Please, Like Me

January 10, 2018

I’m told that there are “explosive” revelations in Michael Wolff’s Fire and Fury: Inside the Trump White House, but so far I haven’t seen anything I didn’t already know. Leaving aside the book’s many inaccuracies and typos, we’ve heard this story before. Since even before Trump’s inauguration, his staff and advisers at all levels have been telling the same tale of an ignorant, undisciplined, narcissistic, petty, and easily bored man who is now arguably the most powerful man in the world. No one should be surprised that Trump has no coherent set of political beliefs, long-term strategies, or goals. It should also be obvious by now that he doesn’t understand government or his role in it, let alone the responsibility for governing the most heavily armed nation in the history of the world. He is, as my brother-in-law put it, a buffoon.

That said, one passage, quoted by Ezra Klein, reminded me of something I had noticed long ago:

“It was obvious to everyone that if [Trump] had a north star, it was just to be liked,” says Wolff. “He was ever uncomprehending about why everyone did not like him, or why it should be so difficult to get everyone to like him.”

Trump’s staffers confirm the characterization. “The president fundamentally wants to be liked,” Walsh says in the book. “He just fundamentally needs to be liked so badly.”

Either I’m projecting or I’ve just noticed this because of my struggles with this same issue, which I have described in the past as a “pathological need to be liked.” I used to believe that everything would be OK if I could just make everyone my friend, which led me to some rather disastrous interactions with people who clearly were not and were never going to be my friends.

One of the ways people like me try to get everyone to like them involves self-denial and self-sacrifice. I was taught, as Mormon scripture says,

And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God (Mosiah 2:17).

Service is a good thing, and people serve others for a lot of different reasons. For me, a primary motivation was that I just wanted to be liked, maybe even loved.

People who need desperately to be liked will do and say just about anything for that impossible goal. When you’re with someone, your immediate goal is approval and acceptance, so you change your attitude and opinion to fit the moment. Even your most deeply held beliefs can be sacrificed to the god of approbation. My wife told me many years ago that, when we were missionaries, one of her companions told her, “I don’t like Elder Williams. He seems to be a different person depending on who he’s around.” I was horrified, first to know that she didn’t like me, but second because I knew she was right. The scary thing is that it wasn’t conscious. Like Zelig or one of those reptilians who live in the tunnels under Salt Lake City, I was a shape-shifter mentally, if not physically (full disclosure: I’ve been in the tunnels, and they are, literally and figuratively, quite pedestrian). We see some of this self-malleability in White House staff observations that Mr. Trump tends to make decisions based on the last person who talked to him.

In a strange but real way, such constant recalibration of the psyche is a profoundly narcissistic behavior, even if it manifests itself as extreme self-abnegation. Nothing is as important as being liked, so your focus is on satisfying your own ego even as you obliterate it. One predictable consequence of such a morphing self is that, eventually, you can’t remember what is actually you and what is just a tactic for being liked. In the drive to build up your ego, you end up whittling away at it until there’s not much left.

I lived that way for far too long in this pattern of narcissistic self-effacement until I encountered people who not only took advantage of my imagined generosity and returned scorn and hatred. I’m not being facetious when I say that I’m grateful for a few people who treated me with disdain and cruelty. I think I’d already begun to come out of these patterns of narcissism, albeit slowly, when I became aware that people I’d tried to help or befriend considered me beneath contempt. I’ll give one example.

At the encouragement of a couple of friends (real ones, mind you), I wrote a series of posts on postmodernism and how it had been appropriated by some defenders Mormonism. I spent a lot of time discussing what I meant by postmodernism and exactly how and why it had been applied to the religion of my birth. Going into it, my goal wasn’t to argue for or against anything but simply to review the interesting ways people had merged seemingly incompatible ideas about truth and religion. One person began asking me questions in an online forum, and I tried my best to explain the concepts I was discussing, but it was slow going because my correspondent didn’t seem to understand what I was talking about and instead wanted to talk about Pragmatism and William James, which were outside of the topic I had covered. I tried my best to be patient and kind, but the discussion never seemed to get anywhere. As I had so many times before, I had perhaps unconsciously started to make my primary goal not to explain my arguments but for this person to like me. As frustrating as the direction of the conversation was, I felt like I was making a friend.

