I swear to God we're gonna get it right
If you lay your weapon down
-
John Mayer, “Heartbreak Warfare”
The strengths of some people can often be the debilitating
weaknesses of another. For me, the feeling of pride has been the latter,
particularly in moments where it is most inconvenient. It is perfectly
acceptable to show pride in many things – taking pride in your work and
accomplishments, as well as those of others you care about, are symbols of confidence
and an investment in one’s happiness. However, when pride bonds with friends
like envy, desire, and fear, the effects are not nearly as positive. Whether it has been the jealousy of other
people finding the successes I had sought myself, the fear that I still don’t
know where I want my own career to progress, or the embarrassment of being
proven wrong, my pride has been an impossibly large pill to swallow these days.
But the most painful scar my pride has given me was one in which it hindered my
ability to trust my feelings for someone. The following is this story of pride…
He called me beautiful, but Pride’s stinging song often rang
louder than his words. After all, my relationship with Pride had been fused
long before I had ever met him. On our
first meeting, Pride was there in my ear, whispering to me that this excursion
would heed the same embarrassment as the one I experienced so many times before.
Pride told me to beat the game before it even started; it’s the only way to
stay the stronger victor and avoid being the fool another day. For every
rendezvous he approached with coolness and an uninhibited air, I would determinedly
force the veil to remain over my emotions. How funny it is that people who are
regarded as so transparent can yield a poker face that would fool even the
sharpest observer. Slowly and carefully, however, his persistence and honest
eyes chipped away at the cement-thick fortress Pride had taken so long to
construct, and my entire being began to succumb to the other side.
But Pride is not an easy foe to slay, as she can swiftly
shift to a new form when she is so tempted. When she returned, it was to insist
that a boastful and competitive nature is an attractive one. No matter the
circumstance, I must always impress, always be the best, and always win. I lost
against him in many a battle of wit and skill, and rather than take a more
jovial path in these moments, Pride had a very different plan in mind. The hot red
of my anger, the sallow yellow of my embarrassment, and the icy blue of my fear
gave Pride a most welcome palette to paint a mosaic that was her masterpiece and
my own eyesore. It was here that I became stuck in the shallow end of my
emotional pool, and even though these times bore little signs of personal depth
I continued to drown.
Though he was nowhere near perfection, he often became a
caricature of his true self in my eyes when Pride had hold. He was an
independent and confident person with an intoxicatingly strong sense of self;
in any logical moment I would find these to be entirely attractive traits. But
with Pride’s incessant whispering in my ear, her influence shone starkly bright through my impatient, nagging, impossibly
skeptical, and overly analytical nature. Just as in
the beginning, Pride did not want me to be the gullible fool, and thus she
compelled me to resurrect my defensive air. This
was my final failing, my complete realization that the weapon I had regarded as
one of my greatest lines of defense was actually my biggest downfall. Pride had
assured me she would give me strength in life’s battles, but I realized too late
that she was my kryptonite. Unfortunately, with only my side of the story I may
never know if Pride had genuinely helped me successfully avoid a sad fate or
unintentionally sabotage a happy one. The only sure conclusion I can make is
that Pride has left me with an impenetrable emotional fortress to seal in an
increasingly pained heart. Does this truly leave me as the victor of this
endeavor?
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