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Self-deprecation is a personal trait I hold in high regard.

I’m not talking ‘Eeyore level’ self-deprecation, that perpetual deluge of negative commentary that borders on the psychotic. I’m referring to some old-fashioned unpretentious self-criticism, a few good-natured ribs; in other words, some genuine, unadulterated, anti-extroverted behavior. I find the attribute an admirable quality in others, an attractive idiosyncrasy that exudes sincerity and draws me in like a magnet.

Despite society’s infatuation with self-assured confidence peddlers, self-deprecation—in metered doses, emits an aura of genuineness. It becomes a calling card of modesty, denoting an individual grounded in reality, unobtrusive and approachable. Self-deprecators, like insatiable introverts, prefer the solitude of shadow, avoiding the spotlight, until the stars align and the time is right. Then step back, and watch the magic unravel.

When it’s time to arrange the seating list, sit me at the table with the introverts and self-deprecators—away from the power socialites…