It is my conviction that the most interesting people successfully walk the line between being arrogant about themselves and being aware of their shortcomings. It’s called confidence.
When I was in high school I wrote a novel about myself, and when I mentioned it to my friend, he told me, “People who write about themselves have huge egos and I can’t respect them for it.” I get where he was coming from, but feel that it’s too broad a judgement to cast upon such a huge concept, because it misses the point most people who write books about themselves attempt to make. I feel autobiographers (the good ones, anyway) aren’t thinking about patting themselves on the back when they write their stories, but are instead responding to the impulse that recognizes the potential their story has as one that deserves to be experienced and appreciated.
No one ever remembers the egos too small to make themselves remembered, anyway. Do you look at people who never chalk themselves up to being worth the listen and consider their thoughts insightful? Aren’t you instead enthralled by the conversationalists who take questions like “How are you?” and turn them into colorful, emotionally-connective exchanges you don’t want to walk away from?
Why do we strive to shrink ourselves and our unique stories down to insignificance? I won’t. I am not God’s gift to the world, nor am I a special snowflake, but I know I have a good story, and important things to write.
…Besides, I don’t even know who you are. If you’re reading this, I’ll never know you, and whether or not you read the things I write will never significantly impact me. Really, I write these things for myself, to document my honest thoughts and feelings. When you live with so many of your truest thoughts and feelings stuck in just your own head and heart, you need a place where you can admit you think and feel them at all. A place where you’re not forced to censor yourself to avoid judgment, misunderstandings, and hurting loved ones’ feelings. Yet a place where you know somebody is listening.
Doesn’t really matter who. Just somebody.