Back when Covid took over the world, I decided that since I wouldn’t be going to live events any time soon, I had better figure out some other way to get my face out there.
So I hired a podcasting agency and have proceeded to talk my little heart out on dozens and dozens of shows.
About 35 hosts have said they want to write a book, then they get flustered and flap their hands and say, “I know it’s just my ego, but I just can’t get this idea out of my head.”
Well my babe, I am here to tell you that if writing a book is what your ego dreams of, ego is not your problem.
I don’t know when we all got so down on ego. Was there a big collective moment I missed? Did someone famous announce that ego is passé?
Ego is just the self, trying to make itself known.
It’s YOU, trying to make your life mean something, trying to smile bravely in the face of existential dread and the void by recording that you were here and that you did something.
There’s nothing wrong with that.
Having an ego is not the same as being a narcissist, or having delusions of grandeur, or being insufferably self-absorbed. If you fall into one of those camps, there are much easier, faster and more fun ways to get the validation you’re looking for.
Believe me, if you want to write a book, ego is not your problem.
Typing until your thumbs jam up is your problem. Developing selective deafness when anyone tries to talk while you’re writing is your problem. Long hours of Googling synonyms is your problem.
If you have a body, you have an ego, and the ego’s job is to drive you to make the most of being alive.
I think that writing — a book, or anything else — is one of the most enlivening things you can do.
It’s driving a stake into the earth to show that you were here, and that you threw yourself into your life, and that you made something that would outlast you.
That’s not big bad ego. That’s just fully living.