"We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink, sex, and ambition, when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased." - C.S. Lewis

For a long time, my life revolved around me.

My unofficial motto could have been summarized simply: be a boss and shine brighter than everyone else. That posture shaped the narrative of nearly every decision I made and every relationship I entered. Achievement became identity. Visibility became validation.

By twenty-five, I was earning more than $150,000 a year. I wore the best clothes. Nights regularly ended with $500 tabs at bars. By twenty-seven, I had custom-built a two-level loft in downtown Detroit, inspired more by aspiration and image than by need. I wanted to be seen as impressive, powerful, and untouchable.

On the surface, it looked like success. Underneath, it was armor.

Much of my ambition was driven by a quiet urgency to prove my worth and secure my place. I measured myself against others constantly and felt compelled to outshine them. Winning mattered more than belonging. Control mattered more than connection.

As a result, most of my relationships remained shallow. I kept people at a distance, not because I lacked desire for intimacy, but because closeness carried risk. If no one got too close, no one could hurt me.

I was busy, accomplished, and admired.

I was also far too easily pleased.