Then another friend shared with me a private discussion the Pragmatist was having with his friends elsewhere, boasting of how much fun he was having in exposing my stupidity and “mopping the floor” with me in the debate we were having. And here I never thought we were having a debate at all. I reacted with hurt and anger and vented both at this guy and his beliefs. I suppose I wanted him to understand how hurt I was, which again was quite narcissistic. It was all about me, wasn’t it? For quite a while, I returned all the nastiness he sent to me (openly, at this point). Previously, when someone had treated me like that, I just walked away and licked my emotional wounds. But this time, I couldn’t let go, and I continued an acrimonious interaction with this guy for a few years. (Just writing years is kind of horrifying when I think of it.)

With one phrase he finally broke the cycle: he wrote, sarcastically, that we “love each other like brothers,” and brothers fight. I’m not sure why that struck me, but I finally realized I was the only one of us who cared at all about our relationship, such as it was. For me, the relationship produced nothing but hurt and anger, which I still longed to overcome; for him, it meant nothing at all.

That’s when I realized just how stupid it was to care what someone like him thought of me (he’s not a bad person, but I magnified everything in my quest to nurse my bruised ego). Or anyone else, for that matter. I have friends who like me because of who I am, not because I’m desperate for them to like me. If you have to work hard to get someone to like you, chances are they don’t like you. And the truth beneath the need to be liked by others is that we don’t like ourselves. Perhaps the whittling away of the self is intentional in that there will be nothing left to dislike when it’s gone.

I had to get to a place where I wasn’t consumed by what other people thought of me. Obviously, I’m not advocating living a life with no regard for the feelings of others, in which case I’d be a sociopath. What I have learned is to live so that I like myself and what I do. If I do something good or kind, it’s because I want to be good and kind, not because I’m looking for approval.

I’m not entirely free of this disabling neediness (exhibit A being this rather self-absorbed post), but I’m working on it.

But getting back to Trump:

Trump doesn’t care about policy or politics or ideology or coalitions. He cares about Trump. His dream was to put his name on buildings and in tabloids, and now he has put his name on the most important building on the planet and on the front page of most every newspaper in the world. Yet the coverage he gets, outside of a few conservative outlets, is horrible, the worst of any president in memory. He cannot perform his job well enough to be liked or respected, but he only wanted the job in the first place because it would force the whole world to like and respect him — and he is being driven to rage and paranoia by the resulting dissonance, disappointment, and hurt.

Imagine being Donald Trump. Imagine reading about yourself every day and knowing these awful things are being said by your friends, your aides, your allies, perhaps even your family. Imagine knowing you can’t trust anyone around you, suspecting they’re badmouthing you constantly, raising their social status by diminishing yours.

Imagine seeing your stability questioned, your patriotism impugned, your intellect dismissed. Imagine doing the impossible — winning the presidency! — only to be treated as a national embarrassment.

This isn’t what Trump wanted. And it’s not clear it’s something he can bear. A more capable, competent, and stable person would, by now, have either changed their behavior to receive more of the response they crave or given up on getting the response they crave. But Trump appears to exist in an unhappy middle ground, rage-tweeting through his mornings, retreating to his golf club on weekends, searching for the validation he craves in his Twitter feed and on Fox & Friends but never getting it from the elite tastemakers he’s always sought to impress.

It took me a long time to get over it, but I have “given up on getting the response [I] crave.” I can’t imagine being 71 and still feeling and behaving that way, much less being the President of the United States.

