Q&A with Ivan Carl, The Equation

At the heart of the novel is a fascinating premise: what if human contentment could actually be expressed as a formula? What made you want to explore happiness and fulfillment through mathematics?

I've always liked solving big, complicated problems and trying to find the simplest answer. I don't think there is anything more complicated than the human experience and the pursuit of happiness. My engineering brain has been working on this for decades. When I finally settled on the math equation that is in the book, I got really excited and wanted to share it with everyone I could.

Nathan Brooks has optimized nearly every part of his life - his career, his routine, his productivity - yet he still feels that something is missing. Why was Nathan the right person to discover this particular secret?

There are a couple of reasons why Nathan was right for this. I wanted the main character to be relatable and also struggling in life. Nathan is a man who could measure everything except the thing that mattered. He'd optimized his whole life and still felt empty, so he's the perfect person to receive a discovery about contentment — because he's living proof of the problem it solves.

Nathan is a mathematician, but the mystery he uncovers ultimately becomes much bigger than mathematics. Did you see the book as a story about numbers, or was mathematics really a doorway into a much larger philosophical question?

Math was always the doorway to the bigger philosophical question. The math formula is the hook — but the real question is philosophical: what actually makes a life worth living? I landed on a math equation that can be used as a diagnostic to consider your own life. By design, the equation does not give you the answer; it simply gives you a framework to think about your life. I really want people to be entertained by The Equation, but my biggest hope is that people find cause to be self-reflective at the end of the book.

Nathan begins the story by finding his mentor murdered in a locked office, with “THE EQUATION” written in blood. What did you want readers to feel in that moment?

That the stakes are big from the first pages. That this idea is dangerous enough to kill for. I want the reader to be horrified and also curious about why someone was murdered and what made his idea so dangerous.

Nathan's mentor leaves behind very little, except a brass key and a mystery. Why was it important to make Nathan work from fragments rather than simply hand him the answers?

I have always liked thrillers that had a trail of breadcrumbs, a path of discovery. If Nathan's mentor just explained it, the reader stays passive. Making him assemble it from fragments brings the reader alongside him to solve the puzzle — and hopefully discover something meaningful.

The Continuum has spent two centuries suppressing research into human contentment. What makes an organization like that more frightening than a conventional villain?

I love the great good-versus-evil stories. A conventional villain is too singular and small for this story. The Continuum feels like something much bigger and more powerful to battle against. They are frightening because of the magnitude of their hidden global connections, and because they might believe they're right. The fact that they are so secretly woven into the powerful forces that control the world makes them the perfect big scale villain for this story.

The novel suggests that seventeen societies have already been silenced for getting too close to the truth. Did you create The Continuum primarily as a fictional conspiracy, or were you interested in exploring how real institutions can protect systems that benefit them?

The conspiracy is invented. There is no smoke-filled room of people controlling all of society. But I wanted readers to reflect on the bigger life pressures that seem beyond the individual. Naming those big pressures as The Continuum gives the story a powerful antagonist, and hopefully gives readers a way to categorize the big external pressures they think about in life.

Nathan's investigation takes him through monasteries, tide archives, and communities that have apparently been living according to principles the modern world has forgotten. How did you decide where to take readers physically and historically?

I wanted places that embody the book's argument, and I wanted to take the reader on a journey around the world. Monasteries, forgotten communities, places that measured life differently. The settings aren't just backdrops; each one is evidence that the alternative Nathan is chasing is real and has always been here. I also really wanted the book to feel global. The story is universal, so I tried to take the reader to places all over the world as part of the discovery path.

Was there a particular piece of research that made you stop and think, “This belongs in the book”?

It wasn't so much a piece of research, but rather destinations that I felt belonged in the book. I spent a lot of time in Colorado, so it felt right to base Arcadia in those mountains. I live near the ocean and have always been awed by the power of the tides, so I wanted to share that with readers. I have been fortunate to travel quite a bit around the world for work, and that inspired me to weave so many global destinations into the book.

How did you balance the intellectual and philosophical material with the pace and suspense readers expect from a conspiracy thriller?

Great question! The rule I kept was: the philosophical idea can never stop the chase and momentum of the thriller. Every philosophical beat had to be earned by tension in the chase — a revelation while running, not a lecture in a quiet room. If a passage got too heady, I asked whether a reader on a plane would keep turning pages. The thriller is the delivery system. The idea is the payload.

The book has been described as being in the tradition of The Da Vinci Code and The Alchemist. What do you think readers of those books will recognize in The Equation, and where does your novel take the idea somewhere different?

