Rider education is a necessity throughout the lifespan of any motorcyclist. It’s essential for maximizing safety as well as enjoyment, and it takes many different forms. These range from individual study and skill practice to attending professionally run schools providing both systematic training within a standardized curriculum and personalized instruction based on assessment of each participant’s unique needs. In between these two ends of the spectrum is something every rider has encountered in one way or another among fellow enthusiasts: peer-to-peer pointers on technique.
Depending on your experiences receiving tips from other riders, you may have an immediate visceral reaction to the mere mention of this process. Is your history dominated by positive or negative versions of advice-giving by those with whom you’ve ridden? What made some examples unwelcome and obnoxious, prompting your immediate dismissal and souring your relationship with the person advising you? What made others feel like pleasant-tasting, readily digestible nourishment that inspired appreciation and strengthened your bond with the one “feeding” you? In most cases, what made the difference probably had little to do with the accuracy or wisdom of the content and instead hinged on its delivery, your own sensitivities, and the quality of the connection between you and the other rider. We’ll examine some internal and interpersonal dynamics that tilt the experience of guidance in either direction. Consider what follows some basic pointers on giving and receiving pointers.
First, a little psychological groundwork. As I’ve noted in prior essays, narcissism can be understood as a completely normal and ubiquitous aspect of human nature, rather than the purely adverse meaning it has acquired in common parlance. While there is certainly such a thing as malignant narcissism, characterized by arrogant grandiosity, expansive entitlement, ruthless strivings for dominance and a narrow preoccupation with self-interest, all of us are naturally and fundamentally concerned about the regard others have for us (whether accurately or inaccurately perceived/imagined) and the regard we have for ourselves. Within virtually every motivation lies an interest in how our self-concept will be affected; does a thought, feeling or action contribute to our shame or pride, guilt or innocence, value or worthlessness? How would important authority and dependency figures in our life, past or present, view us? Does this interpersonal exchange pose a threat—perhaps an intolerable one that must be vanquished at any cost—to some cherished notion we have about ourselves or someone/something with which we’re closely identified? The primacy of these narcissistic concerns within human nature is the focus of a branch of psychoanalysis called “Self Psychology.” This moniker isn’t a reference to self-help, but rather the implicit sense a person has of themselves and how that sense develops and operates. Self Psychology takes for granted we’re all highly invested in thinking well of ourselves, not necessarily in some offensively conceited way; everyone wants to feel they’re acceptable, capable, valuable and loveable. This innate desire becomes pathological when it manifests in distorted and antisocial ways, such as when I can only feel good about myself by making you feel bad about yourself, or when I can only feel I matter when others fear my wrath.
Using this much broader concept of narcissism, we can examine all sorts of subtle vicissitudes related to self-regard, including undercurrents in interactions that boost or reduce it. Recognizing that something impacts our narcissism doesn’t mean we’re “narcissistic” in the way that term is most often used. Yes, those with narcissistic pathology display dramatic, exaggerated sensitivity and reactivity to such impingements, but the everyday lives of normal, healthy people are riddled with narcissistic insults, injuries, defenses, pursuits, affiliations and worries. Once you see the threads of narcissistic concern running through routine existence, you can’t unsee them; they really are everywhere if you look using the right lens and relax your reflexive judgement of them as inherently objectionable. Anyone insisting on the absence of narcissistic concerns in themselves or someone else might just as well insist on the absence of any sexual or aggressive element within their personality. While people are prone to denying such things to avoid others’ disapproval and their own shame and guilt, they are simply parts of human nature we all share. People vary in how freely they express sexual and aggressive feelings/impulses, or how clearly they’re noticed, but no one is without them. And, to underscore the primacy of narcissism, the degree to which we regulate or deny sexuality and aggression is fundamentally a function of the shame, guilt or pride we associate with those domains. I’m not suggesting healthy narcissism allows for unrestrained impulsivity, just acceptance of normal human experience. In fact, concern with others’ and our own regard is usually a driver of prosocial behavior.
Viewed with an eye to narcissistic considerations, advice can be experienced as diminishing our self-regard or as bolstering it. In the former, we could feel embarrassed and condemned; in the latter, we might feel cared for and supported. Both our own narcissistic fragility and the advice-giver’s empathic attunement are important variables in how the exchange plays out. Someone who has serious doubts and secret shame about their lack of competence may compensate with bravado, whether exhibited publicly or harbored privately. Another may have an inflated estimation of their abilities because they’ve never been challenged. In either case, a critique of their riding technique—no matter how delicately and constructively presented—could threaten to shatter an idealized self-image, prompting a self-protective counter-maneuver. They might withdraw to escape the harsh light in which they feel over-exposed and unfairly judged. Or they might launch a retaliatory attack, dismissing their critic as unqualified to assess them, justifying their own behavior on some extraneous basis, or finding fault with the advisor’s riding to level the playing field and deflect negative attention. Such efforts, enacted overtly or covertly, are designed to restore fractured self-regard. Typically, these get launched impulsively without reflection and constitute a repetitive pattern in the individual’s personality.
