Читать книгу The Narcissist Test: How to spot outsized egos ... and the surprising things we can learn from them - Dr Malkin Craig - Страница 11
ОглавлениеUnderstanding the Spectrum
When my daughters were in kindergarten, they loved to visit the Cambridge Museum of Science. One exhibit, in particular, fascinated them. It consisted of a small tile with a lamp shining down on it. By turning a knob on the lamp, they could change the color of the light. But each time the lamp changed color, so did the tile. What seemed to be a bright red tile, a few moments ago, would deepen into purple, then turn yellow, then green, and on and on. At the edges, some colors would blend, making it hard to discern any one color at a time. A seemingly trivial question, What color is the tile?, suddenly became far more complicated.
We tend to like clear, distinct categories—it makes life easier to impose order on the world. The tile is either green or red, but it can’t be both. Similarly, we like to think in stark extremes—full or empty, black or white, good or bad. But as soon as we start looking more closely at our world, the categories blur. Even the paint on our walls seems to change color throughout the day, depending on the directness and intensity of the light. There are gradations and nuance to almost everything in life, including attitude, emotion, and personality.
So instead of regarding narcissism in all or nothing terms, imagine a line stretching from 0 to 10, like the one below, with the desire to feel special slowly growing as we move from left to right.
The Narcissism Spectrum
| 0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |
| abstinence | habit | moderation | habit | addiction |
Life at either of the extremes, whether at 0 or 10, isn’t a particularly healthy place to be. At 0 people never enjoy feeling special in anyway. Perhaps they never have. At first, this might sound healthy. Most of us have it drummed into our heads, whether by religion or family or culture, that anything even approaching the desire for special treatment or attention is bad. Our distaste is epitomized by the question What makes you so special? We all recognize the reprimand in the rhetoric. What people really mean is You’re acting like you’re special. Stop it! In most cultures around the world, selflessness is often held up as the ultimate virtue. No one has a right to feel special anyway, the argument goes, so we should celebrate people who never indulge the feeling.
But bear in mind what that really means: unrelenting selflessness, feeling abjectly ordinary, no more deserving of praise or love or care than anyone regardless of the circumstances. It doesn’t take long to see that this presents a range of problems. Say, for example, you’ve lost your beloved mother to a horrific car accident. Most people would agree that you deserve special attention; during grief, our pain should take center stage for a time. Living at 0 means you not only wouldn’t accept sympathy and assistance, you might even actively push it away. I once worked with a woman who rigidly refused to let anyone help or support her, even after her husband died. “Please—don’t trouble yourself,” she’d say when anyone tried to pick up groceries for her or drive out to visit her (she lived an hour from most of her friends). She was determined to be alone instead of surrounded by supportive companions giving her special attention.
Life at the far right is just as bleak. While people at 0 assiduously avoid the spotlight, those at the far right either scramble for it or silently long for it. In their minds, they cease to exist if people aren’t acknowledging their importance. They’re addicted to attention, and like most addicts, they’d do anything to get their high, so even authentic love takes a backseat. At 10 our humanity collapses under the weight of empty posturing and arrogance. Think of Bernie Madoff, who swindled hundreds of millions of dollars from his clients and who, when caught, scoffed at the “incompetence” of the investigators for not asking the right questions. Even as he faced life in prison, he still managed to feel superior.
Being at 1 or 9 isn’t much better. People at 9 are still in the territory of dark narcissism; they can live without elbowing their way into the spotlight, but it pains them to do so—so much so that they need professional help to break the habit. (Think of Don Draper of the TV series Mad Men, hopping from affair to affair, desperately seeking excitement and attention; he can’t stop even after he sees the damage his lies and infidelity have inflicted on his family.) People at 1 suffer just as much; their aversion to feeling special is unyielding. They might tolerate a little attention on birthdays, but they hate it.
As we approach 2 and 3 and 7 and 8 on the spectrum, we leave behind the compulsive rigidity found near 0 and 10, and enter the area of habit. There’s greater flexibility of feeling in this range, and therefore, more possibility for change. On the left, at 2, people enjoy feeling special, albeit infrequently; at 3 they may secretly dream of greatness. On the right, at 8, they might occasionally set aside their flamboyant dreams and devote some thought to other people; at 7, they’ve begun to show signs of humanity again, including the occasional ability to admit to ordinary faults.
