When I was in the second grade, we had the most wonderful music teacher. She was a real hoot — an older lady who wore her greying hair pulled back in a neat bun, always dressed in a skirt and cardigan like she’d stepped right out of a simpler time. She’d warm us up for glee club by running us through musical scales and those classic mi-mi-mi exercises, her eyes twinkling the whole while. I think I enjoyed that year of school more than just about any other I can remember.
But somewhere between then and now, the sound of music turned into the sound of me.
Over the past several years, I’ve met more people than I care to count who are so shallow I could nearly see through them if the light hit just right. Talk to them for five minutes and you realize there’s exactly one subject they find compelling — themselves. What can you do for them? How does this benefit them? The almighty ME has become the organizing principle of too many lives. Toby Keith practically wrote their anthem: I wanna talk about me, wanna talk about I, wanna talk about number one, oh my me my. He meant it as a joke. A lot of folks missed the punchline.
Now, I want to be fair. This isn’t a generational indictment — not entirely, anyway. I’ve known plenty of self-absorbed folks north of forty, and I’ve known some remarkable young people who’d give you the shirt off their backs without a second thought. Most young people, truth be told, are decent. But I’d be less than honest if I didn’t say I notice the tendency running a little stronger in those under forty. Something shifted somewhere. The question worth asking is: how much of that is our fault?
Probably some. Maybe more than some. Did my generation model, however unintentionally, that personal ambition was the highest virtue? That the bottom line mattered more than the person standing across from you? Maybe we did. I can’t say for certain. But wringing our hands about it doesn’t move the needle, so I’ve taken to doing something about it when I can.
My first approach is direct — some would say blunt. When I catch someone in a full-blown case of self-absorption, I’ll say something like, “Hey, how about thinking about something other than yourself for a minute?” It tends to break the spell. Once I’ve got their attention, I’ll ask whether they have a family at home. Whether they have a hobby. Whether they ever let their mind wander somewhere outside of work. Because here’s the thing — that bathroom rug you’re stressing over today? A hundred years from now, nobody will remember it existed. But the children you raise, the neighbors you look after, the way you treat a stranger having a hard day — that stuff echoes.
I remind them there’s a difference between talking to someone and talking at them. One builds something. The other just burns air.
Most people, when you put it that way, hear you. They soften a little. You can watch something loosen behind their eyes.
But some folks are wound so tight that common sense just bounces right off them. For those, I save what I think of as the ultimate appeal. I remind them that their mother was right when they were little: if you spend all your time and energy and mental firepower spinning around inside your own head, you will eventually go blind to the fact that there is a good and lovely world out there. A world full of worthwhile people, places, and things that deserve every bit of the attention being wasted on self-promotion and self-preservation.
And more importantly — there are children watching. Your children. And what they learn about how to move through this world, they’ll learn mostly from you.
That tends to land.
Writing for Sanity's Sake 