David knew his strengths, but he also knew his weaknesses. “I
cannot go in these,” he said after trying on a soldier’s armor,
“because I am not used to them.” He was ready to proceed with what
we could call true self-awareness (and of course, his faith).
How did Goliath respond to his tiny challenger? Like your typical
bully: He laughed. “Am I a dog, that you come at me with sticks?”
Goliath shouted. “Come here,” he said, “and I’ll give your flesh to the
birds and the wild animals!”
This arrogance would be short-lived.
David came at Goliath at a full sprint, a sling in one hand and a
few stones from the river in the other. In those few quick seconds,
Goliath must have seen the confidence in David’s eyes and been
afraid for the first time—and before he could do anything, he was
dead. Felled by the stone flung expertly from David’s sling. His head
cut off by his own sword.
The story of these two combatants may be true. It may be a fable.
But it remains one of the best stories we have about the perils of ego,
the importance of humility, and the necessity of confidence.
There is perhaps no one less at peace than the egomaniac, their
mind a swirling miasma of their own grandiosity and insecurity.
They constantly bite off more than they can chew. They pick fights
everywhere they go. They create enemies. They are incapable of
learning from their mistakes (because they don’t believe they make
any). Everything with them is complicated, everything is about them.
Life is lonely and painful for the man or woman driven by ego.
Donald Trump in the White House at night, his wife and son far
away, in his bathrobe, ranting about the news. Alexander the Great,
drunk again, fighting and killing his best friend over a stupid
argument, thinking of nothing but the next conquest. Howard
Hughes, trapped in his mansion, manically excited about some crazy
project (which he will inevitably sabotage).
Successful, yes, but would you want to trade places with them?
This toxic form of ego has a less-assuming evil twin—often called
“imposter syndrome.”
It’s a nagging, endless anxiety that you’re not qualified for what
you’re doing—and you’re about to be found out for it. Shakespeare’s
image for this feeling was of a thief wearing a stolen robe he knows is
barry
(Barry)
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