A hallmate of mine in college offers a good example of someone around 3 on the spectrum. She enjoyed birthdays and accepted compliments, but she still hated it when anyone tried to take care of her. She’d actually get up and clean dishes as soon as someone tried to clear hers. She struggled with this inability to let others do things for her, confessing to me late one night, “I hate that it’s so hard for me to accept help or special treatment.” Likewise, a dormmate of mine who lived at 7 felt self-conscious about the way he’d name-drop or find a way to work his high test grades into casual conversations. “I know it’s wrong,” he said, “but I do it so people will be impressed. I’m worried that if I don’t, they won’t think much of me at all.” Habitual echoists and narcissists recognize that their behavior might be less than healthy; they just can’t always keep it in check.
The healthiest range is found in the center, at 4 through 6; it’s the world of moderation. Here, we might find intense ambition and occasional arrogance, but feeling special isn’t compulsive anymore. It’s just fun. At 5, in the very center, there’s no relentless need to feel—or avoid feeling—special. People here enjoy vivid dreams of success and greatness, but don’t spend all their time immersed in them. You’ll notice that 6, though it tips past the center, is still in the healthy range. That’s because it’s quite possible to have a strong drive to feel special and still remain healthy. Healthy narcissism is all about moving seamlessly between self-absorption and caring attentiveness—visiting Narcissus’s shimmering pool, but never diving to the bottom in pursuit of our own reflection.
Wiggle Room: Moving Up and Down the Spectrum
Recently, I got slammed with a miserable cold, one that left me feeling grumbly and demanding. I just wanted someone to take care of me. But then a friend called who’d just lost his job, forcing him to uproot himself and find work in another part of the country. Suddenly, my cold wasn’t so important anymore. I rose from bed, cleaned myself up, and went to talk with him.
Most models of human behavior consider flexibility to be the hallmark of mental health. We adapt our feelings and behavior to fit the circumstance. When it comes to narcissism, similarly, only the most extreme echoist or narcissist becomes fixed at one end of the scale. Healthy people generally remain within a certain range on the spectrum, moving up or down a few points throughout their lives. Nevertheless, we’re all prone to climbing even higher on the scale if something provides a big enough push.
Narcissism spikes dramatically, for example, when we feel shaky about ourselves: lonely, sad, confused, vulnerable. In adults, major life events like getting divorced or becoming sick in old age often trigger a large surge of self-centeredness as we struggle to hold on to our self-worth. In younger people, narcissism tends to peak during the teen years. Adolescents often betray a staggering sense of omnipotence, as if they’re somehow above natural and man-made laws (fatal accidents might happen to others who drive drunk, for instance, but certainly never to them). Teens are well known for elevating even the act of suffering to great heights—prone to fits of despair, convinced no one can fathom the pain of their unrequited crush, or the searing humiliation of not owning the next cool smartphone. Nothing else—and often no one else—matters more than the anguish they feel.
Though vexing for parents, this adolescent peak in narcissism is normal and understandable. This is the time when we develop an individual identity, separating from our parents to become our own person. We push away from people who’ve held sway over us, even though we know, somewhere deep inside, that we aren’t yet equipped to handle the world on our own. It’s at times like these—when we need people but aren’t sure if we can or should have their support—that we lean heavily on feeling special. It boosts our confidence, however temporarily. And while it’s not genuine or lasting self-assurance, it gets us through a rough time. Once we’re through adolescence, narcissism falls sharply; it’s time to get on with the business of adulthood—and that means thinking about people other than ourselves.
Varieties of Special: Extroverted, Introverted, and Communal Narcissists
You’ve no doubt come across extroverted narcissists. That’s the kind of narcissist you’re used to hearing about, the one about whom all the fuss is made. They’re loud, vain, and easy to spot. They flaunt their money and possessions, scramble to be the center of attention at every occasion, ruthlessly jockey to rise through the ranks at their office. But narcissism manifests itself in other ways, as well. An intense drive to feel special can yield two other types of narcissistic behavior: introverted and communal.
Introverted narcissists (also called “vulnerable,” “covert,” or “hypersensitive” in scientific literature) are just as convinced that they’re better than others as any other narcissist, but they fear criticism so viscerally that they shy away from, and even seem panicked by, people and attention. Their outward timidity and wariness makes them easily mistaken for self-effacers at the far left of the spectrum. But what makes them different from echoists is that they don’t feel inferior. They believe they harbor unrecognized intelligence and hidden gifts; they see themselves as more understanding of, and more attuned to, the intricacies of the world around them. In self-report, they agree with such statements as I feel that I am temperamentally different from most people. To an observer, these people appear fragile and hypersensitive. In conversation, they’re apt to jump on a misplaced word, or a change in tone, or a brief glance away, and demand What did you mean by that? or Why are you turning away? There’s an angry insistence to introverted narcissists: they seethe with bitterness over the world’s “refusal” to recognize their special gifts.
