It's easy to disappear up your own arsehole.
You know what it's like, you gain a little recognition/fame/infamy and BAM! You've grown your head a clear nine inches bigger.
Have you missed me? It’s been a while.
I wish I could say I’ve been sunning my sickly pale skin under some Bahamian sky, as oiled waiters feed me peeled grapes, sadly I’ve been in gloomiest Oxfordshire (as per) binging the latest series of Bridgerton and Prime’s true crime offerings.
Anyway, disappearing up one’s arsehole. It’s easily done.
Receive a few compliments and the cranium begins to swell. Even if you downplay the praise, you’re still getting off on that feeling (you dirty pervert). And that’s absolutely fine, btw. Why shouldn’t you bask in your relative greatness when nice things are said? However, when I’m exposed to compliments (genuine or otherwise), I’m inclined to haughtiness.
Haughtiness. That feels like a very biblical flaw. But it does rhyme with naughtiness, so there is that.
I might, on occasion, believe my own hype. That can lead to an imagined competition with others who share the same capabilities. Bleugh! How insecure. How very un-sigma female of me. Christ.
There’s a cure for disappearing up your own arsehole and it’s this: seriously accomplished people.
They drag me out of my big fish/small pond mentality. Impressive folks have that effect. In truth, it’s not that difficult to impress me but I can’t help looking admiringly upon those humans who stand head and shoulders above the rest. I’m talking in terms of excellence. And that can mean any number of things. Take the world of sport, for example. Now, I’m not sporty. I don’t watch sports but I love documentaries about athletes. Senna and The Last Dance are probably my favourites. Anyone at the top of their game cannot help but inspire awe. And I’m not talking exclusively about big names. You might have a local hero who bowls you over with their abilities and talents.
Nothing will knock the living shit out of my arrogance more than meeting someone I’ll never be as good as. I’m a rudimentary musician and a fairly decent singer. Towards the end of last year (2023) I got to meet a musician that I think is the fucking bomb. In my deluded state, I concocted lofty dreams of jamming with this guy. After much reflection, I concluded that would NEVER happen. Music is his day job. He’s not in a weekend pub covers band. All this reminds me of when I sometimes believe I’m a polymath—ha! The reality is, I know a minuscule amount about a variety of subjects. This was never more apparent than when I chose—note that—I *chose* to discuss jazz with the aforementioned musician (who’s been playing jazz for thirty-odd years). It’s one of the many embarrassing moments I like to replay in my head, preferably when I’m trying to sleep. Of course, what I really know about jazz can be written on a postage stamp with a Sharpie.
Please don’t misunderstand me.
I’m not trying to cadge a mummy-style pat on the back reassuring me of my ‘talents’. What I’ve learned since hitting my forties is that it’s ok not to be the smartest, the hottest, or the most accomplished person in the room. (Yeah, it does depend on the room.)
Side note: believe me, SEO content writers like myself are used to being dragged, (usually by copywriters), so I’m cool with where I’m at. My skin may not be as collagen-rich as it once was but at least it’s thick.
This has nothing to do with my place in the world or my value therein. The supreme excellence of others doesn’t mean I’m worth less. Although, you could argue that in some instances it does. For example, why hire a content writer when you could hire a proper writer? We just don’t have the same potential. That’s a fact. Not everyone who lifts weights is going to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger—yes, he’s had pharmaceutical assistance but trust me, you can’t start taking roids and hope to attain that physique. The guy is genetically gifted.
I do what I do and I do it to the very best of my genetic/environmental ability. And there comes a certain peace with that acknowledgement. I can relax knowing others, usually much younger people will take on the baton of trying to prove something. As long as I’m the best for me, who gives a shit?
PS: Thank you to my new subs—hi! (and continued thanks to my existing ones, you bloody beauties).
Ok, so are we using imperial units for measuring the wheelbases of cats now? Or are we using comparative measures, like a head bigger or half a head and whose head are we using as a standard as yours is roughly nine inches bigger than it was when I measured all these *spins around with arms outreached* cats earlier so does that mean I have to do them all again?
Sure, other people may know more about jazz and probably plays an instrument way better than you, but you are an expert at measuring the wheelbases of cats! Probably the only person on the entire planet who thought that up. And that’s not nothing… (I should probably post that review on Substack. 🫠)
https://medium.com/gerardmclean/what-is-the-wheelbase-of-a-cat-dba9364ff9ef