Self Awareness

I was recently banned from Rover, a specialized craigslist website for finding pet sitters and dog walkers. They didn’t specify why exactly, though I know the walker claimed my dog bit her. I find this claim suspicious since my dogs have never bitten anyone before, certainly not hard enough to break skin, and her story contained several inconsistencies.

Reflecting on the landscape of my past mistakes, I’ve noticed a consistent pattern: moments when my ego seized the controls and steered me off course. The abstract concept of “staying humble” sounds straightforward until we’re faced with real-world situations that challenge our self-image. Only when something valuable slips away do we fully grasp what humility might have preserved.

Sometimes we do things because we want to, sometimes we do things because we must. You might tackle that tedious spreadsheet at work not because you love Excel, but because it’s your responsibility. Or you might blast that 80s power ballad for the twentieth time simply because it brings you joy. Simple enough, right?

When examining extraordinary success stories, we often find that behind many achievements lies a powerful combination of circumstances and opportunities. While talent and effort matter, research consistently shows that success frequently stems from two significant factors: advantageous starting conditions and luck. By “advantageous starting conditions,” I mean having access to resources and opportunities that others don’t. The reality is that exceptional talent faces significant barriers without access to basic opportunities.

“I don’t know.” Three words that, when spoken genuinely, reveal more wisdom than a thousand confident declarations. Yet they’re among the hardest words for many of us to say. There’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance. Few have mastered the art of walking it, and fewer still have the wisdom to know when to step back. People with enough self awareness to recognize their fallibility are–in my experience–a rare breed.

Personal growth requires honest assessment of our blind spots, biases, and behavioral patterns that might be holding us back. In my many conversations with strangers, I’ve recently made a conscious effort to listen more and speak less. This seemingly simple shift has proven remarkably powerful for understanding others and, somewhat surprisingly, myself. People reveal extraordinary depths when given adequate space and your attentive silence. Strategic questions help navigate the conversation, but what truly matters is creating space for others to express themselves—and most people will naturally fill conversational gaps if you allow them.

Rejection delivers a particular kind of sting that transcends context and circumstance. Whether or not it becomes easier to handle with age and experience remains an open question—the anticipation of rejection rarely prepares us for its emotional impact when it actually occurs. I’ve developed a certain expertise in rejection through abundant experience. I’ve been rejected by educational institutions, potential employers, friends, family members, and romantic partners. I’ve faced rejection from people I’ve deeply admired and respected, people I’ve loved and trusted, and even complete strangers.

Okay, the title is clickbait, and I am ashamed of that. So, I’ll give you the bottom line up front: the Dunning-Kruger effect is (in my experience) spot-on, and even though it’s a bit of a pop psychology trope these days, I’ve encountered this effect countless times. There’s a fascinating interplay between Dunning-Kruger and imposter syndrome where these two psychological phenomena can work together in surprisingly complex ways.

The most challenging relationships I’ve experienced, both personal and professional, have involved highly neurotic individuals. By neuroticism, I mean a tendency toward emotional instability—characterized by inconsistency, excessive anxiety, disproportionate reactions to minor issues, and sometimes aggressive responses to everyday stressors. Understanding Neuroticism # Neuroticism exists on a spectrum. A moderate level of concern about potential problems can be productive—it helps us prepare and plan. But when these feelings become overwhelming or trigger reactions that damage relationships, they cross into problematic territory.

Software engineers tend to be smart people. Writing software is hard, and it’s entirely a discipline of exercising your brain cells to write the correct commands to make the computer do what you want it to do. Add in the layers of complexity that come with dealing with humans who want software to do something without necessarily knowing or understanding precisely what they want, and what you end up with is a fairly complicated practice.