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The Trump Diaries

September 2, 2015

[Authenticity has not been verified–Ed.]

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Slept in a little today but had enough time to look at the polls over something called a Western Omelet. I never had one until I was in that greasy spoon in Colorado. So good I had my personal chef get the recipe.

Polls looking good: I’m ahead in Iowa, New Hampshire, Florida (against their loser ex-governor and senator). I tell ya, something’s happening out there. It’s big. It’s huge.

M. left for QVC at 9:00, but not before complaining again that I haven’t nailed down our vacation plans for this year. Like I keep telling her, specifics are coming. Just not yet. Noticed some of the gold has flaked off the breakfast table. Need to get the gilders in.

Got stuck in traffic on the way to the office. I tell ya, that’s not going to happen anymore once I’m in. Traffic stops for me, not for you. Traffic jams are for losers.

Met with this guy from the Hispanic Chamber of Commerce. What the hell does that even mean? Since when do murderers and rapists have their own chamber of commerce? But Corey and Mike said I had to talk to this guy, Pedro or Jose something like that, because some people are upset that I’m taking a stand against illegal immigration. Yeah, like that prick from Telemexico or whatever it’s called. I put that guy in his smug little Mexican place.

So I had Juan or Pablo or whoever over to talk, you know, mano y mano. Guy looked like Cesar Romero, swear to God. He starts in on me about how building a border wall is racist. I said I didn’t hear him whining about the Great Wall of China. The Chinese built a wall 5,000 miles long, and mine’s not even going to be half that long. Who does he think we’re gonna get to build the damn thing? Exactly. Legal immigrants and people who deserve to be in this country. He said he didn’t like my plan to get rid of all the illegals. I think maybe he’s afraid I’m gonna deport him. Do we even know his immigration status? I’ll have one of the interns check.

But I decided to play nice, give him a healthy dose of the old Trump charm. Didn’t even interrupt him once, but then I wasn’t paying too much attention. Guy had the nerve to say that deporting illegals would hurt our construction, agriculture, and hospitality industries. Yeah, like we can’t get any real Americans to do that kind of work. I told him that everyone who works for The Trump Organization works for us legally, even the ones that originally came to this country illegally.

After 90 minutes of that nonsense, I told him I had important business to do, but I was hoping for his vote. He said he’d consider it, though I swear he said something in Spanish under his breath, something like Hee-Oh de pooter. I’ll get one of the maids to tell me what it means.

Lunch with Ann Coulter. My kind of woman: tough and smart and blonde. She’d be a real looker if she dropped 20 pounds and had a little work done. Still, she’s a sweet gal, and those shoulder blades! Asked her what she meant when she said she’d be OK with me performing abortions in the White House. She assured me she wasn’t talking about herself, specifically.

Spent an hour or so turning down millions of dollars people keep offering me. I told ’em to donate to the PACs. Lots of PACs starting up to support me. I don’t know any of these people, but if I don’t have to pay for it, I’m good.

Corey said it was time to start talking about our campaign platform. I hate to nail myself down to so many specifics, but maybe he’s right. So, here are our detailed policy positions:

1. Build a freaking wall to keep out the rapists and murderers.
2. Illegal immigrants are gonna be gone so fast.
3. Solve gun violence by focusing on the mentally ill. Find out who they are and do something about it.
4. Rebuild our infrastructure by not giving weapons to countries who don’t like us.
5. Veterans are going to be taken care of.
6. My tax plan: Who knows more about taxes than me? Lower taxes, hedge-fund guys gotta pay their fair share.
7. No one cares more about women’s health than me.
8. Be a champion and a winner. People wanna see victory. They’re gonna see so many victories they’ll get tired of them.
9. Leave Tom Brady alone!

And that’s just in my first 100 days!

M. is asleep, and I’m about to turn in. One of the butlers just came in to take away the dishes, and I swear to God he looked just like that guy from the Mexican chamber of commerce, only better hair.