“How did you get to be who you are?”

‘That’s quite the loaded question,’ I thought as I sat across from my parents, who smiled giddily after watching me interact with the woman taking our food order. I smiled bashfully and shooed away the question with the back of my right hand.

“No, seriously!” My mom insisted. “Tell us how you are who you are. Your dad and I know we instilled good values in you, but it’s not like you’re a carbon copy of either of us. What else made you become you?”

I gazed at the jolly woman who had just taken our food order. I stared intently at my two wonderful creators on the other side of the table. I leaned left attempting to listen to an older couple. I looked to my right and saw a woman gesticulating while talking on the phone. …

I was saddened by a list of names my publisher sent over. We were working on endorsements for my personal development parable, and he told me he’d put some suggestions together. When I received his email, I clicked each name and became increasingly more perturbed with each one.

Photo of old white guy. Click.
Old white guy. Click.
Old white guy. Old white guy. Old white guy.

Being a young white guy, I am fully aware that I make no personal contribution to the diversity and inclusion problem that is the personal development world. …

The door thrust open and in walked a puffy black jacket with a human face somewhere underneath. She removed her scarf. Then her earmuffs. Then her hat. She unzipped her jacket, only to reveal another huge jacket underneath. She threw that off as well, and finally, I could see her clearly. As cold as she was, she gave me one of the warmest embraces I’d had in a while. This was the first time I saw Lacey in three years.

Lacey and I went to school together from age five to eighteen. We played on sports teams. We went to dances. We copied each other’s homework. We even stayed friends during college, coming home and immediately going to the other’s house the day we arrived back. But after college, Lacey lived with her parents. I moved to the city. She was never great with her phone, and we lost touch. …

A billionaire once told me the only reason for his success was his willingness to think differently than everybody else. “That’s the entrepreneurial gift,” he proudly revealed. “Thinking differently, acting differently, and living differently makes you memorable. And to have success in anything, people must remember you.”

Successful innovators treat every opportunity as one in which they can stand out. The holidays are one of these occasions. While most people will write thank you cards, send messages and give presents, innovators will act slightly different. …

I’ve read over 160 personal development books in the last three years. I’ve sifted through over 32,000 pages. I’ve spent more than 280,000 minutes reading articles, watching videos, and listening to podcasts. The lessons I’ve picked up have shaped me in profound ways I otherwise would never have discovered.

But in 2020, self-help didn’t help. I couldn’t wish away the pandemic through manifestation. I couldn’t work hard to save people’s lives using grit. I couldn’t change the actions of millions of Americans by deploying a growth mindset.

In a year that felt so helpless, self-help also didn’t help.

But what did help me this year was escaping. What did help was a sense of hope and faith and belief that there will be an end. There will be better times ahead. Reading inspirational stories reminded me of this. The following stories allowed me to lose myself in thought and travel to worlds filled with peace and prosperity. …

Escapism helped me cope with a year plagued by its bitter reality. I escaped the fear of being stuck inside by exercising outdoors. I escaped the fear of negative thoughts by minimizing my news intake. I escaped the fear of the world’s certain uncertainty by diving into the undemanding world of inspirational fiction.

Inspirational fiction allowed me to live in a world where hope and prosperity run rampant. They introduced me to characters with which I could empathize, characters with which I could grow for the entirety of the 200-or-so pages. …

Byron arrived at our apartment and practically fell into my arms as I turned the doorknob. He stomped past me like a teenage debater just defeated in the regional semifinals and plopped onto the couch. He grabbed a pillow and bear-hugged it on his lap. Then he threw the pillow onto the floor and stood up fervently. He proceeded to go on a fifteen-minute tirade about the unfair escapades that were his dating life.

My three roommates and I listened to Byron and concocted our thoughts. We’re very different, the four of us. In fact, we each offered unique responses to his situation. But although we had our own opinions about his dating life, the combination of our thoughts actually helped him. …

The early bird catches the worm. For the longest time, I thought I knew what that meant. Each morning I woke up early to seize the day. I was the bird. The worm was caught. No matter what time I went to bed, I made sure I awoke at 5am sharp. This way, not only did I catch the worm, but also, I caught it before everyone else was even three quarters done with a full night’s sleep.

While my wakeup time was constant, my sleep cycle was not. Some nights, I’d stay up until midnight watching movies. Others, it was lights out at 10. Quite often, I’d pass out while working and not even realize what time I’d actually fallen asleep. …