Communal narcissists, a type more recently identified by researchers, aren’t focused on standing out, being the best writer or most accomplished dancer or the most misunderstood or overlooked genius. Instead, they regard themselves as especially nurturing, understanding, and empathic. They proudly announce how much they give to charity or how little they spend on themselves. They trap you in the corner at a party and whisper excitedly about how thoughtful they’ve been to their grieving next-door neighbor: That’s me—I’m a born listener! They believe themselves better than the rest of humanity, but cherish their status as givers, not takers. They happily agree with such statements as I am the most helpful person I know and I will be well known for the good deeds I have done.
As you can see, not all narcissists look and sound alike and, no doubt, we’ll discover even more than these three variations over time. But remember—regardless of their differences, they all share one overriding motivation: each and every one of them desperately clings to feeling special. They just do it in different ways.
Special Demographics: Age, Gender, Career
As you’ve learned already, narcissism may come more easily to the young; people under 25 tend to be the most narcissistic, with the drive to feel special declining as we age. But what about that perennial question of who’s more narcissistic—men or women? Most studies only capture the extroverted narcissists and, when it comes to this group, researchers consistently find slightly more men than women in the mildly unhealthy range (7 to 8, by this book’s scale). In stark contrast, as soon as we get to the extreme right of the spectrum, men dominate sharply; they’re double the number of women.
This difference is at least partly attributable to gender roles. In most societies, women are criticized for being loud and assertive, while these same qualities are encouraged in men. So it’s no surprise there’s a slight difference in habitual narcissism and a huge difference in the addictive kind. It’s one thing for a woman to be extremely confident and hypercompetitive, but being floridly arrogant and forceful departs dramatically from common notions of how women should behave.
Research on communal narcissism is just beginning to get under way, but so far, it seems to affect men and women in equal numbers. Communal narcissists can either quietly believe they’re the best parents or friends or humanitarians in the world or get up on stage and announce it to everyone. With more men outnumbering women in the loud camp and women edging past men in the quieter one, the gender difference washes out. Interestingly, introverted narcissists, too, seem to be about equally divided between the sexes.
Some professions seem to be magnets for people from certain regions of the spectrum. People on the high end of the spectrum tend to gravitate toward careers where there’s an opportunity for power, praise, and fame. US presidents seem to be more narcissistic, on average, than most ordinary citizens, according to psychologist Ronald J. Deluga, of Bryant College, who used biographical information on every commander in chief from George Washington through Ronald Reagan to score them on the NPI. Predictably, high-ego presidents like Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan ranked higher than more soft-spoken leaders like Jimmy Carter and Gerald Ford, but almost all presidents scored high enough to be considered “narcissists.”
Psychologists Robert Hill and Gregory Yousey, of Appalachian State University, also studied the narcissistic tendencies of politicians (excluding presidents), comparing them with librarians, university professors, and clergy. Politicians again ranked higher in narcissism than any other group. Clergy and professors were deemed the healthiest, with librarians the least narcissistic. Unlike the politicians, none of the other professionals scored high enough to earn the label narcissist, though librarians certainly scored low enough to flirt with echoism.
The performing arts is an arena with a heavy pull for narcissists—no surprise there; it’s show business, after all—but here, too, there are shades of narcissism if you look closely enough. Dr. Drew Pinsky, host of the radio show Loveline, did just that, by asking every celebrity who appeared on his show to take the NPI. Then he and psychologist S. Mark Young, of the Marshall School of Business at the University of Southern California, compared the actors’ scores to those of people in other artistic areas. Actors and comedians, it turned out, fell near the middle of performers in narcissism (women were more narcissistic than men, possibly because their appearance is more important to their success). Musicians were the least narcissistic. And the most narcissistic? (Drumroll . . . ) Reality TV stars. Based on the data, Pinsky and Young concluded that all the celebrities started out high in narcissism, which, in turn, probably drew them to their flashy careers. For the record, Pinsky and Young also looked at MBA students for comparison, since they often score higher than other groups in narcissism—but the celebrities still won.
