Identity is defined not by what we are, but by what is emphasized. Feels that way doesn’t it?
Every life is a tapestry woven with threads of success and failure, joy and regret. The critical question—”What is important is what we and others focus on”—serves as the anchor for understanding both personal fulfillment and public discourse.
The imperative of internal focus dictates that the choice to emphasize accomplishments and good deeds is an act of self-preservation and constructive growth. Mistakes are essential data points, not defining characteristics. If we dwell on faults, the mind creates a recursive loop of regret and limitation, crippling the capacity for future action. Conversely, by intentionally directing our internal focus toward successes and lessons learned, we build a robust, growth-oriented self-narrative. This isn’t denial; it’s psychological triage. We acknowledge the wound (the mistake), apply treatment (the lesson), and then direct energy toward the healthy body (the future goal). Our identity, viewed internally, must be defined by our trajectory—where we are going—rather than our history—where we stumbled.
We find that from an outside perspective, the tendency to “jump on one’s faults” is not necessarily malice; it is a structural requirement of compelling storytelling. Narratives, especially biographies, thrive on conflict and tension. A life entirely composed of smooth successes is uninteresting. The protagonist’s flaws, struggles, and mistakes create the depth, relatability, and dramatic arc. For instance, the juicy fault or public scandal becomes the easy hook, the dramatic pivot point that sells the book or drives the analysis. Similarly, news sources operate under the principle of deviation from the norm. A quarterback throwing 300 yards is expected; a game-losing interception is the newsworthy deviation. The media is designed to seek friction, as friction generates interest. Therefore, the critical outside lens often reveals more about the mechanics of narrative—what makes a story interesting—than it does about the actual totality of the person being described.
Since external forces are inherently biased toward the negative, our individual, conscious choice of how we view others becomes a moral act. Looking for the good in everyone is difficult because it requires overriding our cognitive default settings, namely the negativity bias, which causes threats, faults, and problems to stand out more prominently than positive realities. To choose to look for the good is to employ an active, constructive filter. This means acknowledging the courage required to step onto the field, not just the single misstep. It means recognizing that a person’s core value may stem from their fundamental intentions, even if their actions occasionally fall short. And critically, it means practicing empathy, recognizing that we are all battling unseen struggles and dealing with our own private “interceptions.”
If enough individuals develop this attitude, the collective focus shifts. We move from being a society of critics who tear down to a society of collaborators who build up. This intentional focus not only makes the world better for others but fundamentally changes who we are—defining us as compassionate observers rather than judgmental gatekeepers.
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