I've been in school for a year and a half now, and it seems the more I learn, the less I know. What's that song?--the one that goes:
I say hey I'll be gone todayWell...that's how I feel about my brain and its ability to retain anything. One time, a good friend asked me, "If you could do one thing all the time for the rest of your life, what would it be?" and I answered that I would love to write for the rest of my life. But that's before I knew just how revealing one's writing is about one's knowledge, maturity, and intelligence. (...or lack thereof.)
But I'll be back all around the way
It seems like everywhere I go
The more I see
The less I know
Karen Horney (pronounced Horn-eye) (1885-1952) was a German psychologist who believed that we have three different selves--the Real Self, the Despised Self, and the Ideal Self. The Real Self is the inner core of our personalities, the real and healthy self. The Despised Self describes our perceived inadequacies amplified by our perception of how others evaluate us. The Ideal Self, then, is our version of perfection that we continuously strive toward in order to compensate for the inferior feelings of the Despised Self.
She also believed that the purpose and goal of psychoanalysis should not be to help someone get closer to their Ideal Self but to help him/her to fully accept his/her Real Self.
I was raised by my grandmother from age one to five in her attempts to help out my mother. Although this was not an uncommon occurrence in Korea at the time--meaning my situation is not at all unusual--I struggled with rejection, both real and imagined, when I rejoined my parents and two siblings. It makes sense, then, that I have always battled with my Despised Self and still fight it on a daily basis.
But how do you even begin to unravel the web that has been twisted and knotted so tightly that the original thread is no longer discernible? No. I cannot fathom it. Besides, I think the twists and knots are rather interesting, even beautiful in a puppy-so-ugly-that-it's-cute sort of way. It's mind-boggling to think that I have to somehow get underneath all that to see what's supposed to be real.
Instead, I'd rather step back, look at the knotted mess as an intricate and necessary part of this "Real Self," and continue knitting my own unique bumpy and ugly sweater with it. If nothing else, it will keep me humble. N'est pas?
Anyway, writing is still one of my passions. But I suspect that it will never measure up to my own standards, regardless of how educated I become. I cringe today at what I wrote yesterday, and I will cringe tomorrow at what I wrote today. I will always be terrified of what others will think of it. I guess that feeling of "not good enough" extends into everything I do.
But instead of attempting to eliminate the fear, I just make friends with it and take away its power. Fear of humiliation never stops me from throwing myself on stage again and again (and coming home crying with mental tomato stains.) ...But there's always a tomorrow to do it again (and again). ...And according to Shakespeare, "all the world's a stage!" Ha! ;)
Image: http://vi.sualize.us/view/beuchampniven/034e863a325dea9ba9d6dd8613ce415d/
