I’ve heard it said on several occasion that a writer’s best ally is maintaining a high degree of modesty in her/his work. The reasoning behind this is obvious to most people in that no self-respecting reader wants to support the scribbles of a smug narcissist, convinced that her/his words are the world’s gift to human expression. However, despite its practical value, the adage does ignore an important attribute all writer’s share to some degree: namely, writers are narcissists.
Whether we’re aiming to share our words by traditional print media, or blogging free of charge in our spare time, there is something undeniably self-indulgent in our conviction that we not only have something of importance to add to a topic of discussion, but that the greater public might benefit in hearing our take on a subject matter, too. And if you really don’t feel that you have anything worthwhile to say on a topic, why are you typing so many grueling posts testifying to the contrary?
Let it be clear, this is not a social criticism on my part. Rather, it is a personal affirmation. I write this blog precisely because I feel it is worth the time and effort, and–in a broader sense–hope that it offers some benefit to somebody, somewhere (even if just to avoid having to read for that book report you failed to research on your own). Moreover, I have no shame in recognizing the benign egotism of the act. I find humility, of course, in knowing that my opinions on the topics I discuss hold no more inherent value than anybody else’s. Likewise, I find aggrandizement in the conviction that my opinions have as much of a right to be heard and shared as anybody else’s (whether anyone else agrees, I’ll readily leave to the free marketplace of ideas to decide).
Modesty, by virtue of consistent self-scrutiny, is definitely a valued tone writers and commentators should strive to maintain in the work they share with the world. Yet, I feel it is also important to acknowledge how those of us who take the step of actually putting our thoughts and musings into a public forum, are also just a little bit full of ourselves. Which, although always capable to evolving into a boorish vice, can also serve as an indispensable catalyst for creativity. Ovid probably captured this sentiment best in the epilogue to his Metamorphosis:
Now I have done my work. It will endure,
I trust, beyond Jove’s anger, fire and sword,
Beyond Time’s hunger. The day will come, I know,
So let it come, that day which has no power
Save over my body, to end my span of life
Whatever it may be. Still, part of me,
The better part, immortal, will be borne
Above the start; my name will be remembered
Wherever Roman power rules conquered lands,
I shall be read, and through all centuries,
If prophecies of bards are ever truthful,
I shall be living, always.
Our words, too, are immortalized, in the far reaches of cyberspace; leaving a piece of ourselves to forever be either derided or appreciated long after we have lost the ability to partake in the conversation. Possibly a very humbling thought, but not really all that modest.
Consider this my welcoming post to the coming summer days, and the approaching half-year mark. In case anyone can’t tell, my new year’s resolution was to strive to be more honest with myself (also to start spending more time outdoors, but I’ve been making that one 10 years in a row, and quit every time I notice just how uncomfortably bright the sun is). So a jovial greeting to whoever happens to be reading. Stay safe, positive, and slightly eccentric, wherever you are.