Do Epic Shit. Quotes

Get up, go out into the world, and do awesome shit.

It was a receipt for my painting. My heart stuttered. He squeezed my hand in his and smiled. “It’s gonna look so fucking epic in my bedroom, don’t you think? I could fuck you and stare at myself as I do it. That’s some Napoleon shit right there.” It

And once upon a time I wondered: Is writing epic fantasy not somehow a betrayal? Did I not somehow do a disservice to my own reality by paying so much attention to the power fantasies of disenchanted white men? But. Epic fantasy is not merely what Tolkien made it. This genre is rooted in the epic — and the truth is that there are plenty of epics out there which feature people like me. Sundiata’s badass mother. Dihya, warrior queen of the Amazighs. The Rain Queens. The Mino Warriors. Hatshepsut’s reign. Everything Harriet Tubman ever did. And more, so much more, just within the African components of my heritage. I haven’t even begun to explore the non-African stuff. So given all these myths, all these examinations of the possible… how can I not imagine more? How can I not envision an epic set somewhere other than medieval England, about someone other than an awkward white boy? How can I not use every building-block of my history and heritage and imagination when I make shit up? And how dare I disrespect that history, profane all my ancestors’ suffering and struggles, by giving up the freedom to imagine that they’ve won for me.

The pro is the amateur who simply showed up every day.

Sit on as many chairs as you can before you find the one chair on which you feel you belong.

Be awesome. Do epic shit. Do it now. The clock is ticking.

It’s taboo to admit that you’re lonely. You can make jokes about it, of course. You can tell people that you spend most of your time with Netflix or that you haven’t left the house today and you might not even go outside tomorrow. Ha ha, funny. But rarely do you ever tell people about the true depths of your loneliness, about how you feel more and more alienated from your friends each passing day and you’re not sure how to fix it. It seems like everyone is just better at living than you are. A part of you knew this was going to happen. Growing up, you just had this feeling that you wouldn’t transition well to adult life, that you’d fall right through the cracks. And look at you now. La di da, it’s happening. Your mother, your father, your grandparents: they all look at you like you’re some prized jewel and they tell you over and over again just how lucky you are to be young and have your whole life ahead of you. “Getting old ain’t for sissies,” your father tells you wearily. You wish they’d stop saying these things to you because all it does is fill you with guilt and panic. All it does is remind you of how much you’re not taking advantage of your youth. You want to kiss all kinds of different people, you want to wake up in a stranger’s bed maybe once or twice just to see if it feels good to feel nothing, you want to have a group of friends that feels like a tribe, a bonafide family. You want to go from one place to the next constantly and have your weekends feel like one long epic day. You want to dance to stupid music in your stupid room and have a nice job that doesn’t get in the way of living your life too much. You want to be less scared, less anxious, and more willing. Because if you’re closed off now, you can only imagine what you’ll be like later. Every day you vow to change some aspect of your life and every day you fail. At this point, you’re starting to question your own power as a human being. As of right now, your fears have you beat. They’re the ones that are holding your twenties hostage. Stop thinking that everyone is having more sex than you, that everyone has more friends than you, that everyone out is having more fun than you. Not because it’s not true (it might be!) but because that kind of thinking leaves you frozen. You’ve already spent enough time feeling like you’re stuck, like you’re watching your life fall through you like a fast dissolve and you’re unable to hold on to anything. I don’t know if you ever get better. I don’t know if a person can just wake up one day and decide to be an active participant in their life. I’d like to think so. I’d like to think that people get better each and every day but that’s not really true. People get worse and it’s their stories that end up getting forgotten because we can’t stand an unhappy ending. The sick have to get better. Our normalcy depends upon it. You have to value yourself. You have to want great things for your life. This sort of shit doesn’t happen overnight but it can and will happen if you want it. Do you want it bad enough? Does the fear of being filled with regret in your thirties trump your fear of living today? We shall see.

Wherever life takes you, leave the place shaking, disrupted and trying to imagine what it was like before you came. Be a force for change. For pondering. And re-pondering. For love and the belief in the good of people. Go forth and be a force of the awesome. Do epic, terrifying, unheard of shit. Whatever makes you happy. And drugs. And other "bad" things. And fall in love. If nothing else, fall in love.

This book is not going to be a revelation. It is meant to be a reminder. A reminder of how life happens to all of us, in a similar yet unequal fashion.

Persistence isn’t a one-day miracle. It is a conscious choice translated into habit.

It is better to be busy in the chase of finding yourself instead of being busy in the rat race and never know yourself.

