Worthiness Is Where Hierarchies Go to Die
How do you know if you’ve truly embraced your worthiness, or if you’re just fooling yourself?
How do you know if you’ve truly embraced your worthiness, or if you’re just fooling yourself?
In the seven years since I published Loveable, that is one of the most common questions I've received from readers, interviewers, and audiences. My answer is that worthiness is a paradox:
When you know you’re good enough, you know you’re not better (or worse) than anyone else.
You don’t stop seeing hierarchies, but you do start seeing through them. You watch the inner chatter of your constant comparisons—judging the people “below” you or envying the people “above” you. Then, instead of buying into the comparison, you choose to love even the part of you that makes the comparison: this ego of yours—this psychic matrix of self-protections—which you crafted long, long ago to manage your great sadness. You see the hierarchies it creates, but you see them as just that: a fabrication, something you began to form when the hurt of being human became too much for a kid to handle—around third or fourth grade for most of us.
Hierarchies are how we cope with hurt.
“Nonsense,” someone will say to you, “hierarchies are science. They’re Darwinian. Survival of the fittest is for real.”
Indeed, survival of the fittest is for real. But survival of the worthiest is an illusion. Many indigenous populations, who are still intimately connected with the food chain, kill animals by hand but pray gratitude to the creature as they do so. They know they are stronger than the creature, but not worthier than the creature.
As high schoolers, we didn’t know this, however. Our egos were in full swing. That’s why high schools are organized by cliques: popular kids at the top and (pick your generation’s label for loser) at the bottom. Everyone then assumes those at the top of the hierarchy are happiest. They're not. They're just hurting in different ways. Nor can they ever be truly at peace within the hierarchy, because hierarchy ultimately perpetuates the sadness of separation which the hierarchy was meant to solve.
“Nonsense,” someone else will say to you, “hierarchies are spiritual. You may end up going downward, but I’ve got a mansion waiting for me up in heaven.” You smile, seeing what they did there, interested more in the heaven that happens here and now when our illusion of separateness and superiority dissolves altogether.
Here’s an excerpt from Loveable, about a time that happened to me.
Dear Little One,
At 5:00 a.m. on the morning you and I went on the TODAY Show, while you were still sleeping in the hotel room with Momma and your brothers, I left the hotel and set out on foot into the dark streets of Manhattan. I was looking for a cheap breakfast. But I was looking for something else as well.
I was looking for peace.
Sweetie, I was scared, because when I woke up I had looked in the mirror and staring back at me was a regular dad, an unremarkable psychologist, and a blogger who’d written the right letter to you at the right time. We were about to go on national television, share a stage with famous actors, and answer the questions of famous newscasters. How could I compare?
I found a Starbucks and, inside of it, I found our breakfast.
And my answer.
I placed my order for smoothies with the bleary-eyed barista, and in the stillness of the empty café, my anxiety screeched within me. Instead of fighting it, I allowed it, and I tried to listen for my trusted companion—the voice within me I call grace. I was waiting for the voice of grace to remind me that I’m good enough. But on this morning, it didn’t speak to me about my worthiness; it spoke to me about the barista’s worthiness. This is what it said: This four minutes is just as important as your four minutes on television. And this young man is just as important as all those famous people you’ll meet today.
The voice of grace does that sometimes. It reminds me I don’t need to do anything or earn anything or prove anything or look a certain way or say a certain thing in order to be worthy. And then it reminds me if this is true of me, then it is true of everyone else as well. It reminds me we’re all just people trying to figure out what it means to be human. It shows me we’re all living and breathing on the same level playing field, no matter how many hierarchies we imagine.
How could I compare to all those famous people? I couldn’t. The truth is, none of us can be compared to anyone else. We are, each one of us, unique and lovely beings. Life isn’t about comparison; it’s about connection. Some of us forget this. I certainly do. But in the dark hours of a Thursday morning in Manhattan, I was reminded once again. And when you’re reminded, all you want to do with your one unique and lovely life is help other people remember too.
So I asked the barista his name, and I asked him about his morning. We talked for a while, two human beings doing our best to be human together. No competition. No comparison. Only connection. And as we connected, I knew the people I’d be seeing later in the day were just as worthy as this young man. And just as worthy as me. Not more. Not less. The same.
My anxiety stopped screeching.
Sweetie, I fell in love with you when you were still just a cluster of cells inside your momma’s tummy. Before you had a body, I loved the way you looked. Before you had a mind, I loved the way it thought. Before you had a heart, I embraced the speed of its tenacious beat. You are forever beautiful, Little One. And so is everyone else. If you listen to the voice inside of you that reminds you of this truth, your life will become a gift to the world. And you will have peace. The kind of peace that can withstand the lowlights.
And the bright lights.
Peace to you,
Daddy
Here’s to all of us remembering, over and over again, what I remembered in that Manhattan coffee shop:
Worthiness is where hierarchies go to die.
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This is indeed a very fascinating topic to contemplate on and thank you for bringing us into a glimpse of the book, I can’t help but add a cultural dimension where I wonder how much of these hierarchies are also influenced by our upbringing and where, in your case, American is a very “achievements” based culture where value is measured to what you’ve achieved (and perhaps not achieved).
In Sweden (and I don’t say this is better, so don’t read it as such because I’ve suffered a great deal from the concept I’m about to explain), there is a thoroughly engrained behavioral concept of “The Law of Jante”, which basically means that you shouldn’t think you’re better than anyone. Now this, in relation to your example, is relevant because those who do have celebrity status also shouldn’t treat you, without celebrity status, as being less than - and this is the good side. But where it gets tricky is when the law of Jante becomes like a heavy blocker limiting you from doing just about anything and where, whenever you dare to do something different, you have to suffer the social consequences of not being accepted and encircle yourself in lengthy justifications as to why you stepped outside the mould.
I think the conclusion to this is that there’s no one size fits all and that there’s always multiple sides to every place and story, BUT and yes there’s a but there, what we must always remember is that we’re ALL of equal value whether we choose to pursue something higher or not. That the value is in our own inherent choices rather than any external metrics…
I used to consciously note whether someone was "better" than me or whether I was "better" than them. The second wasn't always bad because it could mean "better off" which meant they were in need in some way and I might be able to help them. But if they were "better" it was never a good thing as I would assume they should help me or I would defer to them in some way that was unhealthy. I don't make conscious assessments like this anymore but this is a great reminder to be aware that being a caring, loving person means thinking about people without hierarchies muddying our thinking.