Thinking About Myself

One day, I will crash my car, and it will happen while I’m thinking about what an aware, conscientious, and overall good driver I am. There’s nothing as distracting, as intoxicating as thinking about myself, and there’s nothing the Universe punishes as swiftly. Not that I’m thinking about myself all the time, but it’s notable when I do because my guard drops and Murphy’s Law swoops in to humble me.

This problem is not cockiness. Thinking about myself gets me into trouble whether I’m considering myself great, bad, better than, or not good enough (in which case, the Universe is kind enough to corroborate my feelings).

Nothing is immune to this pattern. I mentioned driving because the feedback is the most immediate for physical activities. See also pickleball, guitar, juggling. It is by no means limited to the physical though. Sometimes I can’t hear people over the sound of patting myself on the back for being a good listener. I’ve filled just as many conversational lulls berating myself. I’ve turned pages that might as well have been about how I’m really going to pay attention this chapter. In so many churches, art museums, used bookstores, and movie theaters, I’ve wondered whether I’m doing it right or at least better than everybody else.

Even in these scenarios, the feedback is quick enough that I’m able to chuckle at the irony and move on. It’s more dangerous when there’s nothing to save me from my thoughts.

Once, in college, I noticed an acquaintance wearing nice, preppy brown boots. At the time, I didn’t have anything like that. I had some Stan Smiths which I wore everywhere I could. I had big clunky winter boots. I had very nice dress shoes¹. But I had nothing fitting to wear to the symphony in the middle of a Boston winter.

I thought about those brown boots for years. I didn’t want to buy them while I was a broke student. Covid bought me a couple symphony-less winters, but I kept them on my todo list all that time. Finally, one Summer day (not because I was optimizing for off-season prices but because that’s when I started working and got tired of torturing myself), I went to DSW, looked in the limited size 13 section, and bought a pair of Chukkas that looked like what I imagined I would like. I tried them on. They weren’t comfortable, but I know it takes time to wear in nice shoes.

They weren’t nice shoes. They were boxy and flimsy and cheap. The laces broke immediately, and I accidentally ordered a new pair twice as long as necessary which I tied up in a tangle and stuffed inside the shoes which had room on account of their boxiness though it still wasn’t very comfortable especially when the tangle shifted.

In years of “thinking about buying boots”, I’d never actually thought about which ones I wanted. I didn’t think about what made a good boot or research what other people liked or try on multiple pairs or figure out what was in my budget. I was thinking about whether I was the type of person to get them and whether I was the type of person to get things done and about how one of these days I’m finally gonna do it. In other words, I never really thought about buying boots, I only thought about myself… buying boots.

I wore them for years as punishment. Thankfully they were cheap and wore out quickly. My sister visited Seattle on a drizzly day, and her normal sneakers held up fine while my boots took on more and more water. After two years, a whole day of walking around in wet socks was enough for me to go online and look for nice boots that got good reviews from people who’d had them a long time. They’re not preppy, but they’re much sturdier and waterproof, and I bought the correct length laces to replace them when they broke.

This sounds like garden variety procrastination, but I’m focusing on a specific aspect: the way that thinking about myself makes me feel like I’m living while simultaneously blocking my life, like an antagonist that binds to a receptor and blocks the agonist. Actually, in this case, procrastination belies the self-centeredness. For many blog posts (including this one), there comes a turning point when I stop thinking as much about the topic and start thinking more about what a filthy procrastinator I am.

In some ways I’m glad that I bought bad boots. I don’t think I ever would have realized my mistake otherwise. Now when I find myself in similar positions I find it a bit easier to notice it, name it, and reset my focus from myself to the facts of the case. But it makes me worry about subtler situations where there may never be direct or external feedback such as more fruitful introspection².

I’ve been hesitant to post this for reasons which I hope are apparent. It feels silly to wring my hands about being too self-centered on a blog. I’m trying not to slip into second person to really drive home home much this is about me and my feelings. I’m trying to focus on the practical effect that this has on my life, but it’s impossible to forget the moral aspect entirely. I’m afraid it will sound like I’m being too hard on myself, but I’m not too tortured or embarrassed. Everyone does it, and to some degree it’s normal and healthy.

When Misha Glouberman gives the introduction to lectures at Trampoline Hall, he always reminds the audience that a good question should engender a feeling of curiosity in the asker rather than pride. It’s not that it’s impossible to feel proud of a good question, it’s that, if you’re proud of your question, you don’t have any guarantee that it’s a good question. If you’re curious, your question almost necessarily pulls a loose thread in the lecture (assuming you were paying attention). I think curiosity is a good place to start³.