grow. So the next time you see someone sitting quietly and observing, before you assume they’re an introvert, consider that they may very well be observing your whimsical behaviour and trying to understand what drives you to be as fickle as you are.

  • Moving on

    There’s a difference between giving up and wanting to move on. Too many are shamed into staying because someone convinces them that moving on is giving up. Holding on to a bad experience, or a bad relationship is more reflective of a poor sense of self than it is of commitment. The zombies among us are those that feign loyalty while their true motivation is grounded in guilt. They’re the same ones that are bitter or angry, some passively so, but most aggressively so.

    Too many people I know live their lives committed to fulfilling the expectations of others instead of being true to themselves. Not only do they lack any sincere belief in their self-worth, but they lack any faith in the natural order of the universe. No, this is not a load of hogwash about supposed secrets that teach us that the universe gives us what we ask for. If it was that simple, we’d have world peace and beggars would indeed be riding Arabian stallions. The law of cause and effect is the universal order that we lose sight of too often.

    There is a fine line between making a choice out of commitment as opposed to making it out of conviction. Chances are, most that read this can barely tell the difference in their lives any longer. The more we focus on fulfilling the expectations of others, the more we convince ourselves that indeed that must be our purpose, and therefore our conviction in life. How we lie to ourselves to pacify our conscience when it nags at us asking what great purpose does our life serve. The most pacifying response is to convince ourselves that we lead a life of selfless service to others. So does a door mat.

    Service to others is not sacrificing yourself, but rather sacrificing your ego to allow them to view your vulnerability in a way that strengthens them. We draw comfort from knowing we can comfort. We draw strength from knowing we can protect. Yet we’re always in search of those weaker than us, or holding on to those needing our strength, rarely realising that there are others, significant others, that need to draw on our weaknesses so that they in turn can feel strong, significant, or worthy of providing comfort.

    Sometimes we stay because we don’t believe we’re deserving of better. Sometimes we stay because we hold a deep conviction that we are able to create something better. And sometimes we’re entirely oblivious as to why we stay because we’ve restrained ourselves from moving on for so long, that we’ve conditioned ourselves to believe that every reason to do so has been exhausted, and the only rational option that remains is to stay and draw strength from the morbid comfort of familiarity.

    There is a difference between giving up and wanting to move on. I choose to move on, not because I lack loyalty or commitment, but because I demand it as well. And when it is lacking, I refuse to accept that my self loathing should drive me to believe that I deserve nothing more. My greatest achievement in life has been to rid myself of the expectation of pleasing others. It came at a price. Often a very expensive price. But the liberation that it afforded me was and still is priceless. Living without feeling obliged, knowing that every act is one of choice and not obligation, knowing that every reciprocation is one of gratitude and not guilt, and knowing that favour is not my motivator but fulfilment is. That is what moving on has allowed me to achieve. The sweetness of being independent of man, but dependent on faith only. It has made me realise exactly how fickle I am, so that I find myself praying that others around me find the same comfort in faith, because fulfilment is evasive in their services to me. And so I pray that they also find comfort in moving on, even from me if needed, if that is what will give them the sweet taste of that most lonely of liberations.

  • If You Were In Love With You

    I often tell people to take care of themselves. And people often say thanks and return the sentiment. But more often than not, it’s simply a cordial exchange of sentiments and not much more. Today, for some reason, I found myself considering what it would actually entail if we applied it to ourselves. How would we take care of ourselves if we actually did it deliberately and not just as a matter of course?

    I think we would see ourselves very differently if we saw ourselves through the eyes of one that we would like to believe was truly in love with us. I think that we’re afraid to see ourselves that way because for some strange reason we seem to wait until someone else sees us in that light before we believe we’re deserving of such care and consideration. So I wondered then how I would treat myself if I were in love with me. Would I still be as reckless, or as oblivious, or would I want to indulge myself in every moment absorbing the beauty of life and the amazingly endless possibilities that await me?

    When we look at others with love and affection, we unconsciously project our dreams and aspirations on them, but would adapt such goals in line with the context of the happiness we desire for them, and not our own. We feign sacrifice in the belief that their happiness is more important than ours, while ignoring that our ability to make them happy is in fact what we desire affirmation of. Nonetheless, the pursuit of their happiness becomes our mission in life, and anything that compromises that goal brings out a side of us that often surprises even ourselves.

