One example is the kind of person who began to learn something, worked at it, and became good at it compared to their friends. Without context for what “good” really means in the outside world, it is easy to believe that you are good.
In my blog I gave the example of myself as a teenager in chess. I could usually beat everyone in my school except my brother, so I felt like a good player.
But my competitive rating would have probably been about 1200-1400. I still remember my first encounter with a good chess player. A master was sitting in public, playing simultaneously against everyone who wanted to play him. I sat down, promptly lost, played again and lost again. He gave me some advice beginning with, “Weak players like you should focus on...”
I took offense, despite having just received evidence that he knew what he was talking about when it came to chess.
While I learned better, I’ve now been on the other side of this interaction in a number of areas. Including ping-pong and programming. Which suggests that my younger self was hardly unique in my overestimation of my abilities.
Indeed, growing up in a small pond and then discovering the wider world can be a shock. The star high school student may discover they are only average at university. But one learns, as you learned about your chess.
You would be amazed at what lengths many go to never learn.
Ever heard the saying (variously attributed) that A level people want to be around other A level people while B level people want to be around C level people?
A lot of those B level people are ones who stop getting better because they believe themselves to already be good. And they would prefer to surround themselves with people who confirm that belief than risk challenging themselves.
Furthermore, it is easier to maintain illusions of superior competency when it isn’t competitive. It was a lot easier for me to hide from ways in which I was a bad husband than to hide from the fact that I was losing at chess. There isn’t really an objective measure of being a poor husband. And continuing doing what I already did was constant evidence to me that I was a good husband. So my illusions continued until some of the same problems showed up in my next relationship.
One example is the kind of person who began to learn something, worked at it, and became good at it compared to their friends. Without context for what “good” really means in the outside world, it is easy to believe that you are good.
In my blog I gave the example of myself as a teenager in chess. I could usually beat everyone in my school except my brother, so I felt like a good player.
But my competitive rating would have probably been about 1200-1400. I still remember my first encounter with a good chess player. A master was sitting in public, playing simultaneously against everyone who wanted to play him. I sat down, promptly lost, played again and lost again. He gave me some advice beginning with, “Weak players like you should focus on...”
I took offense, despite having just received evidence that he knew what he was talking about when it came to chess.
While I learned better, I’ve now been on the other side of this interaction in a number of areas. Including ping-pong and programming. Which suggests that my younger self was hardly unique in my overestimation of my abilities.
Indeed, growing up in a small pond and then discovering the wider world can be a shock. The star high school student may discover they are only average at university. But one learns, as you learned about your chess.
You would be amazed at what lengths many go to never learn.
Ever heard the saying (variously attributed) that A level people want to be around other A level people while B level people want to be around C level people?
A lot of those B level people are ones who stop getting better because they believe themselves to already be good. And they would prefer to surround themselves with people who confirm that belief than risk challenging themselves.
Furthermore, it is easier to maintain illusions of superior competency when it isn’t competitive. It was a lot easier for me to hide from ways in which I was a bad husband than to hide from the fact that I was losing at chess. There isn’t really an objective measure of being a poor husband. And continuing doing what I already did was constant evidence to me that I was a good husband. So my illusions continued until some of the same problems showed up in my next relationship.