Clash of the Narcissists

 Thirty years in radio had given me a pretty solid understanding of fundamentals like knowing your audience, connecting with your audience, expanding your audience, and basics of media like that, so I believed I had something to bring to the gig of volunteer managing a local storytelling organization's social media.  I had lurked over the organization's Facebook page and seen the same seven individuals' popping up Likes on the same kinds of posts at the same times and days of the week for weeks, and as it turned out when I was able to look at the actual page stats there were no surprises.  It was sleepier than a rest home library.  Nobody was under the age of sixty.  I'm no ageist, but at some point you have to feed the funnel or the art will die.  I was concerned.  Where were the young storytellers?  Were they all at the Moth?  The Moth was boring (read: formulaic) in its own NPR way.  Would the generations just stay in their own rooms, isolated from one another, never trading stories or inspiration? Was there no crossover? It depressed me.

All the over-sixties I knew were members of a volunteer organization that told stories in local schools-a wonderful endeavor, but it tended to keep many of them in a rather saccharine vein, telling in a "safe for kiddies" sing-song tone, which seemed to me to be a style trap, because it did seem to bleed over into other stories they told. I was also concerned about the lack of community crossover.  Where were the tellers of color?  How could we be a vibrant society, a melting pot, a rainbow, if we kept telling and hearing the same stories over and over? 

One of the local tellers I admired most and still do is a young man named Cooper Braun-Enos, who was one of the creators of the Fairy Tale Festival with his partner in crime and brilliant teller in her own right, Ann Harding. Their tagline for the festival was something like, "Fairy tales are not just for children."  

Yes!  I thought..  I believed that deep in my soul.  Stories of all kinds should be for everyone, and I (quite arrogantly)  felt it was time to remind everyone of this. This was where my own narcissistic arrogance got me in trouble. This was behind my reckless decision to push the boundaries of the Facebook audience.  I felt it was time to remind everybody - the half dozen over-sixty "everybody" I had documented who had actually seen it-that stories were a living, vital art form, a multi-generational form encompassing many kinds of emotions and situations, way beyond  mythical ducks and bunnies and fairies and how to play nice.  I wanted to remind everyone of the visceral quality of great telling and how it could wake up the heart with big questions and great drama.  And that kind of arrogance, to "remind" master storytellers, takes a narcissist.  I was that narcissist.

It does take a narcissist (or a psychologist) to spot one, and while I've spent many years in helpful therapy like Dialectical Behavioral Training and nonviolent communication groups.  I've also recently been diagnosed by an accredited therapist at the minimal end of the narcissistic spectrum, having amassed skills like Active Listening and Making Space For Others.  Also I practice self-awareness, so I don't cast this next aspersion without reflection: 

The communal narcissist is a creature you will meet in volunteer situations.  The person I will call V. is such a creature. V. sent me, upon seeing the Facebook video I posted, thee most vicious email I have ever received. It's paraphrased from memory below, super-short in an effort to be fair. 

Myself being (I don't say it proudly) strategic,  I phrase all missives in such a way as to get the best result, so I keep emails(which are permanent record) brief, non-blaming, and if addressing a conflict, I suggest positive action almost immediately, and end pleasantly so I would have sent something like this: 

R,

Regarding the video you posted on the FB page tonight at 546 PM,  of Cooper Braun Enos's performance; it contains some objectionable language that I find worrisome, as children could be exposed to it.  

Please remove it ASAP.

Thank you for your urgent attention to this, and for utmost caution regarding such material in the future.

We appreciate your help.

Best Regards, etc...

V. was not strategic.    V. went straight for the jugular. She did not even bother to specify her subject matter.

Here is hers:(more or less. It’s paraphrased from memory):

 

What were you thinking?

Take it down NOW.

I've contacted everyone and we all decided you either didn't bother to watch it first or you didn't get what it was about.

(Translation: you are either lazy or stupid)

You are going to have to do better than this.

Take it down.

NOW.

I did not send her a copy of the Xcel Worksheet with the dates, times and data of visitors to the page including ages, frequency of visits, memberships, and other pertinent stats proving that no one over the age of  sixty saw the video (and it's not possible to conclusively prove; a grandchild could have been sitting on the lap of a pearl-clutcher).  I did not send the document of my hours or give my reasons showing the lack of national and local interest in storytelling events in contrast to video game sales or other relevant metrics.  I did not give her fuel for the fire.  I bent over and took my lashes like a good covert narcissist with a quick, humble reply saying, "I will be much more careful in the future." while carefully not admitting to wrongdoing.

The communal narcissist has the same grandiose need for validation as other varieties of the illness, but has their self-esteem so enmeshed with the success of the organization or cause or both, that their very survival instincts are triggered, like a mother raccoon's would be to find a scorpion in her nest of kits, when something happens too far out of their control.

I have done a lot of volunteer work so I have met many communal narcissists, and my narcissism clashed with their narcissism, causing great messes and drama.  I have learned:  just walk away. 

Also, I got help with my narcissism.  That wasn't what we called it then, but I learned and grew.  You can if you want to.

And then, thank god, you can walk away. 

Clash over.  But it makes a good story.