Know Thyself

“Know Thyself” (inscribed on the entrance to the Temple of Apollo at Delphi) 

I know some people who believe they are good drivers . . . but they’re not.

I know some people who believe they are funny . . . but they’re not.
I know some people who believe they are nice . . . but they’re not.

Receiving feedback from others, at variance with self-perception, is no fun.  Once, when I was a camp counselor, I got my end-of-the-season evaluation.  I was commended for my work as a counselor and recommended for promotion. The evaluation also commented on my interpersonal interactions saying, while I was well respected, my peers thought I seemed aloof and hard to get to know. Really? I didn’t think so.  And how would they know anyway?

Can we know ourselves accurately?  Do others sometime see us with greater clarity than we see ourselves?  Noone can know my history, my memories, my emotions, my secrets better than I. Yet might I have blind spots?  Might others, on occasion, observe me with greater clarity than I observe myself?

In 1^st or 2^nd grade I remember asking myself, “Would I know it if I were retarded?” (Retarded was a word we commonly used back then.)  I don’t remember the context.  Maybe, I saw someone with special needs and empathically wondered what if felt like to be them.  More likely someone on the playground called me retarded, and I momentarily wondered if they could be right.  I always assumed that I was reasonably smart, but what if I was wrong?  What if others knew something about me that I was blind to?

My mother had Alzheimer’s. She also had ‘anosognosia’, which meant that she was oblivious to her condition. She was unaware of her cognitive decline, but those around her saw it clearly . . . which gets the heart of my concern.  As I get old, will I know if my cognitive abilities are in decline, will I be in denial, or might I become blind to my mental state?  Will I not know, and others will?

As he grew old, my father was blind to the fact that he was becoming deaf.  He didn’t know it, but everyone around him knew.  More seriously, as he grew old, my father couldn’t drive a car safely. He thought that he was a good driver.  Anyone who sat in the passenger seat knew otherwise.  My sister had to take away his keys. I don’t want to repeat what happened with my father. I have told my children that I will try to listen to them if and when they tell me I should no longer drive.

For the most part, I think that I see myself pretty clearly, but what might I be blind to?  There are limits to self-awareness. It’s important that I remain open to the input of others.  Maybe at camp they were right.  Maybe I still am a bit aloof and hard to know. That being said, I know myself well enough to say with confidence that I am still a good driver, I am still funny, and I am still nice . . . I think.