I've been asked many times if I considered myself a narcissist

"I’ve been asked many times if I considered myself a narcissist, so I looked up the real meaning of the word, and I came to the conclusion that indeed I am one. I think of myself as better than other people, not every person, but many, unique and talented, and I aim to success." Thus declared Robbie Williams, a man unafraid to look into the mirror of himself and speak with unsettling honesty. His words, though provocative, open a path into ancient wisdom: the struggle between pride and humility, between self-belief and arrogance, between the fire of ambition and the shadows it may cast.

The ancients spoke often of narcissus, the youth who gazed into the still waters and fell in love with his reflection. To some, this tale was a warning: that vanity consumes the soul, trapping it in self-adoration. Yet in another light, it reminds us of the mystery of the self, the temptation to dwell upon one’s own uniqueness. Williams’ claim echoes both truths. For in him we see the courage to name his self-regard openly, but also the danger: when belief in one’s talent crosses into disdain for others.

And yet, self-belief is not in itself a sin. The warrior who doubts his strength before battle has already lost. The poet who thinks herself unworthy will never write the verse that might save a soul. History gives us countless examples of those who dared to believe they were unique, chosen, set apart—and through this belief accomplished wonders. Consider Alexander, who thought himself descended from gods, or Joan of Arc, who believed heaven had spoken directly to her. Their certainty, whether true or imagined, gave them the fire to alter the course of nations.

But history also warns us of pride untempered. Napoleon crowned himself emperor, proclaiming his superiority over kings and traditions alike, yet his arrogance led him to ruin. Here lies the delicate balance: the power of self-belief fuels success, but unchecked it blinds the eyes and deafens the heart. To call oneself greater than others is a dangerous seed—it can yield either greatness or destruction.

The meaning of Williams’ words lies in this tension. By admitting his narcissism, he reclaims what many hide: the sense of being special, of having gifts that set one apart. Yet the ancients would urge him—and us—to shape this fire carefully. To see oneself as talented and unique is good, if it leads to service, creation, and courage. But if it grows into contempt for others, or into a hunger that can never be fed, then it becomes the very chain that enslaves the spirit.

The lesson, then, is clear: embrace your gifts, but beware the mirror. Believe in your success, but do not despise those who walk beside you. For the strongest flame is not one that consumes all else, but one that lights the path for others. True greatness is not only in surpassing others, but in lifting them, in leaving behind a legacy of shared light rather than scorched earth.

Practical wisdom calls us to action: cultivate confidence, but also humility. Speak your truth, but listen deeply to others. Strive for success, but remember that it is most radiant when shared. Each day, remind yourself of your unique gifts, but also of your dependence on others—family, friends, strangers—who make your journey possible. In this balance lies wisdom, and in this wisdom lies true greatness.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, take Robbie Williams’ confession as both a challenge and a warning. Do not fear to name your power, do not shrink from the knowledge of your worth, for timidity births nothing. But hold fast to humility, lest your power turn into chains. Walk the line between self-belief and compassion, between ambition and reverence, and you will find not only success, but also the deeper crown: the honor of living as both unique and truly human.