All of us are probably three people. We're probably the person

Michael Ovitz, a man who walked in the high places of power and influence, once declared: “All of us are probably three people. We’re probably the person that we think we are, and we’re probably the person that you or somebody else perceives us to be, and... frankly, we’re probably somewhere in the middle. And I think that it’s important that there be a balance with respect to how individuals are – you know, are looked at.” These words, though spoken in the language of the modern age, carry the timeless depth of a philosopher’s meditation. For they remind us that identity is not a fixed stone, but a shifting river, shaped by self, by others, and by truth that lies between.

The origin of this thought springs from Ovitz’s own life in the dazzling yet perilous world of Hollywood, where perception often outweighs reality. In such a world, people wear masks—some crafted by themselves, some imposed by others, and some formed by the collision of both. Ovitz, reflecting on this reality, gave voice to a universal truth: that we are never only who we believe ourselves to be, nor are we solely who others say we are. Instead, we are a synthesis, a living tension between self-image, public image, and truth.

The ancients, too, knew this mystery of identity. Socrates declared that the unexamined life is not worth living, urging men to question who they truly are beneath appearances. The Stoics warned against being slaves to reputation, teaching that others’ perceptions should not sway the soul. Yet they also counseled humility, for what we believe about ourselves is often clouded by pride or self-deception. Thus, Ovitz’s threefold vision echoes their wisdom: man is not one face, but three—his own vision, the mirror of others, and the reality that lies between.

History offers us luminous examples. Consider Napoleon Bonaparte. In his own eyes, he was a destined ruler, the heir of Caesar and Alexander. In the eyes of his people, he was at times a savior, at times a tyrant. Yet the truth of him lies somewhere in between: a man of immense genius and immense flaws, whose ambition reshaped Europe and whose hubris destroyed him. Napoleon’s story proves Ovitz’s words: every life is lived in the tension between how we see ourselves, how others see us, and what history eventually reveals as the middle ground.

The lesson for us is profound: balance. We must not be blinded by our self-image, for it is often clouded by vanity or insecurity. Nor must we be enslaved to the perception of others, for it shifts like the wind and often lacks understanding. Instead, we must seek the middle ground—the truth revealed through reflection, action, and humility. Only there, between pride and judgment, lies the person we truly are.

Practical actions flow from this teaching. Examine yourself honestly, not with indulgence but with clarity: who do you think you are? Ask trusted voices around you how they perceive you, not to be flattered or condemned, but to see yourself from another angle. Then weigh both in the balance of truth, knowing that the answer lies somewhere between. Live with humility, remembering that others see what you cannot, but live also with courage, knowing that you are more than their limited vision.

Thus, O listeners, take Ovitz’s wisdom as an ancient counsel dressed in modern garb. We are three people: the one in our mind, the one in others’ eyes, and the one in truth’s middle ground. To live wisely is to balance all three, neither deceived by pride, nor shackled by judgment, but walking in humility toward the truth.

And remember this: the path to wisdom is not to become the person others imagine, nor even the person you imagine, but to become the person you truly are. And that person, found in balance, is the soul that stands firm, unshaken by illusion, radiant with authenticity. Seek that balance, and you shall live as one whole.