Most of us are grateful that the daily newsfeed doesn’t report our personal failures. You don’t get graded, as in school. Nor do your hits and misses become an object of attention as they do for professional athletes.

In my day, all Major League Baseball trading cards included a picture on the front and the player’s career statistics on the back. A slab of bubblegum inside the pack you purchased was a bonus.

Imagine such cards for all of humanity, and ratings of each individual’s life performance updated once a year:

•      Dating Success    C+
•      Kindness               B
•      Work Success       D+
•      Mood                    C
•      Parenting              B+
•      Weight                  A-
•      Attractiveness       B
•      Wealth                  C-

Sorry. No bubblegum.

Would you want to know how your fellow humans rate you?

Would you like to be informed of your marks on a challenging test?

An old friend didn’t.

When his SAT (Scholastic Aptitude Test) results arrived in the mail (before the internet), he tore the envelope and its contents into small pieces and threw them away without reading the scores.

I was there.

He was admitted to Northwestern University.

Each person could provide their own categories and ratings, but they wouldn’t align with the rest of the world’s categories and ratings. It’s a necessary thing, isn’t it, that others keep their beliefs about you secret most of the time.

When might you find out such things, assuming you do?

Perhaps when your parents tell you what your teacher said about you. Annual performance reviews at your job insist on communicating whether you fit. When your friend, neighbor, or spouse is angry, you might hear it in their voice.

None of these consists of the full, detailed, and unimpeachable truth.

The validity of the information depends, more or less, on its application to one situation or another, and on the other’s diplomacy, affection, disappointment, and projection of their own problems onto you.

How would you deal with the alleged exactness of a negative report? Not everyone allows themselves to admit the dirtiest bits, the most contemptible indictments.

Beyond that, you might refer to your truth as “my truth.”

Here is a thoughtful comment on the “My Truth” movement from Hungry for Authenticity

By not having a precise definition, the “my truth” movement is being true to itself. Let me explain. The whole concept of “my truth” is that everyone’s truth is relative, as in, it’s personal to them. Therefore, “my truth” is in direct opposition to objective or absolute truth. To have a clear definition would put an objective truth label on the “my truth” movement. This is contrary to what it stands for! If there were a precise definition, it would defeat the whole purpose of “my truth.” The beauty of the “my truth” movement is that it can be whatever you or I want it to be.

Is it possible to combine all the details you receive from outside and inside into perfect autobiographical accuracy?

The completion of such an endeavor, inclusive of the owner’s evolving self-perception as he ages, recasts and refines his being as a person in motion.

An identity can be understood and recognized for a time, but as time goes on, man adapts, experiences more of life, and changes, whether he recognizes the modifications as they happen.

The best that you can do is to recognize some, but not all, of those shifts and revisions.

The truth of what one is can only be approximated. Unless you have been tested in situations that require courage, taking on danger, or enlarged self-sacrifice or generosity, you have not yet explored all your possibilities.

Where does that leave most of humanity? Your friends have their own opinions, but their frankness and honesty are not always on offer.

Your superiors have theirs, but the annual review is based on a single evaluator, possibly including a small number of additional voices, and, as a result, offers a limited perspective.

Your therapist? The professional wants you to feel secure and trust him. He tries to believe in you.

His observations occur only in the office or on a screen. The shrink’s clinical experience, you hope, generates insight.

If you are fortunate, he sees you as you wish to be seen and helps you create a possible future, including a fresh, modified version of yourself.

Your spouse and children? They witness more of you than most, but not necessarily the best of you.

Who are you, then? You might only come closest to fathoming that at the end of your life.

An additional, essential question, while you still have time, is who do you want to be, and how will you recreate yourself? The answers depend, in part, on your honesty about who you are.

Self-awareness grows from the important and wise opinions of those who know you at home, from truthful friends, and from the necessity of finding work and doing it. At your best, you try to acknowledge and remedy the flaws you struggle with and build on your strengths.

And you must be aware that time is short. No one can accomplish everything; not all roads lead where you want them to. As Steve Schmidt wrote yesterday on Substack:

The use of time is highly personal.

Its apportionment is foundational to happiness, and the decisions around with whom to spend it are keystones of life.”

If you are satisfied in the end, your scorecard doesn’t count for much. The record books, full of others’ opinions and ratings of your performances, have been noted.

As to the rest, dispose of them, albeit a little later than my friend’s SAT scores.

Here is Edmund Vance Cook’s entertaining position on all of this and more. A misleading title, but otherwise to the point:

 

Did you tackle the trouble that came your way

With a resolute heart and cheerful?

Or hide your face from the light of day

With a craven soul and fearful?

 

Oh, a trouble’s a ton, or a trouble’s an ounce,

Or a trouble is what you make it,

And it isn’t the fact that you’re hurt that counts,

But only how did you take it?

 

You are beaten to earth?

Well, well, what’s that!

Come up with a smiling face.

It’s nothing against you to fall down flat, But to lie there-that’s disgrace.

 

The harder you’re thrown, why the higher you bounce

Be proud of your blackened eye!

It isn’t the fact that you’re licked that counts;

It’s how did you fight-and why?

 

And though you be done to the death, what then?

If you battled the best you could,

If you played your part in the world of men,

Why, the Critic will call it good.

 

Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,

And whether he’s slow or spry,

It isn’t the fact that you’re dead that counts,

But only how did you die?

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The first image is Blurred Flowers Taken From Train at Beer Heights Light Railway by The Wub, sourced from Wikimedia Commons.

Next comes Gustav Klimt’s Hymn to Joy (detail) from the Beethoven Frieze of 1902. It is sourced from Wikiart.

Finally, Children Playing on the Water Playground in Front of the Tegetthoff-Denkmal at Praterstern by Metinkalkan, sourced from Wikimedia Commons.