Pride

i abhor arrogance.

understand that for years i cultivated and even romanticized my dislike for myself. nothing especially detrimental or dangerous to myself, just self-deprecating, in a very high school sort of way, later maturing into a more humorous, less "emo" deprecation (although i hate to use the term emo, because it demonizes all emotional expression or outpourings, even the legitimate).

but after high school something strange happened: i encountered a very odd, very alien school of thought that very earnestly advocated "loving yourself." naturally i equated "loving yourself" with "being conceited," and met the idea with reservation. i later learned the value of self-love, though never fully achieved or subscribed to it.

but it's occurred to me, somewhat recently, that i DO have pride. i know this because my pride can be hurt. it may seem a natural and elementary realization to some, but it's one i find disturbing.

not just because i imagine myself that much closer to arrogance, but because my pride appears specifically in my craft. and if i can't handle criticism for my writing well, i know i won't survive.

i don't reject criticism. on the contrary, i need it. but on a personal level i hate that i'm so overly sensitive to it, so easily hurt by it, regardless of however much i agree with it.

this post ends with the same anti-climactic resoultion i find every time i face occupational or artistic frustration: There is no solution but to face it. press on, or die.

there's nothing pretty to say at the end.