Applying, Giftedness, and Jung

The violence of fitting complexity into a two pages CV

We ask for creativity, vision, and leadership — and then demand they be reduced to bullet points on a CV. For the gifted, this is not just frustrating. It is erasure, a forced denial of essence that reveals more about our culture than about the candidate.

I got rid of almost all my watches, my collection of fountain pens and my cars. Today I own just one watch, one fountain pen — and no car. I live in a rented house. The third in three years.

That is the surface story. Beneath it lies something else: a deliberate stripping away. Symbols of achievement — watches, cars, pens — became irrelevant. They once signaled success, recognition, belonging. But I don’t live in that world anymore.

I wrote my first book. I try to guide my son through this impossible world. At least until you see that this will not end in a better one.

And in the midst of this — I applied for jobs.

The absurdity of applying

Thirty years of experience. Countless projects across Europe. Leading companies, public–private partnerships. Fifteen years teaching part-time at a university of applied sciences.

And then the request: “Send us your CV, max two pages.”

What is that really saying?

Compress your life, your failures and recoveries, your hard-won insights into keyword-stuffed bullet points that an algorithm or a junior screener can digest in thirty seconds.

It is not evaluation. It is erasure.

The gifted experience

Giftedness is not IQ. It is a way of perceiving. A depth of connection. An intensity that doesn’t fit the surface of “competence frameworks” or “job requirements.”

When I apply, I am not selling a function. I am trying to express a system view, an ability to cut through complexity, to see dynamics before others even notice the patterns. But none of that fits into “skills: team player, communication, leadership.”

So the mismatch is brutal. Not because I am unqualified, but because the very form of applying excludes what matters.

I’ve dealt with organisations — public and private — for thirty years. When I was young, I thought I could make a difference. You walk in and say: “Listen, if we don’t do this, the company will lose a lot of money and good employment tomorrow.” And they go: “Yeah, okay. Maybe you’re wrong.” They would rather lose profit than admit they are wrong — and complicated. If you are the one who points it out, you become the problem. This is how top leadership works. If you tell them, they look at you like: “How do you know all this? Maybe you’re lying.” It’s all the same: they protect their position, always.

It is like asking a symphony to present itself in three notes.

Jung’s most dangerous discovery

Carl Jung once wrote about individuation — the process of becoming who you truly are, instead of who the world expects you to be. He called it dangerous. Because once you see, you cannot go back.

Applying is the exact opposite of individuation. It demands compliance, reduction, submission. It asks: “Can you pretend to be what we want?”

For the gifted, that pretending is unbearable. It is the denial of essence. And yet — society is structured so that entry requires precisely this denial.

The cost of blindness

Step into any average company and take a good look. That is the price of this system.

We filter out experience, vision, originality. We keep what is compliant, keyword-heavy, safe.

This is why mediocrity feels normal. It is designed. It is the inevitable outcome of a process that rewards adaptation over clarity.

And in that sense, applying is not just a personal frustration. It is an X-ray of our culture. A culture that claims it needs innovation, creativity, leadership — but has built gates that exclude the very people who embody it.

Why I write

I don’t write this because I am bitter. I write because I see.
And when you see, you cannot unsee.

The stripping away of watches, cars, pens — it is the same stripping away of illusions about work, hiring, society. What remains is bare truth: we do not want to face giftedness, because it forces us to confront complexity and depth.

And yet — without it, nothing truly changes.

That is why I write my books. That is why I write here. To give voice to what is otherwise erased.

Because in the end, Jung was right: individuation is dangerous. Not for the one who lives it. But for the systems that cannot contain it.

And that is the paradox: what we try hardest to exclude, is exactly what we need most.

Ron van Helvoirt