David McElroy

making sense of a dysfunctional culture

What if we’re more talented than our inner fears allow us to admit?

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I’ve always been terrified to believe I’m talented.

It was easy to believe I was smart. School work came easily, so my grades were good. Everybody told me I was smart. I had objective measures that showed I performed better than other people.

But talent was a much scarier issue. I could take IQ tests or other standardized tests which seemed to prove I was bright. But there were no tests for talent. No matter what I did, I was always terrified that it wasn’t good enough. Even though other people told me they loved the creative work I did, I was scared to get my hopes up.

So I lied to myself. Maybe you do, too.

Writer V.S. Naipaul famously wrote, “The only lies for which we are truly punished are those we tell ourselves.” And my self-deception about my talent has held me back time and time again.

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Living behind a mask means you won’t allow real self to be loved

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You know exactly what everybody wants you to be — and you have a different mask to present to each one of them. You have a script to follow to make every audience praise you.

At work, you perform as expected — even better than expected — and you get attention and praise. But nobody ever knows the real you.

Among your friends, you have a different script. They expect you to be some particular thing — and you perform perfectly based on what they expect. But none of your friends ever know the real you.

At home, you know what your family expects to see from you — and you perform that script perfectly, too. But unknown to them, not a single one of them gets to know the real you.

In the moments when you allow yourself feel anything, you are bitterly lonely.

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Time with couple reminds me how much I miss good conversation

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When I got to my friend’s house Sunday afternoon, I didn’t know his wife was going to be there. I hadn’t seen him in awhile and we had some things to talk about. We normally communicate by email or text, and I was looking forward to sitting down with him in person for the first time in several years.

It turned out that his wife joined us and we spent the next three hours having the best conversation I have had in a long time.

We had a wide-ranging discussion that covered bits and pieces of things ranging from psychology and family history to the nature of reality and the future of the human race, but all of it was very personal and every piece connected back to everything else. For me, it was a bit like being offered a hit of my favorite addictive drug.

I left feeling grateful for the time I spent with them — and it left me craving the meaningful conversation which I need from a romantic relationship.

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