    So why then do we recede so easily in the face of the slightest obstacles that compromise the achievement of our own happiness that we need to give as a gift to ourselves? Why is it that we find it difficult to love ourselves if the love of another is absent? And so I wondered if you were truly in love with you, how would you treat yourself? How would you take care of yourself, and how reckless would you really be with your life?

    There seems to be an underlying conditioning that causes us to base our self-worth on the effort that others put in to contribute towards our happiness. This underlying conditioning is what drives us towards acts of self-sabotage whilst simultaneously giving us the reasons we need to justify why we don’t deserve better, at least not until someone else says we do.

    It’s all a charade. We invest in others more than we invest in ourselves because we need to believe that we’re significant only when we make a difference in someone else’s life, or when someone else needs us. And then also, that need must be overt, and more importantly, it must be a need that we want to fulfil or else it becomes a burden and not a blessing.  Even the most egotistical amongst us behaves anally narcissistic because of a fear of insignificance, not because of a true belief of self-worth. The strange thing is that if we made a definite effort to truly take care of ourselves, we’d probably attract the kind of person that would truly complement our lives rather than seeking out one that completes those areas that we lack the confidence to fulfil for ourselves. It’s that cycle of need that leads to emotional dependence rather than mutual affection and respect.

    The vicious circles of life plague us more than we will ever truly realise. Very few of them keep us grounded, but the vast majority keep us enslaved to our own insecurities. I’m not quite sure what the point of this post was, or if I even managed to make a meaningful point, but I suspect that somewhere in there lies a truth that will prove valuable at some point in my short life.

  • There isn’t another me

    I walk through life observing the struggles of others and I often find myself trying to draw parallels between their struggles and my own. There are times when those parallels strike really close to home and for a fleeting moment I feel as if I’m not alone. But it’s only ever a fleeting moment. My weakness drives me to seek comfort in being understood, but my conscience deprives me of that comfort knowing that such understanding will never be forthcoming. It’s hard to understand someone who has yet to understand themselves.

    Sometimes, I watch movies or read stories that celebrate the lives of great leaders that rose from the masses, not those born into power, and I see traits in them that I believe I have as well. But the common aspect of their lives has always been that despite being surrounded by people that drew strength from them, they were alone when it mattered most. They were alone when they looked around to see who else truly appreciated the purpose of their passion for justice, or equality, or whatever other noble ideal they were pursuing, and despite having adoring fans and loved ones around, when they sat in the dark and reflected on their life, there was no one around that could truly appreciate the gravity of how much energy and tenacity it took to follow the path that they did, especially when everyone around them thought they were being naive.

    Perhaps the commonality of traits is not as prominent as I would like to believe it is, but that feeling of singular awareness to what it is that plagues me has never, and will never be shared by anyone else. The realisation of this painful fact often eludes me when I’m distracted by the brief moments of superficial acceptance and popularity that others project when they wish to be party to something I’ve been bold (read ‘stupid’) enough to be vocal about. But just as soon it passes by and the fall from inclusion reduces me to the incomplete being that I was just a moment before. It seems that communal life is a collection of such experiences sewn together by fate. Those who continue to ride the wave of opportunism wherever it may lead them seldom find reason to reflect on the emptiness beneath the waterline, while those that choose to be painfully aware of the superficial nature of such collusion remain isolated even in the embrace of a nation. The ones that don’t stop to reflect are caught up in the false reality of acceptance and appreciation, not realising that it is garnered from those that are equally oblivious and therefore irrelevant. But it fills the void and makes life bearable, and because we know how difficult life can be when grounded in reality, we not only celebrate such escapism, we aspire to it.

    My obstinacy denies me such an indulgence. So I continue faltering between naivety and reality, one minute hoping that I will find a kindred spirit that truly relates, and the next realising that this one true impossibility will always triumph over my optimism. So perhaps, without realising it, I’ve acquired a taste for indulging myself half heartedly in the ephemeral embrace of society, while never forgetting that the day when I will be presented with the scroll of my life, I will stand alone. I often don’t do justice to the good that I am capable of, but I do my best not to do harm instead. However, there are times when those around me require that I extend myself in the good that is possible, and my restraint in such moments is often interpreted as deliberate harm instead.

    Seeking commonality between my life and the life of those that struggled and triumphed before me is nothing more than an indulgence in vanity. My need for such affiliation is to pacify the weakness of character that prevents me from knowing myself, and in turn, from others ever knowing me.