The self that I had long presented to others—the person interested in climbing the corporate ladder, in always being clever and hip, in knowing how to order the best wines, in attending the hottest parties, and in getting into the hippest clubs, in never doubting my place in the world, in always being, in a word, cool—that person was unreal. That person was nothing more than a mask I wore. And I knew it.
It’s not as if we can’t have enjoyed being that person. At some level, I enjoy being esteemed by my peers in my creative endeavors, I enjoy being a figure to admire. But that’s not why I do the art, do the work. And fears related to being known as a figure or artist get in the way of the art. I don’t create for views, for esteem, or because I feel like others would benefit from my unique content. I create because I am driven to from the inside. If others benefit, all the better. But that other person, while often fun, isn’t me. And that’s okay.