I hope the thriller engine of the book feels like a The Da Vinci Code kind of story: a centuries-old secret, a trail, an organization protecting it. From The Alchemist, I see the soul of the book: a journey toward what makes a content and meaningful life. 

I think I diverge in two ways. First, I'm trying to combine these two very different styles of books, which honestly was not easy!. Second, the equation doesn't try to answer the life question for the reader; instead it gives the reader a diagnostic tool from which to examine their own life. What they see is up to them.

Did you set out to write a conspiracy thriller with philosophical questions, or did the philosophical questions come first and the thriller grow around them?

The philosophy came first, by decades. I'd been carrying the question — what makes a life content — long before I had a thriller storyline. This philosophical question has been on my mind since we lived in Peru twenty-five years ago. The thriller grew around it when the final formula landed in my mind. I have always loved ambitious large scale stories, and felt like a thriller was the best way to deliver my message to the world.

How much of The Equation did you have mapped out before you began writing? Did you know the answer to the mystery from the beginning?

I have always worked outward from the core structure of a project first, and then added the detail in the next phases. I had the core story pretty well mapped before I started writing. That said, once I got deeper into the character development and world-building, the story took some really fun turns.

Was there a scene or revelation that changed the direction of the book while you were writing it?

Elias, the Continuum's operative. I sat down to write him as the opposing force Nathan runs into, the face of the dark side in the book. But as I worked through his story, I realized he needed to believe that what he was doing was the right thing for the world. I think it makes for a more powerful story, especially in the back half, when he begins to contemplate his own life without abandoning The Continuum.

What was the most challenging part of writing The Equation: creating the mystery, developing Nathan, constructing The Continuum, or making the underlying ideas believable?

Making the ideas believable, without question. A conspiracy is fun to construct; a character grows as you write. But convincing a reader that a formula for contentment could be real enough to kill for — that it isn't just self-help dressed up — that was the tightrope. I needed both the philosophical idea and the chase of the thriller to feel true for the book to work.

Without giving us a spoiler, what moment in The Equation are you most excited for readers to reach?

Paris. This is the crux of the story, where everything in the world begins a subtle shift. It's a no-going-back kind of moment.

Your novel asks what may be the ultimate question: what if someone solved the secret to a meaningful life and powerful people were willing to kill to keep it buried? After writing this story, do you think knowing the secret to a meaningful life would actually make people happier?

Yes! But I don't think the answer lies in anything someone else defines. You have to do it yourself. I believe the hard work — asking yourself the honest questions about what makes your life meaningful — is what we should all be doing. The asking is where the work is. I hope this book gives people a way to think about how to ask those questions.

Finally, when readers close The Equation, what do you hope they start questioning about their own lives?

I hope they close the book and quietly run their own equation: what's actually working, what's just noise, what they might already have, what they are grateful for. Not the life path they've been told is correct, but rather their own perspective on their life. If a reader takes a long walk a week later, still thinking about the equation, then the book has done its job.

Learn more about The Equation, available on Amazon and Bookshop.org.

Q&A with Jen Ruiz, All You Need is Flights

Your previous memoir chronicled a transformative year of travel. How did writing this book differ emotionally and creatively from your earlier work?

My first book, 12 Trips in 12 Months, was about facing a big milestone birthday and jumping into a career switch. This book picks up 5 years later, grappling with a lot of the same questions of self-worth and discovery through travel, but with the added gravity of health concerns and feeling like I’d been wasting crucial time. 

The book begins after a deeply personal breakup. At what point did you realize this painful chapter could become a story of healing instead of heartbreak?

I knew almost right away that I was living my next story. Besides it being so ludicrous (at one point I was dancing in a drum circle next to a guy in a banana suit with a dog balancing on his shoulders), I was going to some pretty epic places and indulging my inner child. This are universal balms that can soothe whatever ails us at the moment, and I wanted to share that experience with others looking for their next move.

Solo travel often looks glamorous on social media, but your memoir also explores vulnerability. Why was it important for you to show both the joyful and challenging sides of traveling alone?

I love solo travel, it’s fantastic! You go where you want, when you want, and see what you want. But just because something is good overall doesn’t mean it’s all good, all the time. The tendency to gloss over hardships makes people feel more isolated than seen. It makes us want to put forth a perfect image on social media, and that’s not relatable. People resonate with honest content because they want to know it’s OK to be human. 

You've visited some incredible destinations throughout the book. Which place surprised you the most, and why did it leave such a lasting impression?

I loved my trip to Rapa Nui, aka Easter Island. It’s one of the most remote places I’ve ever visited and I enjoyed learning about the Moai, giant statues I’d only seen in magazines before. I felt relaxed during my time there, and my faith in people was renewed when they let me leave without paying for the hotel when the WiFi went down, trusting I’d send the money via Western Union when I got home. I appreciated the reminder that not everyone is moving a million miles a minute or on a screen for hours a day, and that life can feel better that way. 

