According to the Greek myth, young Narcissus, widely admired for his extraordinary physical beauty, fell in love with his own reflection, which he glimpsed one day in a pool of water. Unable to embrace the image that had so fully captivated him, Narcissus wasted away, and his human figure was transformed into the flower that now bears his name. The term “narcissism” derives from this myth. A narcissistic personality embodies excessive self regard, and feelings of entitlement, grandiosity, and low empathy for others. Since 2016, these characteristics have become familiar to anyone who has followed American politics.

This month Donald Trump turned 80, a milestone that for most people deserves to be marked as a special event, but for someone like Trump, whose personality is driven wholly by his narcissistic impulses, every day is like a birthday party, an occasion to celebrate his massive magnificence and his gargantuan value to the country and to the world. Mr. Trump’s instinct to so reliably and persistently champion his own importance every chance he gets, makes any celebration on his actual birthday seem redundant. He has posted images of himself as Superman, as the Pope, and as Jesus.  At one of his golf courses, he erected an over-sized golden statue of himself, “Don Colossus.” And he arranged for his face be put on commemorative coins, U.S. passports, and a 30-foot banner that is displayed outside the Department of Justice. For 10 years, we have been compelled to witness the continual glorification of Donald Trump, a steady stream of self-congratulation emanating from the man himself, amplified by a circle of adoring sycophants gathered meekly around him.

Vanity has long been one of Trump’s most salient features, and his delusions about his own superiority continue to touch every aspect of his professional and private life. Over the years, dozens of women have accused him of sexual misconduct, and his typical public response has been to insult and ridicule them, often by implying that they were not good looking enough for him to have bothered to assault them:  “She’s not my type,” and “look at her, I don’t think so,” and “believe me, she would not be my first choice,”  are just a few of his boorish, dismissive responses to statements from women claiming that Trump sexually assaulted them. He has also bragged incessantly about his supreme intelligence and his capacity to accomplish things that no one else is capable of. “I alone can fix it,” “no one has ever seen anything like it before,”  and “I’m a very stable genius,” are representative boasts from a man who is inflated with an entirely self-obsessed view of the world, an unshakable faith in his own matchless abilities.

I remember being shocked when at a 2016 campaign rally, Trump exhorted the crowd to “knock the crap out of him, I’ll pay your legal fees,” referring to a would-be protester in the audience. But 10 years later, Trump’s angry and abusive disdain for anyone who dares to challenge him, has been demonstrated so consistently and so often, that his personal insults have become unremarkable and routine, a commonplace feature of an arrogant, bullying mode of discourse. He has referred to his opponents as low-IQ individuals, lunatics, losers, monsters, and scum. When the director Rob Reiner and his wife were murdered, and when Senator John McCain died, Trump seized an opportunity not to offer even a shred of human sympathy, but to criticize and mock. And after Robert Mueller’s death, Trump’s written response was unambiguous and direct: “I’m glad he’s dead.” Trump seems deficient in generating empathy toward other people, so consumed as he seems to be with his own priorities and desires.

Well, nobody’s perfect. So let’s offer at least a tepid Happy Birthday to Mr. Trump. Like millions of other Americans, I am looking forward to his departure from public life, and in a few years I will wish him a long and peaceful retirement at Mar-a-Lago, where he will have the leisure time to reflect on his professional achievements, both real and imaginary. He can install more mirrors. And in every corner of his sprawling Florida mansion, he can assemble brigades of loyal, fawning attendants, eager to appease his insatiable thirst for flattery.  Donald Trump has enjoyed a great deal of that during his years in Washington, but he can always use a bit more.

Greg Tuleja lives in Southampton.