Few of us regularly interact with heads of state, celebrities, or even MBA students, so the narcissism we’re most likely to encounter will be in the people we see regularly—our relatives, friends, colleagues, dates, and mates. What does that look like? Let’s start with ordinary folks at the extreme ends of both sides of the spectrum.
Life at 2: Self-Denying
Sandy, 28, is single and works as an administrative assistant at a biotech firm. She came to see me after a recent upset at work. Her boss had decided to throw a party in her honor—his way of saying thanks for her tireless effort to make the company’s past year especially prosperous.
“He was giving me an office MVP award and the day he selected for the party was also my birthday so he decided to kill two birds with one stone.” She grimaced as she spoke and her thin frame seemed to shrink further in her loose black pantsuit. “My boss had spent a lot of time setting it up as a surprise, but I kind of figured out what was happening. People whisper around the coolers.” Unhappy with the party, Sandy tried to get it canceled. “I told my boss’s partner I’d been having trouble concentrating at work because I kept feeling awkward and anxious thinking about it. I managed to get it called off.”
“What made you so uneasy?” I asked
“I can’t stand compliments. They make my skin crawl. I’ve never liked being the focus of anything. I don’t like birthday parties, either, let alone surprise ones.”
“Any idea why?”
“No clue,” she said. She stared at a large blue and green abstract painting on the wall in front of her. “All I know is I feel uneasy. I don’t like people fawning over me.”
Though Sandy was nearly allergic to gratitude from others, she had no trouble lending friends her support. But here, too, when they showed their appreciation with flowers or cards, she was visibly uncomfortable and accepted their tributes reluctantly.
“How about from your boyfriend?” She’d been living with Joe for three years in a small apartment just minutes from her office.
“I can’t stand it when he compliments me or tries to take care of me.” She squirmed, shifting back and forth in her seat. “I tell him he doesn’t need to. I’m not a little kid.”
Her evident distress had begun causing ripples in her relationships at work, at home, and with friends. “My boss was hurt. He said he just wanted to do something special for me.” Joe, too, had clearly grown weary of such a one-sided relationship. “He got really angry the other day because he just wanted me to tell him which restaurant I preferred for my birthday dinner. I was tired of talking about it.” She frowned. “I told him, ‘Why don’t we just stay home and cook—or you can pick wherever you want—it’s up to you.’ ”
Joe had thrown up his hands in disgust, and growled, “You never let me do anything for you!”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “Sometimes people need us to be able to take center stage. It helps them feel special, too.”
Sandy is a great example of the dangers of living at around 2 on the spectrum. The people who dwell there aren’t just unfamiliar with feeling special, they’re afraid of it.
Most of us feel a little boost when we receive praise and attention for our accomplishments. For a time, the spotlight has shifted to us. But for people near 0—extreme echoists—even positive attention can be terrifying. It’s not necessarily because they feel ashamed or defective, though some might. It’s just that they’re convinced that being ordinary is the safest way to live. They stay in the shadows because, as the Japanese saying goes, “The nail that stands out gets pounded down.” Even more, they dread becoming a burden. This isn’t the feigned concern of martyrs who proclaim, “I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” while loudly voicing complaints that demand everyone’s attention—this is real fear.
People like Sandy worry so deeply about seeming needy or selfish that it’s often difficult for them to recognize they have any needs at all. It’s also exhausting working so hard to expect nothing at all, which is why people at this end of the spectrum can lapse into confusing bouts of sadness. They feel depleted, but what they need to replenish themselves is buried so deep they’re not even sure how to ask for it.
The most common feature of echoists is a deep dread of becoming narcissistic in any way. They’re constantly on guard for any signs of selfishness or arrogance in themselves, so much so that they can’t even enjoy being doted upon. Their vigilance comes with a steep price. People feel closer to us when we allow ourselves to become a gleam in their eye. Enjoying our moments on the pedestal elevates not just us, but also those we love.
Life at 9: Self-Serving
Gary, 24, single, is a business school student who was referred to me by his dean, an old friend of his parents, who’d grown concerned and irate about his absences from class.
“I’ve got bigger fish to fry than going to class,” Gary told me, smiling broadly. “I’m starting up a company with a friend. We got the idea one night when we’d been drinking for hours. But it’s a great plan.” He’d arrived ten minutes late to my office, but didn’t seem the least bit contrite about being tardy. “Just came from an investor meeting,” he’d explained, grasping my hand firmly in greeting.
“Terrific,” I responded. “Congrats.”
