The Ego You Cannot See Is the One Quietly Running You

If ego hides, then catching it is a matter of knowing its favourite hiding spots. A few are worth watching in yourself.

The first is the flinch when you are corrected — that quick heat, the urge to explain, before you have even weighed whether the other person is right. The reaction comes faster than the thought; that speed is the giveaway.

The second is the need to be right, even in something that does not matter. If winning a small argument feels strangely urgent, something other than truth is at stake.

The third is comparison — the tiny rise when someone does worse than you, the tiny sink when they do better. Ego lives on that scoreboard.

The fourth is hidden in complaint and hurt. 'After all I did for them' can be love speaking, but very often it is ego keeping accounts and feeling owed.

And the fifth, the cleverest, wears the mask of humility — 'I'm not the kind of person who shows off,' said with a small glow of pride. The point of this list is not to catch yourself and then scold yourself. It is just to notice. Each of these is a doorway where the unseen 'I' briefly shows its hand.

Before going further, three tangles are worth undoing, because they send people chasing the wrong thing.

First myth: ego is the same as self-respect. It is not. Self-respect is a quiet floor — I will not let myself be mistreated. Ego is a hungry ceiling — I must be seen as more. One keeps you steady when insulted; the other cannot rest until it has won. A person can have deep self-respect and very little ego, and that combination is exactly what calm strength looks like.

Second myth: ego is only loud arrogance. Loud ego is the easy kind — everyone, including the owner, eventually sees it. The dangerous kind is soft and well-mannered: the quiet certainty that you are more reasonable, more spiritual, more self-aware than the people around you. It never raises its voice, so it never gets caught.

Third myth, and the most important: that you can simply decide to destroy your ego. Watch what happens when you try. A new thought appears — 'I have conquered my ego, I am humble now' — and that thought is the ego itself, wearing fresh clothes. You cannot kill it by force, because the one trying to kill it is also it. You can only see it. And strangely, that is enough to weaken it.

If you want one reliable place to catch ego, it is this: notice where you stop being able to hear. The Gita puts it sharply at the very end. Krishna says, in effect, listen and you cross every difficulty by grace — 'atha chet tvam ahankarat na shroshyasi vinankshyasi' (18.58): but if, out of ego, you will not listen, you will be lost. The ruin is not punishment from outside; it is the natural cost of an 'I' so sure of itself it has sealed its own ears.

That gives you a usable test, better than asking 'am I being egotistical' — a question ego answers with a flattering no. Instead ask: where, lately, did I refuse to really hear someone? Whose advice did I dismiss before they finished? Ego always leaves that footprint — a door closed before the knock was heard.

The old path of self-inquiry goes one step deeper: don't fight the 'I', trace it. When the heat rises, look for who is offended — who exactly is hurt? Held steadily, that 'I' feels less like a solid self and more like a passing reaction. Kabir said it with no philosophy at all: 'jab main tha tab hari nahin, ab hari hai main nahin' — while the 'I' filled the room, the divine was nowhere; when it thinned out, only the divine remained. You do not push the 'I' out. You stop feeding it by watching it — and in the watching, its grip quietly loosens.

Why does this matter so much, when ego seems like a small, private thing? Because almost every quarrel we cannot end, every apology we cannot make, every relationship that stiffens into cold silence, has this unseen 'I' somewhere underneath it, quietly refusing to bend. We think we are protecting something important. Usually we are protecting the ego's right to be right.

And here is the part that should lift the weight off you: you do not have to win. The goal was never to become a person with no ego — that target is impossible, and chasing it just breeds a subtler pride. The goal is much gentler. It is to catch the 'I' a little earlier, a little more often. To feel the flinch and recognise it before it becomes a sharp word. That half-second of seeing is the whole shift.

So keep it small. For the next few days, do not try to be humble — just watch for the wince, the need to be right, the closed ear. Name it quietly to yourself, with something close to affection: 'ah, there it is again.' You are not fighting an enemy. You are getting to know a very old, very frightened part of yourself that only ever wanted to feel like it mattered. And the lesson hiding here is a kind one — what is clearly seen no longer rules in the dark.