“These aren’t even that good. I think I could do better.” That’s one of the reasons I started writing. Because I was reading other articles and that thought came to mind. I’ve even thought about books. Famous books. Brilliant books.
Who the fuck am I to think that?
That’s my ego.
And I’m grateful for it.
Because I never would’ve started writing without it. I never would’ve found something I love to do without it. I never would’ve been able to quit my 9-5 without it.
Sometimes I get too caught up in it. I’ll let other people’s accomplishments get inside me and make me feel bad. I become jealous. I become resentful.
I let myself be tricked into think I’m not good enough or doing enough, or being enough. That’s when my ego becomes unhelpful.
I don’t think having an ego is good or bad.
I think it’s good and bad.