Hello reader. To set the mood for this post, I’d like to pose a rhetorical question:

Have you ever taken an insult as a compliment?

You see, I’ve never been very good at taking an insult. Even when the insult was blatantly in jest, I would take at least a sliver of it to heart.  Often times, this would leave me in a pensive state. I would wonder how much of the insult was true. I guess this was my way of checking up on my own traits, to the point where I would try to make sure that I wasn’t seeing a side of myself that only other people were seeing. Maybe this openly insulting person was the only one with the sense, or lack of sense, to say something to me about a trait no one else could point out. Yes, my life has been filled with a lot of introspection based on throw-away insults.

The latest account of this took place this very evening. I had a conversation with a person I trust, and during the conversation, she told me that she had something funny to tell me. The funny thing she had been dying to tell me turned out to be that one of the students in my latest class thought I was arrogant, that I believe I am funnier than I really am.

I trust my sense of humor, and I know that a lot of people don’t really get where I’m coming from when I tell a joke. I’ve encountered this many, many times in my life, and I expect to encounter this sort of situation many more times before I finally wither away. That’s not what bothered me. What bothered me was how I felt at the moment of being called arrogant. First off, neither she nor I had any idea who the person who called me arrogant was. She’d forgotten sometime in-between hearing his opinion and relaying it to me. Right away we see that I have no opinion of the person who called me arrogant, because I have no idea who that person is, so why should it have any impact on me at all? Too many rhetorical questions now, I think.

The funny thing might be that I’d never been called arrogant before. Surprise. Maybe? And upon hearing this judgement for the first time, I couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t really that bad of a trait. In fact, I can’t count on my two hands how many of my idols or heroes have that quality in them in some quantity. For instance, Stan Lee. Amazing man, the Father of Marvel Comics, and it was his arrogance that helped him become a hero to billions of people. Without him being even slightly arrogant, he never would have approached his boss at Amazing Fantasy and proposed the brilliant idea of a teenager who becomes stronger after a spider bite. And, speaking of that teenager, Spider-Man is unbelievably arrogant in his early years. Exceptionally more so than his more recent adventures. But he became a hero because his arrogance helped him find his path. It helped to shape himself into what he wanted to represent, and allowed him to swing around in a bright red and blue suit, nonetheless.

I’ll admit, my mind did not go directly to Spider-Man or Stan Lee when I first heard someone had called me arrogant. No, instead I jumped straight to Holden Caulfield. Salinger. The arrogance of the Glass family has brought endless enjoyment and perspective to so many teens and adults alike. Sure it ended up with a little suicide and perhaps an abortion, but image Catcher in The Rye with a lack of arrogance. Would Holden waste all his dough on taxi rides around New York or dates to the theatre? Would he have dropped out of school?  More importantly, would we even know who is a phony in this world, if it weren’t for a little arrogance?

I did become introspective when I heard the judgement from another, just as I always do. But it became quickly overshadowed by the opinion of a loved one, who appreciates me for who I am, and perhaps understands, as I am trying to, that I should have pride in my faults.  I should hope that one day those faults might help me grow to be brave, strong, and maybe get me to take a few risks now and again.

Until next time, reader. Good night.