Pride

My pride doesn’t like it when the new guy does well–the guy who replaced me in a position I admittedly came to despise.

Why is that?

Oscar Wilde once said that there are many things we would willingly cast side, if only we didn’t think someone would come behind us and pick them up.

I can feel my pride, the swelling ache in my chest, when the new guy closes a deal I know I would have struggled with. I ache all the more when he does it with a smile, with ease, like it’s fun.

—-It never was fun for me.

What is it in me that wants to win all the games I play because I’ve played them, and not just the ones I care about?

There’s a part of me that wants to both besmirch the work I did, and also be better than the guy that comes after. My ego needs me to win even if I feel I’m above it all.

If I listen to my ego, enlarge that swelling ache in my chest, and record its version of history, I may still be able to seek my happiness elsewhere, but it feels wrong to hide from the cold waters of humility.

I need to be real, with myself above all else, to know what my intuition is trying to tell me.

I need my weakness present with me, in order to remember the weaknesses of others.

I need my pain, in order to have compassion with the pain of others.

 

—So I laughed, and told him, “That was crazy! You really pulled it off!” and asked him how he did it, and laughed some more, and wished it wasn’t so painful for me to be gracious and true to others.

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