Our dreams are like our unborn babies. We know we want to create it, but we don’t know why. We know we want to give birth to it, even if the path is not smooth sailing. And we love it to death, before it’s even born.
I couldn’t live with myself not knowing myself. While being nice makes me likable, being inauthentic makes me hate myself. I succeeded in making other people like me, and failed at loving myself as a consequence.
The first way we shut the door to something we love is by judging it as unnecessary.