“I know how to sell myself,” he said, shrugging. “It’s what I do.”
I could see what he meant. Sitting in a classic power position—arms clasped behind his neck, elbows out—he looked more like a business executive than a student. He dressed the part, too—a sleek navy blue suit, gleaming leather shoes, a red-and-blue striped tie.
“Are you any good at this?” he asked. “I don’t have much time to waste.”
“Guess we’ll find out,” I said, feeling sure he’d already decided. “As I understand it, you might get kicked out because you’ve missed so many papers and assignments.”
“Dean tell you that?” he shot back, snidely. He leaned back, crossing his arms. “Listen, they have to keep me in school. I might be the best thing that’s happened to them in a while. The least they can do is try to hold on to me. If they don’t, they’ll see what a mistake they’ve made when my idea takes off and I make a killing.”
“You can appreciate the dean’s position, though?” I asked, curious if he had any perspective on how much jeopardy he’d placed himself in.
“I can talk my parents into anything,” he assured me. “I can talk pretty much anyone into anything,” he added. “They’ll convince him just like they did before.” He combed his fingers though his hair. “People are making a big deal out of nothing. I can crank out the rest of my work, no problem.”
“What made you decide to come to see me?” I asked. “You didn’t have to.”
“I figured you just need to give me a clean bill of health,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“Ah,” I said. “It doesn’t quite work that way, unfortunately. We need”—here he cut me off.
“Look,” he said, “I get that I have to convince the dean’s bosses. That’s why my parents are paying for this. If you can’t help me, I’m sure I can find someone else to get the job done.” He started getting up to leave.
“You can leave,” I said. “But part of the problem is you don’t think you need anyone’s help. You’ve got a lot of talent and ambition, which is fantastic. But you can’t rely on that alone to carry you. If that worked, you wouldn’t be sitting across from me now. And the dean wouldn’t be meeting with the school next Monday about whether or not this is your last semester there.”
That seemed to get his attention. He sat back down.
This is the face of narcissism we all know and loathe: arrogant, entitled—at times frightening. People at 9, extreme narcissists, often think themselves above normal rules and expectations. Whatever they’re paid, it’s not enough. Whatever wrongs they commit against others, they’re explained away. It never occurred to Gary for an instant that he might really be kicked out. Mysteriously, he believed that the university needed him far more than he needed it. He was convinced that his talent as an entrepreneur would save him.
People who live at 9 or 10 cling to their special status for dear life. Their belief that they’re somehow above the rest of us mere mortals might even reach delusional levels, as it did for Gary, who honestly felt that he could do whatever he wanted and still remain in school. This sense of being a “special exception” also explains many other characteristics of people who live on the far right—becoming angry at the smallest slights, willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want, seeing other people as extensions of themselves.
Extreme narcissism blinds people to the feelings of others. That’s one of the reasons we find it so unpleasant to be around people at this high end of the scale. The men and women who live near 10 are too preoccupied with their own need to be recognized and rewarded to consider the needs of other people.
Gary’s parents had been on the phone with him nightly for a week, urging him to seek help. “I’m at my wit’s end,” his mother had said, in a tearful message left on my voice mail. Gary shrugged it off. “She gets that way.” The dean had been a staunch defender, despite Gary’s blithe attitude about his imminent expulsion. He’d known Gary since he was a toddler and clearly thought of him as a son. The whole situation had obviously been taking its toll—the dean sounded exhausted in his messages. But Gary seemed oblivious to just how anxious he’d made everyone around him, especially those who cared about him. “The dean’s as big a worrier as my mom.”
Those on the far right tend to regard others as tools for their personal use. Gary treated me, from the start, like a simple-minded servant. He quickly turned on me when I told him I couldn’t just write a letter telling the administration he was fine.
Gary also had no insight into his problems. When feeling special becomes an addiction, there’s no room to acknowledge flaws, no matter how obvious they are to everyone else. People like Gary are notoriously bad partners and friends. Their lack of empathy hobbles them relationally, leading to frequent lies and infidelity. But people who live around 9 don’t see it. In fact, ask them if they’re comfortable with deeper intimacy, capable of sharing sadness and loneliness with those they care about, and they’ll often say they’re good at that, too. They have such little self-awareness they can’t even recognize the limits of their ability to love.
Life at 5: Self-Assured
Lisa, 41, married, Asian American, is the executive director of a nonprofit that serves the local Asian community. She came to me after her mother died from a massive stroke. “She didn’t even make it to the hospital,” Lisa told me in our initial phone call. “I’ve been different lately, a little off my game, so I thought I should speak to you.”
