Pride

What is mine? What can I truly, confidently call mine? Are the words I speak original? Are the thoughts I think authentic? Are the aspirations I seek crafted by my own personal perception of success and happiness or are they persuaded by socialized standards? And what if they aren’t? What if I am simply a walking canvas that has been decorated by the paintbrushes of others? Furthermore, what if I become a very famous painting? What if the critics praise me, lauding my contribution to the world? Will it matter that others and not myself have created me? And will I let myself be created? If I were to resist, surely I would risk success. Surely, I would never be great because, after all, to deny the projections of society is to denounce their standards and, thus, be a worthless member. To live in a privileged world—one that offers opportunity and relentlessly encourages personal achievement—is to reconcile one’s true self with society’s image of what is successful and valuable. An unavoidable aspect of this struggle, I believe, is pride.

Dignified and confident, arrogant and audacious.

Pride.

Personally, I’m worried about pride. I’m worried that any attempt to live life with a genuine heart and selfless intentions are simultaneously and paradoxically adulterated by self-serving motives. I’m worried that pride so subtly and so consistently propels us in our most earnest endeavors that we end up completely unaware of the ubiquitous vice. I’m afraid of the furtiveness with which it slinks through the winding corridors of our hearts and into the dark corners of our minds. I’m quite positive that it is slowly permeating the purity of us all and that the painters of society have created a very grim portrait of Old Man Success. I’m worried that the goodness and grandeur of the world is beginning to wane in the shadow of narcissism and the constant striving for worldly achievements. I’m afraid that we are all so blinded by what society has gradually deemed prosperous that we are intimidated by true happiness and pure love; we are terrified of “failing” in the eyes of others. I’m worried that humanity, in its entirety, is suffering at the hands of bankers and economists who are never fully satisfied. There is a constant yearning, a constant search. Houses are never big enough, cars are never fast enough, phones are never small enough.

Winterson writes, “The fatal combination of indulgence without feeling disgusts me….For myself, I prefer to hold my desires just out of reach of appetite, to keep myself honed and sharp. I want the keen edge of longing. It is so easy to be a brute and yet it has become rather fashionable.” This tackles another deadly sin: gluttony. Doesn't the proud presence of gluttony seem entirely problematic? It has become entirely acceptable to want too much, buy too much, sell too much, process to much. This has got to be a problem, right?