Someone less narcissistically frail could still feel a sting from another’s critique, but it wouldn’t pose the same threat. Their self-image isn’t so brittle; it can absorb an impact and bounce back. They accept they have flaws, make mistakes, have room for growth, and need help. Such features aren’t accompanied by intense shame because they’re understood as normal, universal aspects of being human. Sure, they’d like to be further along in their skill development than they actually are, but that doesn’t make them a ridiculous idiot or hopelessly inferior. They can acknowledge the reality of their limitations and work on self-improvement. They don’t need to defend themselves or retaliate because they don’t feel attacked to begin with; even if they notice some discomfort, they don’t construe it as the other’s intention. It’s just a routine part of life to become aware of things they need to work on. It’s not their favorite experience, but they’ve learned such challenges ultimately contribute to their betterment, so they feel gratitude instead of resentment toward the situations and people involved.
Any good teacher knows, wittingly or intuitively, their effectiveness depends upon their student’s receptivity. Such receptivity is in turn dependent upon the management of narcissism. Some of that takes place automatically within the student, as already outlined, and some of it can be handled by the teacher. The teacher’s part is commonly called “tact,” but effective tact requires empathic attunement to the student’s specific dynamics. For example, wrapping a critique of one action in compliments about other actions may seem like a generally good strategy, and it does help some people tolerate the narcissistic injury of a criticism by simultaneously reinforcing their self-regard with praise elsewhere. However, other folks will feel doubly insulted by the pairing of a critique with an implicit assessment of them as too insecure to handle criticism without sugarcoating; they’ll feel infantilized and patronized instead of shored up. This reaction is hard to predict in advance, but an astute teacher will sense a change in mood after stumbling upon it and adjust their approach. What’s helpful with one person’s narcissism may be injurious to another’s. Some people feel best when treated as sturdy enough to take the hit. Ironically, this just betrays sensitivity to a different kind of perceived insult.
As mentioned earlier, if a person’s self-regard is shaky enough, no amount of positive recognition may be enough to prevent regurgitation of the advice being given. In this case, empathic attunement guides the would-be advisor to avoid direct evaluation altogether and take an oblique tack. This could involve recounting their own difficulty learning the relevant principle without any reference to the advisee’s errors, thereby shielding them from the narcissistic threat while nevertheless conveying the intended lesson in a form more likely to be ingested. A teacher might balk at assisting in the management of their student’s narcissism, insisting it’s the student’s problem. While that’s true in one sense, it’s false in another; if the teacher wants to successfully educate the student, the latter’s narcissistic sensitivity and reactivity are problems for them both. It can be trying to deal with narcissistically fragile people, but if an instructor is going to succeed at their job, this just goes with the territory. Ideally, a teacher takes pride in becoming effective with all kinds of students, which means their own self-regard is enhanced by learning to help others preserve theirs.
Of course, there are impossible cases wherein the only intervention with any hope of success may be to forcibly impose the very rejection and shame the person is vigorously defending against. In a riding school, this may mean ejecting a recalcitrant buffoon from class. This could be essential for safety and preserving an environment conducive to learning. In an informal one-on-one situation, it might mean withdrawing investment in the person’s improvement and keeping more distance. While pathological narcissists can be extremely adept at ignoring and reinterpreting the true causes of such events, a few do eventually recognize their part in repeated experiences of disapproval and rejection.
Problematic narcissism can exist on the advice-giver’s side, too. A self-aggrandizing instructor is apt to provoke rejection by their students as they defend against the narcissistic injury of condescension; they refuse the teacher’s dominance to preserve their own dignity. A teacher may have vastly superior mastery and be respected and valued for it—unless they’re hungry for approbation and delight in highlighting the contrast between themselves and their students. Then they’re seen as pathetic or sadistic, and whatever legitimate knowledge they have to offer gets devalued independent of its conceptual merits. Much narcissistic gratification is built into the advising role, with the teacher in an inherently elevated position relative to their students. They presumably have something valuable to give, something students admire and want, and they usually have the intimidating authority to dispense approval and disapproval, directly impacting students’ self-regard.
Great teachers are both authoritative and humble. Their self-regard isn’t dependent upon garnering students’ awe; it’s based on their genuine accomplishments. Yet, having endured the struggles of achieving mastery, they’re keenly aware of the difficulties involved and the perseverance required. They remember confronting their own weaknesses and limitations, the multitude of mistakes they made, and the assistance they needed and received from others. So, good advice-giving involves considerable circumspection. Am I grandstanding? Am I intentionally or unintentionally inflicting shame? Although a haughty student might one day benefit from being taken down a notch, is the associated feeling of power my source of motivation? Am I ready to help them recover their self-regard more realistically? Would transparency about my own errors help a student face and understand theirs? Did they actually ask for my input? If not, do we have the kind of relationship that allows for unsolicited advice? Am I more excited about being “the expert” than helping the other person?
Whether we’re in the position of giving or receiving pointers, our narcissism is central to how we’ll handle the exchange. Awareness of the other person’s narcissism can help us orient to the dynamics in play and improve the chances of mutual satisfaction. Everyone needs to think well of themselves. Balancing that with everyone’s need for correction is tricky business.
The Ride Inside with Mark Barnes is brought to you by the MOA Foundation. You can join the BMW Motorcycle Owners of America quickly and easily to better take advantage of the Paul B. Grant and Clark Luster training reimbursement programs offered by the Foundation.