When I met Lisa in the waiting room, she was chatting with another therapist’s client (I’m in a suite of offices with other therapists). I’d seen this other woman before, but I’d never seen her speak to anyone. She usually sat quietly, reading a magazine or scrolling through her smartphone. Today she was smiling.
“Nice meeting you,” said Lisa, as she waved goodbye to the woman. And I could tell she meant it.
I led Lisa down the hall. Before she sat, she smoothed out her skirt—navy blue and business length, with a matching suit jacket—and adjusted her ponytail. “I’m a big believer in staying on top of things. I don’t want this—whatever this is—to get out of hand.”
Since her mother’s death, Lisa had thrown herself into a bunch of new projects. She was so tightly scheduled she barely had time to think. “I’m always on the go,” she said. “But I’m really pushing myself these days.”
Lisa, who had successfully launched a number of programs for the homeless and elderly, was something of a local celebrity. She had myriad political connections, from alderman to senators, and made frequent TV appearances. “Most people hate all the media work, but I love making speeches or being on camera. I feel so alive then. I’m kind of a ham, anyway. I used to be an actress.” She’d hit the stage as a toddler and continued acting in plays and musicals through high school. “I adore applause.”
“But lately it feels like too much?” I asked.
“Isn’t it?” she asked, and took a deep breath. “How do you know when it’s healthy—all this chasing after success? All these big dreams?” I could tell she’d gotten to the heart of what had been eating at her. She visibly relaxed once she’d said it, her eyes glistening.
“You’ve been more driven than usual these days, since losing your mother. We can work on that. But the joy you take in dreaming big hasn’t just made you happy—it’s made others happy, too,” I said. “I’d say that’s the definition of health.”
At the heart of healthy narcissism is the capacity to love and be loved on a grand scale. People who live in the center of the spectrum don’t always take to the stage, but when they do, they often lift others up with them.
Lisa embodied many of the traits of healthy, centered narcissism. Her grief had driven her into the public eye a little more than usual, but she had enough self-awareness to realize something was wrong. People who live in the center know when their grandiosity is getting the better of them. They know when they’re getting too caught up in themselves. Lisa’s delight in feeling special never blinded her to how other people felt. Her main concern came down to her husband, Doug. She worried he’d become lonely—and he probably had.
“I found him in front of the TV the other day,” Lisa admitted, “and he was looking pretty down. I’d been up all night working on a project and hadn’t come home.”
That prompted a long conversation in which Doug admitted to Lisa that he felt she’d been too self-involved lately.
“He told me all I talk about is work,” she explained. “And he’s right.”
Lisa’s ambition had ratcheted up to high gear. She’d regale Doug with the intricacies of her latest project and how much she’d impressed the clients. She’d surge into a monologue, her voice charged with excitement, as she brought him up to speed on her latest, grand vision to fix the homeless shelter.
“He was feeling totally unimportant,” she said. “I knew I had to fix that. The last thing I want is for Doug to feel like he doesn’t matter to me.”
“So what did you do?” I asked.
“I told him I’d been selfish and would make it up to him,” she said, smiling. “I stayed home the next night and cooked us dinner.”
Lisa displayed other features typical of people around 5 on the spectrum. She drew inspiration from her grand ideas. She’d become a creative leader in her field, rallying supporters even in the political arena. Her dreams pushed her to achieve and rise above an ordinary life but she never used them to make people feel beneath her. If anything, people felt important in her presence, as if they brought value simply by being who they were. Lisa made the quiet woman in the waiting room light up.
That’s a sure sign you’re with someone in the middle of the spectrum—they bring out the best in everyone.
Interestingly, they’re not an especially modest bunch. They don’t need to brag or boast or show off to feel good about themselves, but they’re not bashful about their talents either. Lisa, for example, met her husband at a nightclub and she’d approached him. She slipped up beside him, brushed his shoulder, and after a few minute of flirting, invited him onto the dance floor. “Come on,” she’d said. “I’m a great dancer—promise.”
And she was.
Now you’ve met people along the whole range of the spectrum, from extreme echoists to extreme narcissists. And you can see that narcissism has many faces, both healthy and unhealthy. No doubt at this point you’re wondering: Where do I fall on this spectrum? You may already have some sense just from reading and relating to these stories, but you can get an even better idea by completing the Narcissism Test.