Emotional debt has killed more people than financial debt ever will.

Who you spend time with will define the stories you hear. The stories you hear will define the stories in your head. The stories in your head will define you.

Only when you go against the flow will you find your own flow.

Ego is a bubble. Instead of bursting it and seeing what all lies outside, we invest most of our energy protecting it.

If you don’t ask, the answer is always no.

Time goes away and leaves us with only one of these two things: regret or results.

It takes effort to find love. It takes effort to feel fulfilled. It takes effort to be fit. It takes effort to be happy. Which is why most of us do not have love, fulfilment, happiness or fitness in our life.

Build a team so strong that someone from the outside doesn't know who the boss is!

In a world filled with people living their lives for someone else, a truly well-lived life, is the one where we stay true to our own selves.

People will help you only when you have helped them understand how they can.

We crave novelty, yet settle for a one- career life.

Nothing beats the feeling of having done more in twenty-four hours than what the day expected you to!

It is not the privilege that harms us. It is our lack of awareness of our own privilege that harms us.

What rhymes with insensitive?” I tap my pen on the kitchen table, beyond frustrated with my current task. Who knew rhyming was so fucking difficult? Garrett, who’s dicing onions at the counter, glances over. “Sensitive,” he says helpfully. “Yes, G, I’ll be sure to rhyme insensitive with sensitive. Gold star for you.” On the other side of the kitchen, Tucker finishes loading the dishwasher and turns to frown at me. “What the hell are you doing over there, anyway? You’ve been scribbling on that notepad for the past hour.” “I’m writing a love poem,” I answer without thinking. Then I slam my lips together, realizing what I’ve done. Dead silence crashes over the kitchen. Garrett and Tucker exchange a look. An extremely long look. Then, perfectly synchronized, their heads shift in my direction, and they stare at me as if I’ve just escaped from a mental institution. I may as well have. There’s no other reason for why I’m voluntarily writing poetry right now. And that’s not even the craziest item on Grace’s list. That’s right. I said it. List. The little brat texted me not one, not two, but six tasks to complete before she agrees to a date. Or maybe gestures is a better way to phrase it... “I just have one question,” Garrett starts. “Really?” Tuck says. “Because I have many.” Sighing, I put my pen down. “Go ahead. Get it out of your systems.” Garrett crosses his arms. “This is for a chick, right? Because if you’re doing it for funsies, then that’s just plain weird.” “It’s for Grace,” I reply through clenched teeth. My best friend nods solemnly. Then he keels over. Asshole. I scowl as he clutches his side, his broad back shuddering with each bellowing laugh. And even while racked with laughter, he manages to pull his phone from his pocket and start typing. “What are you doing?” I demand. “Texting Wellsy. She needs to know this.” “I hate you.” I’m so busy glaring at Garrett that I don’t notice what Tucker’s up to until it’s too late. He snatches the notepad from the table, studies it, and hoots loudly. “Holy shit. G, he rhymed jackass with Cutlass.” “Cutlass?” Garrett wheezes. “Like the sword?” “The car,” I mutter. “I was comparing her lips to this cherry-red Cutlass I fixed up when I was a kid. Drawing on my own experience, that kind of thing.” Tucker shakes his head in exasperation. “You should have compared them to cherries, dumbass.” He’s right. I should have. I’m a terrible poet and I do know it. “Hey,” I say as inspiration strikes. “What if I steal the words to “Amazing Grace”? I can change it to…um…Terrific Grace.” “Yup,” Garrett cracks. “Pure gold right there. Terrific Grace.” I ponder the next line. “How sweet…” “Your ass,” Tucker supplies. Garrett snorts. “Brilliant minds at work. Terrific Grace, how sweet your ass.” He types on his phone again. “Jesus Christ, will you quit dictating this conversation to Hannah?” I grumble. “Bros before hos, dude.” “Call my girlfriend a ho one more time and you won’t have a bro.” Tucker chuckles. “Seriously, why are you writing poetry for this chick?” “Because I’m trying to win her back. This is one of her requirements.” That gets Garrett’s attention. He perks up, phone poised in hand as he asks, “What are the other ones?” “None of your fucking business.” “Golly gee, if you do half as good a job on those as you’re doing with this epic poem, then you’ll get her back in no time!” I give him the finger. “Sarcasm not appreciated.” Then I swipe the notepad from Tuck’s hand and head for the doorway. “PS? Next time either of you need to score points with your ladies? Don’t ask me for help. Jackasses.” Their wild laughter follows me all the way upstairs. I duck into my room and kick the door shut, then spend the next hour typing up the sorriest excuse for poetry on my laptop. Jesus. I’m putting more effort into this damn poem than for my actual classes.

