We think we’re nice, interesting people. But we might not be. But how would we know? Who would convincingly tell us? No one – not even our significant other, if we’re lucky enough to have one – really knows us well enough or cares about us enough to do that. The Sage said, Know yourself. I used to think it’s better to be known. But maybe the Sage had a point. The problem is that once you discover what a piece of shit you are, where do you go with that? To a schmychotherapist? Is it possible just to stop thinking that you’re really great person? To be modest about yourself? Tone down your amusing charisma? Assume the cloak of humility? Worth a try.