One of the first people I met at Stony Brook was a kid I’ll call Avi. We met at orientation, became friends, and for two years were even suite mates. At the time, he was just another college friend. It wasn’t until much later—long after graduation—that I understood what the real dynamic was. Avi was deeply competitive with friends and quietly jealous of other people’s progress. Back then, I didn’t have the language for it. Years later, I did: narcissism.
After college, our lives went in different directions. I went on to law school. Avi took five years to graduate and eventually became a teacher. Years later, we reconnected on Facebook, and that’s when everything crystallized. Every positive post I shared was met with a jab. Why didn’t my kids go to Hebrew day school? Why didn’t we keep kosher? With narcissists, nothing exists in a vacuum. Everything is filtered through their own insecurities. They don’t celebrate others; they measure themselves against them.
When political disagreements surfaced, things escalated. And instead of getting past political differences, Avi did what narcissists often do when challenged—he defriended me. It was abrupt, petty, and revealing. Years later, he tried to reconnect, but I declined. I didn’t need that energy in my life. Cutting off negativity isn’t bitterness; it’s clarity.
I’ve spoken openly about my own struggles working at law firms. For a long time, I thought partnership was the ultimate goal. Eventually, I realized it wasn’t for me—unless I built my own firm. And that realization brought peace.
Here’s the contrast that matters. My wife has been at her firm for three years, and she recently became a partner. I’m incredibly proud of her. Truly happy for her—maybe even happier than she is. It wasn’t my path, but it was hers.
That’s graciousness. Understanding that someone else’s success isn’t a verdict on your own life. Narcissists can’t do that. But the rest of us can choose better.