Most people think that they need to be tapped on the shoulder by the Epic Fairy if they ever hope to be epic, or if they're ever going to have the audacity to do something truly epic. But it's not true. Want to be epic? Just do epic shit. There's nothing else to it.

Stop waiting for someone to give you what you want. The universe is too busy to care. It has worlds to create and galaxies to destroy. If you're worried about death and about your own end, don't. It's coming whether you like it or not. You will either arrive at the end of your life in style or you will arrive broken and beaten, but whichever way you choose, have no doubt that you WILL ARRIVE. There is only now. If you have power, it's now. If you can change anything, you have to do it now. If you want to be or to have that next great thing, be it. Have it. Take it. Own it. Do it. Become it. Be awesome. Do epic shit. Do it now. The clock is ticking.

Safe is better than sorry. Nope. Risk is better than regret.

A year from now, you will never be sure of the results. But you can certainly be sure of regret, if you don’t start today.

We wouldn’t want the shit we do to not be epic,” I said. “Hell no. Ordinary shit is just shit.

We say yes more often just because we want people to feel good about us! We thus end up feeling worse because of these tiny betrayals.

No one sees the multiple failures before that one ‘huge success’.

The Friday before I closed the shop a woman came in wearing a t-shirt that said Do Epic Shit. I closed the shop three hours early and fled home to Gertrude. Who are we to Do Epic Shit? Surely that's the mistake we've always made. Doing Epic Shit. Can we not Do Less Epic Shit? Can we not, perhaps, do nothing at all? Where has all this Epic Doing gotten us? In a great bloody Epic Mess is where. One person does some Epic Shit and the next person has to do some Epic Shit Fixing.

She needs you. Trust Me. You’re the Mr Darcy to her Elizabeth, the Deuce to her Eva, the Joe to her Violet. She needs you to heal. She needs back her epic love to make things right.” Jesus, I had no idea what Miranda was going on about. I didn’t even want to ask because I was positive it had to do with some of her romance book shit.

Kaley Cuoco: Oh my gosh, the backstory and the research! He probably made fun of me because I had done zero research to play Penny. I’d give him a hard time and be like, “Got your binder?! It’s season ten, hope you know what your backstory is now!” I gave him so much shit. I was like, “What was Leonard doing before this last scene? Where was Leonard? Tell us!

What’s that in your hand, Vic?” “This? I saw something I liked so I bought it when I got here.” He opened his fist and showed it to me. It was a receipt for my painting. My heart stuttered. He squeezed my hand in his and smiled. “It’s gonna look so fucking epic in my bedroom, don’t you think? I could fuck you and stare at myself as I do it. That’s some Napoleon shit right there.

Because,” said Sparrow, massaging her side, where she’d been injured, “I can’t fight like this.” “You shouldn’t have to. Besides, we’ve got the UMC with us.” Sparrow snorted. “You grow up on a colony or what?” “Yeah. What’s that got to do with it?” “Then you ought to know you can’t offload responsibility on someone else. You have to be able to take care of yourself when shit goes down.

In my past, there's also an opportunity I could have taken advantage of that I didn't, and that I wish I had. There's a thing I got rid of that I really wish I'd kept. But the train never backs up. Never. I missed those things, and I will never get a second chance. Do yourself a favor, right now, and realize two things: 1. You will keep getting older, and then you will die. 2. Everything that's ever entered your experience has lasted and will continue to last for only a brief moment in the life of the universe. This is game time, champ. You're in. You're in, playing, right now, and the clock is ticking. So stop wondering what it all means and how you'll possibly ever do X and what people will think, and get on with your life already. Stop being a pussy and go do something amazing. *** DO EPIC SHIT.

