On the compulsion to self-promote
My previous website was filled with all manner of congratulatory back-patting. And that was after repeated attempts at humility-smithing. I'd write, wince, sand it down even more. And yet it continued to quietly shout "Look what I've done!"
The failure interests me more than the vanity. Egotism is ordinary. But the fact that every attempt at modesty produced its opposite suggests the impulse runs beneath conscious intent. A silent subroutine intently calculating: what might this mean for me, or the people, causes, things this me cares about?
And so we adopt a persona. Several. Each one a small self-contained model, trained on the whole history of our desires and slights. Each tuned to produce the response that best serves and protects the self.
Is it surprising the extent to which megaphones blare? We're more astonished in the presence of their absence.
What might it be like to step out of grandstanding, even (and perhaps especially) to ourselves? And not just the obvious kind. The self-deprecating version is the same machine running in reverse, the same "me" angling for a different reaction. I suppose I mean something a bit more exposed: writing or speaking for no reason beyond the wish to extend and share. Articulating thoughts into a particular form without agenda. Standing outside the performative circle, however slightly. Defenseless, and maybe a little freer.