He was handsome beyond description. No, maybe for him it would be right to call him beautiful. Just past sixteen years old and a magnet for affection and desire, if he had lived in our time, he would have certainly graced the screens of theaters across the world. He wasn’t just beautiful in the eyes of the beholder; he was a picture of perfection. His list of suitors was countless and his offers of love seemed endless, yet he rejected them all. He had never seen his own image, but the praise and descriptions of others secured his own sense of uniqueness. His name was Narcissus, and he is perhaps the best candidate to serve as humanity’s patron saint.
The Greek myth from which we gain his story explains that he rejected the love of all others, concluding he had never found a suitor worthy of him. Then one day while passing through a forest, Narcissus bent down to drink from a clear, shaded pool. There he saw an image so beautiful that for the first time he found himself wrapped in love. He reached out to embrace this vision of beauty, to place his lips upon the lips of his newfound love, but in his effort, upon his first touch, the image shattered into a thousand ripples.
He, of course, had fallen in love with his own reflection. His own likeness he had never known, yet only himself would he ever love. Each time his object of affection would be lost in the troubled waters, he would weep in anguish. Then when the image would return, he would once again be captured and held by its beauty. One part of the legend tells us that eventually Narcissus realized he was in love with his own reflection, and knowing he could never hold himself, lost his will to live and passed away on the banks of the water. While never leaving the shore, he pined away, long for nothing more than his own reflection. His self-love paralyzed him, leaving him at the drowning pool and costing him a life of divine quality.
Oddly enough, Narcissus’ greatest admirer was a nymph called Echo. They were, after all, a perfect match. He only spoke about himself, and she in turn could only repeat his self-indulgent praise.

When we are in love with ourselves, we are prone to only listening to what we want to hear. We become more than willing to trade insight for affirmation. We want to feel good about ourselves more than we want ourselves to become good.

"Uprising" by E.McManus