Zach: Are you close with your brother? He’s partially to blame for the wrong number thing, isn’t he? * * * Me: Kind of. Yeah, we’re close. My mom worked at the hospital so it was usually just us two fending for ourselves. * * * Me: Okay, so I shouldn’t say fending for ourselves. That makes me sound like a dick and unappreciative of all my mom did. We just spent many nights just the two of us because my mom was a hardworking single lady and she wasn’t searching for a man to put a ring on it because she. Is. Fierce. * * * Zach: I bet your mom is the shit. * * * Me: She really is. You should meet her sometime. * * * Me: Oh, awkward…I’m talking about meeting the family and we’re not even officially a couple. * * * Zach: We’re not? * * * Me: We are? My phone lights up with a call from Zach. “Are you saying we aren’t dating?” he says before I can say anything. “We are…” “Are you saying you’re wanting to see other people?” “No…” “So then we’re a couple.” I’m quiet, unsure what to say. I’m so scared to label this, which is stupid, I know. “Delia?” “Yes, Zach?” “Do you not want to be?” I take a deep breath and push out the answer I know is right, even though my head is saying otherwise. “No. I want to be a couple.” “Are you sure?” “Yes. I’m just…scared. I know I shouldn’t put that all on you, but you’re kind of the reason I’m scared. I like you, Zach—a lot—but what if this doesn’t work out? What if we jump in too soon?” He sighs. “Remember when we were talking about our exes? About the lack of fireworks?” “Yeah.” “I swear to god, someone is going to swoop in and take my man card for this shit, but I felt them with you. When we first kissed, I knew right then you were worth jumping in with both feet and taking a risk.” I don’t let myself overthink his words, wanting to keep my head level and clear. “What if I’m not worth the risk?” “We’ll never know if we don’t take it.” “Say you’re a couple already, Dalilah!” Robbie’s voice comes loud through the speaker. “He paused the movie during an epic scene!” “How many times have I told you that her name is Delia. Deal-ya. Get it?” “You talk about me with Robbie?” I ask. “Sometimes.” “Say yes! He looks like someone kicked his goat!” “Shut the fuck up, Robbie!” I laugh. “If I say yes, will he stop shouting?” “YES!” Robbie shouts again. “I’ll take the risk, Zach, but you better be worth it.” “You’ve seen my Harry Potter underwear—you know I’m worth it.” Then he whispers, “Wink.

Diana” was the first thing out of her mouth. “I’m dying,” the too familiar voice on the other end moaned. I snorted, locking the front door behind me as I held the phone up to my face with my shoulder. “You’re pregnant. You’re not dying.” “But it feels like I am,” the person who rarely ever complained whined. We’d been best friends our entire lives, and I could only count on one hand the number of times I’d heard her grumble about something that wasn’t her family. I’d had the title of being the whiner in our epic love affair that had survived more shit than I was willing to remember right then. I held up a finger when Louie tipped his head toward the kitchen as if asking if I was going to get started on dinner or not. “Well, nobody told you to get pregnant with the Hulk’s baby. What did you expect? He’s probably going to come out the size of a toddler.” The laugh that burst out of her made me laugh too. This fierce feeling of missing her reminded me it had been months since we’d last seen each other. “Shut up.” “You can’t avoid the truth forever.” Her husband was huge. I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t expect her unborn baby to be a giant too. “Ugh.” A long sigh came through the receiver in resignation. “I don’t know what I was thinking—” “You weren’t thinking.” She ignored me. “We’re never having another one. I can’t sleep. I have to pee every two minutes. I’m the size of Mars—” “The last time I saw you”—which had been two months ago—“you were the size of Mars. The baby is probably the size of Mars now. I’d probably say you’re about the size of Uranus.” She ignored me again. “Everything makes me cry and I itch. I itch so bad.” “Do I… want to know where you’re itching?” “Nasty. My stomach. Aiden’s been rubbing coconut oil on me every hour he’s here.” I tried to imagine her six-foot-five-inch, Hercules-sized husband doing that to Van, but my imagination wasn’t that great. “Is he doing okay?” I asked, knowing off our past conversations that while he’d been over the moon with her pregnancy, he’d also turned into mother hen supreme. It made me feel better knowing that she wasn’t living in a different state all by herself with no one else for support. Some people in life got lucky and found someone great, the rest of us either took a long time… or not ever. “He’s worried I’m going to fall down the stairs when he isn’t around, and he’s talking about getting a one-story house so that I can put him out of his misery.” “You know you can come stay with us if you want.” She made a noise. “I’m just offering, bitch. If you don’t want to be alone when he starts traveling more for games, you can stay here as long as you need. Louie doesn’t sleep in his room half the time anyway, and we have a one-story house. You could sleep with me if you really wanted to. It’ll be like we’re fourteen all over again.” She sighed. “I would. I really would, but I couldn’t leave Aiden.” And I couldn’t leave the boys for longer than a couple of weeks, but she knew that. Well, she also knew I couldn’t not work for that long, too. “Maybe you can get one of those I’ve-fallen-and-I-can’t-get-up—” Vanessa let out another loud laugh. “You jerk.” “What? You could.” There was a pause. “I don’t even know why I bother with you half the time.” “Because you love me?” “I don’t know why.” “Tia,” Louie hissed, rubbing his belly like he was seriously starving. “Hey, Lou and Josh are making it seem like they haven’t eaten all day. I’m scared they might start nibbling on my hand soon. Let me feed them, and I’ll call you back, okay?” Van didn’t miss a beat. “Sure, Di. Give them a hug from me and call me back whenever. I’m on the couch, and I’m not going anywhere except the bathroom.” “Okay. I won’t call Parks and Wildlife to let them know there’s a beached whale—” “Goddammit, Diana—” I laughed. “Love you. I’ll call you back. Bye!” “Vanny has a whale?” Lou asked.

