I caught a nasty virus about a year and a half ago. I don’t know what it was, but it felt like I was dying and lasted forever. I swore at the time I’d do whatever it took to make sure that never happened again.
Did I get a flu shot this season? Of course not.
Last weekend, my wife came down with cold-like symptoms. By Wednesday, she was totally out of commission. I’ve never seen her that sick and, let me tell you, this woman can handle pain like nobody’s business.
Did I make the connection? Nope.
Later that day, before heading into town to pick up some over-the-counter medication for her, she suggested I call my doctor to see about getting a prescription for Tamiflu. I asked why. She said, “Because I have the flu and I’m afraid you’re going to get it.”
Suddenly, the light bulb went off.
Look, I’m not dense, not by a long shot. So how, you might ask, could I so effectively blind myself to the risks I swore to avoid at all cost?
I am what a good shrink might call a master at compartmentalization. In case you’ve never heard the term, it’s an unconscious mechanism that enables people like me to make believe that things we don’t want to exist really don’t exist, all so we can focus on our own narrow belief system without distraction.
No matter how you look at it, compartmentalization is a form of delusion or burying your head in the sand. Like Barack Obama’s final State of the Union address that some dubbed a State of Delusion address because of the president’s ludicrously positive spin on our anemic economy and the global terrorist threat.
But while most references to this psychological defense mechanism are of the pejorative variety, in my experience, it’s both extremely common and not all bad. I might go as far as to say that everyone does it to some extent and it’s practically a prerequisite for highly driven leaders.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Chronically sweeping issues under the rug of your consciousness is not exactly the ideal path to self-awareness, self-enlightenment or self-enrichment, for that matter. But then, nobody’s perfect. And realistically speaking, compartmentalization does serve a purpose, although, in each case, there is risk of a dark side.
For example, I think we all would agree that it’s probably not the best idea for a surgeon to indulge feelings of empathy when he’s got a scalpel in his hand and blood is gushing all over the place. If you’re the patient, you want every neuron of his brain to be laser focused on the task at hand, not distracted by a natural human reaction.
That said, it’s all too easy for a surgeon or any other professional with that sort of power over life and death to become overly narcissistic and develop a God complex.