Published on November 4, 2025 5:16 AM GMT

Tim Kreider’s “I Know What You Think of Me” NYT op-ed has somehow been a small yet distinct piece of me ever since I came across it on social media some time during high school. Through the haze of memory I find myself seeing some cute picture saying “to be known is to be loved,” and a mention of the “mortifying ordeal of being known,” which is a phrase that stuck with me, but I don’t think I ever read the actual essay at the time.

Today I finally took the time to rectify this, and while it didn’t provide any life-changing revelation or really much besides the truncated message I had learned years ago, that message even while truncated is valuable. Receiving objective observation from others can threaten our preconceived ideas of who we are, but we submit to such a process because we want what is on the other side (in this case, love/connection with others). I believe a similar process can be helpful as we interact with ourselves.

Most of our capabilities are unknown. I don’t know how well I could grow potatoes, dance salsa, or code an app, nor do I know how fast I would be able to learn. I could give some sort of educated guess, but it’s no substitute for actually trying and doing. Even in things I’m more practiced in, like running or music, I don’t actually know the limits of my abilities. I’ll be running a half marathon this coming weekend, but that only tells me so much about my speed for a given distance, and there’s significant variance just based on how I’m feeling on the day of the run. For music, while I regularly play in gigs in my local area, I haven’t actually practiced/performed a solo piece that would test/push the limits of what I can do since high school.

It’s awkward finding out what you can and can’t do. It takes from your pool of limited effort, but moreover, to try your best requires having a significant possibility of failure. The result is that similarly to how we close off parts of ourselves to others, we can put up barriers within ourselves to close off the possibility of embarrassment. We can give up before we start and avoid feeling bad.

The reason I first thought of this was because I found myself behind on writing my Halfhaven post for today. I had all the usual reasons one can have for procrastinating, but with further reflection I came up with one more: self-sabotage. If my essays are rushed, then I’m able to curl up into that safe excuse, that hazy uncertainty, and I can’t tell myself I’m a bad writer. That post? Oh, it was just something sloppily thrown together to get out the door, not my real talent, so no need to worry. No need to do the dirty task of confronting something difficult.

However, this is just an escape tactic, a defense mechanism, and not a particularly helpful one. Avoiding self-disappointment by inducing mediocrity is a doomed strategy long-term, and not even a very enjoyable one short-term. I must honestly do my best, and honestly succeed or fail. Despite embarrassment, knowing myself better will let me love myself more.

I did a short field test of this by practicing on my slackline. Balancing while walking along the line is a great test, since it’s something I can take to the limit of my current ability within a relatively short time and without causing any notable mental or physical fatigue. I was alert, tested out some different mental strategies (it feels like you mostly want to leave it to your unconscious to stay balanced, although I need to stay focused and actively decide when to step forward), and wasn’t able to turn around while staying balanced. That’s what I can do right now, and I know that, and I love that I could try my best, work through frustration, and accept where I am right now.^[1] 

Having said all this, what does this mean for my Halfhaven posts? This one did get somewhat rushed, and while I feel good about it for the time I spent, it still doesn’t totally break me free from the excuses I made earlier. To address this, I will plan to make one higher-effort post per week. Before posting, I’ll make sure I feel good about putting it out, and if I change my mind on this commitment I will loudly give up.

1. ^{^}

   Although, there’s still a notable caveat in that I feel very little self-imposed pressure to be good at slacklining, whereas I would feel bad if I thought I was a terrible writer. As other opportunities to know myself come up I’ll see if my feelings are different.