How about you?” I asked, trying to keep words happening. “Play any sports?” “I might have.” “Instruments?” “No.” “Did you grow up in a state that starts with the letter A, M, or T?” Her lips did this twisty thing to the side. “Isn’t that how we’re doing this? Process of elimination?” Daryn brushed some sand off her jeans. “The less we do of this, the better it’ll be for both of us.” I started laughing. I didn’t know what had just hit me. Daryn laughed too, more at me than with me, but it didn’t matter. I enjoyed it. “You run a pretty good defense, Martin. You know that?” “I’ve gotten better.” “Does this mean you’re not going to tell me about the downloads you get? Or how often you get ’em? Or how long you’ve been doing this? Like, is this your first assignment, or have you been seeking—seekering?—your whole life? And, like, when you saw me—you said you saw me—was I excelling at protecting secret powerful objects? Doing epic War shit? How amazing was I, is basically what I want to know. But in specifics. Did I look really-really awesome or just kind of good? Wait, wait—I looked prime. Didn’t I, Martin?” “Are you done?” “With my opening questions?” She shook her head. “Wow.” “You don’t have to answer.” “I know I don’t.” She reclined her seat and put her feet up on the dash. I thought the subject was closed because she shut her eyes, but then she said, “It’s not often you meet people who are so persistent.” “How often do you meet people who are War?” She peered at me and gave a little shrug, like you’re really not all that special. Then she closed her eyes again.

There is temporary discomfort in doing the unconventional. There is permanent discomfort in living life as a template.

When you pick mentors who are way beyond your level of expertise, you might miss out on a lot. The things that you seek are so obvious to them they won’t even realize you need an explanation!

The key to having more opportunities in life is to

The key to having more opportunities in life is to give yourself enough opportunities to get curious.

Reflecting upon my mistakes has taught me the most about myself.

Words are wise. However, stories strike.

Your kindness might cause you pain, a sense of betrayal, heartburn. Be kind anyway.

Your true friends are those who are TRULY happy for you when you succeed. Be that true friend for others.

Show people who they can be. Instead of telling them who they shouldn't be.

Irrational optimism is a founder's death trap!

It is only when both the parents contribute in raising their child that they keep their partnership alive.

Everyone had different beginnings. Different temperaments of parents. Totally different interests and hobbies. Different ways parents perceived success. Different teachers who taught you to fit in. And you expect yourself to outsmart someone else. It is an insult to your journey. And an insult to what all you have endured to get here.

A great leader should be replaceable when it comes to their tasks and actions. And irreplaceable when it comes to their thoughts and visions.

.... gold is an investment, jewellery is not. When we disguise our desires as our needs, we almost always end up making a mistake.

Financially smart people take loans even if they can afford, to save money. Financially weak people take loans knowing that they can't afford, to spend money!

Loss is a result. Fear is an input. You don't control your results. You always control your inputs.

No one knows the highs or lows of a market. The best way to invest over a long term is to invest regularly. Irrespective of the price at that time.

No one sees how you overcame your habits and systems despite having ‘failed’, because they focus on the end result, that you failed.

When you don’t have anyone, you have your siblings. And that’s something you don’t ask for. Your parents give you that gift.

I wish everyone could get rich and famous and everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that’s not the answer.’ – Jim Carrey

The more we get the process right, the closer we get to the targets.

I don’t set goals, for two reasons: – You do it for a destination, instead of becoming someone in the process – You invariably start chasing another destination, upon reaching one.

A great leader should be replaceable when it comes to their tasks and actions. And irreplaceable when it comes to their thoughts and vision.

Ninety-nine per cent of people want to be led. They want to be told what to do, and then they will go on to do their best. They want to be led. Not managed.

Do not show up for every argument you are invited to!

How we think of our problems is how the world will think of our problems.

