Who is it that can tell me who I am? (King Lear, 1.4.230)

You can’t really grow as a human being unless you do some serious soul searching every once in awhile. You know, really putting your life and character under the microscope. There are some who never do this—and they go thru life blissfully unaware of whether they are decent folk or complete douches. Then there are others, and sometimes I count myself among this group, who comb over every minute detail. You can drive yourself crazy this way.


Of course, the tough part is being brutally honest with yourself—especially about your flaws and shortcomings. That can be a bitch. I mean who wants to admit to the not so pretty parts about their personality. Nobody that I can think of…

But then there are the times when we are way too hard on ourselves. When we beat ourselves up for things. We all do it, admit it. I know I do. I think some of that affects my ability to be effective at work—my leftover childhood insecurities. A friend (who knows me very well) pointed out that I go into “your brothers picking on you” defensive mode in the face of criticism. Ouch. But he’s right. All that angst from my formative years comes roaring back at those times. And I mentally kick myself—and curl up into a fetal ball.

If you are lucky though, you get these rare moments when you find out how others perceive you. Which can come as a huge surprise—both in a good way and a bad way.

I had such a moment this past Saturday.

I was telling a (happily married) theatre friend that another theatre friend (single male) was greatly admiring her. And she is a very attractive and warm woman of a certain age. I commented that this man loves the ladies, and joked that I was hurt because he’d never hit on me. Her response was “Maybe you scare him—you do have this power to you.”

Me? Power? Seriously?



Wow—I would never have thought that about myself. It made me feel good.