Your actions decide your luck. So does your lack of actions. Luck isn’t really good fortune.

The world will constantly be defining success and failure for you. Realizing this is what is called self-awareness.

They can’t read our thoughts. All they see is what we do. It does not matter what we say. What matters is what they see us doing. Commitments are nothing if not backed up with actions.

Luck happens to those that make things happen.

Stop being a pussy and go do something amazing. *** DO EPIC SHIT.

I’m going to guess that in our seventeen years together, Joe and I have eaten an average of at least one meal out a week—plus at least one or two weeks a year when we are on vacation and we get to enjoy twenty-one restaurant meals. Using this rough calculation, I have heard my husband utter that exact line approximately one thousand four hundred times. If I didn’t madly love the man, or I had years of bitter resentment born of unmet needs and unheard desires festering in me, I can see where this might make me want to stick something sharp into his eye socket and twist it around a few dozen times for good measure. But I do and I don’t, respectively, so his attempted joke is actually endearing. It’s one of his things that I’d miss tragically if it went away. It would be that “Yeah, I hated it” line—not his dashing good looks or prowess with power tools or skills on the basketball court or anything else the rest of the world can plainly see—that I’d get most choked up on if I were delivering his eulogy today. There was a breakthrough, pivotal scene in the epically good movie Good Will Hunting, where Robin Williams plays a therapist reminiscing about his dead wife with his patient (Matt Damon). “She used to fart in her sleep,” Williams tells the clueless Damon character during an otherwise unproductive therapy session. “One night it was so loud it woke the dog up . . . She’s been dead two years, and that’s the shit I remember . . . little things like that, those are the things I miss the most. Those little idiosyncrasies that only I knew about; that’s what made her my wife. People call these things imperfections, but they’re not. No, that’s the good stuff.” That.

To be epic, all I'd need to do is to do epic shit.

Listen to epic music and you want to do epic shit.

We know ourselves through our thoughts. But we know others through their actions. That is true for others as well. They can’t read our thoughts. All they see is what we do. It does not matter what we say. What matters is what they see us doing.

Commitments are nothing if not backed up with actions.

I knew what it was to live without money. But I didn't know what it was to live without happiness.

Breaking your limits without even expecting to is the powerful way to see how much more you are capable of.

When we rule ourselves, we can never be ruled by our problems.

You are what you do. Not what you say you’ll do.

All you can do is to make this moment -- your moment -- better. You can affect the lives of others around you, and you can affect your own life. You can ease some suffering. You can do some epic shit. If you, yourself, only last for a nanosecond, you might expand your influence to a millisecond. And that's something.

A plan is the only way to get to any point in life. If you do not have a plan, you do not have any chance of getting anywhere.

Your attendance doesn’t define your discipline. Your attention does.

Respect >> Empathy >> Sympathy Sympathy is a form of pity. Empathy is rising above it and thinking at par with someone who is going through. Respect is rising beyond what they are going through, and letting them know that they are doing a beautiful job. No one is useless. Everyone knows something you don’t.

Time goes away and leaves us with only one of these two things: regret or results. A year from now you will wish you had unfollowed emotionally draining people. A year from now you will wish you had said ‘no’ more often. A year from now you will wish you had said ‘yes’ to yourself more often. A year from now, you will never be sure of the results.

You are what you do. Not what you say you’ll do. We know ourselves through our thoughts. But we know others through their actions. That is true for others as well. They can’t read our thoughts. All they see is what we do.

To know what you don’t know is power. To ask and learn what you don’t know is a superpower.

what

Some of the smartest people in the world are competing for your sleep time. You know what that means? Your sleep is VERY IMPORTANT! to you AND to them. Don’t let them win!

Others’ success will generate massive self-doubt every morning when you get up. Get up anyway.

The truth is, your current rules of success and failure have been written by the world. Go ahead and rewrite them. For yourselves.

Listening to someone without judgement or prescription is the most precious gift you can give someone.

The underconfident, people-pleasing, overweight, stuck on one path, bad with money, judgmental kid.

They can’t read our thoughts. All they see is what we do.

Living as a template because it’s comfortable isn’t experience. It is choosing to not have experience.

Perfection is personal. It is what makes others wonder. But for you it is the only way you know!

How we treat others is a reflection of how we treat ourselves. It is rare almost impossible, for a mean, conniving, hurtful, racist, bigoted person to truly love themselves.

You don't control your results. You always control your inputs.

Better to be lost for something worthwhile. Instead of getting lost in everything worthless.