One of the fascinating moments in the book involves making a wish on an Egyptian statue. Looking back now, do you believe that moment truly shifted your mindset, or was it the beginning of something you were already ready to embrace?

As a child of the 90’s, I’m a strict rule follower when it comes to wishes. You can’t wish for more wishes. You have to focus on your one wish. You can’t wish for someone to love you. When it came to the wish I was going to make, I felt I had no choice. As much as I didn’t like the breakup, I couldn’t magically wish my way out of it. My ex had to want me of his own volition, without the intervention of a centuries-old scarab statue. And if that never came to pass, well then at least the scarab could help me minimize the damage from that day. 

You've built a career inspiring others to travel. Has writing this memoir changed the advice you now give aspiring solo travelers?

I still say book the flight and figure out the rest later, maybe even more so now given the title of the book, All You Need is Flights! Sometimes the best thing you can do is give yourself space, perspective, and a break from overanalyzing. Travel helps you just be, and I don’t think we do that enough, especially women. 

If you could revisit one moment from this journey with the wisdom you have today, would you change anything—or was every detour necessary?

I would have released any hope of reconciling with my ex sooner. I knew it was over instinctively, but grief is weird and sometimes you have to go through the stages in a haphazard order until you come out of the other side and go, “what was I thinking?” 

What's one place you're still dreaming of visiting?

So many! I’d love to go to Vietnam and have a custom wardrobe made. I want to walk on clouds at the Uyuni Salt Flats in Bolivia during the rainy season, the world’s largest mirror. I want to do a cruise to Alaska and to see the Fjords of Norway. I don’t think I’ll ever be tired of seeing the world! Traveling there is another story…

For readers who want to travel alone but are hesitant, what's the biggest misconception about solo travel that you'd like to dispel?

A lot of people think solo travel is dangerous but the truth is, especially as women, we have heightened awareness, precautions we take, and street smarts that we exercise every day. If you can navigate through life solo generally, you’re already well equipped to take a solo trip. When you’re nervous before a big trip, a little research and connecting with a local female on the ground through Facebook groups or dedicated travel communities can go a long way towards putting you at ease.

After closing the final chapter of All You Need Is Flights, what do you hope readers remember long after they've unpacked the book?

I hope readers remember that the book title is a play on All You Need is Love, because while you can’t control what others feel towards you, you can always book a flight and choose yourself. 

Get a copy of her latest book, All You Need is Flights on Amazon, Audible or Bookshop.org.

JEN RUIZ, the author of 12 Trips in 12 Months, is a lawyer turned full-time travel writer and entrepreneur. She is a seven-time national award-winning travel journalist, three-time TEDx speaker, and has been featured by The Washington Post, New York Post, Forbes, and the Daily Mail. A travel guidebook writer for Fodor’s Travel and Lonely Planet, Jen is the solo female traveler behind Jen on a Jet Plane and has been to 50+ countries.

Forgiveness by Lena Fein

The journey to wholeness is priceless. It’s rarely instantaneous, and the path is often long and filled with obstacles. I was well into my adult years when I discovered that the key to unlock the door to wholeness is forgiveness.

I was raised in a madhouse, with my mother obsessively cleaning – polishing her porcelain dolls with vigor, vacuuming our house up and down the hallways, underneath the beds and furniture at least once a day and sometimes twice, dusting relentlessly taking care not to miss a speck. Our mother did all this cleaning while leaving her four young daughters alone to play. It’s no surprise that my sisters and I had frequent accidents. I still remember my visceral terror at age two-and-a-half when I was hurled toward a window by my four-year-old sister because I didn’t give her my wooden block. My nose was severed by the shattered glass and reattached in the emergency room. 

What hurt me more than the pain of a severed nose was my mother’s cruel words. In first grade, I felt despair when she told me dance lessons would be wasted on me because I was such a klutz. And that my singing was awful and out of tune. Worst of all, when I was in second grade, my mother discovered my diary hidden under my bed. In front of my father and three sisters she read my first entry out loud. She shamed me for my tender words about my crush on a boy in my class. I ran to my room, tears flooding my pillow as I cried in pain and shame. I didn’t realize it then, but that is when I created an armor around my heart, locking away my diary, my words, my true feelings.

I swallowed the key. 

I puffed myself up by being smart in school. Getting straight A’s. Not just achieving but over-achieving. Completing a master’s degree in engineering at a top college. Having a successful career. Two marriages. Two children. Checking items off my task list. Done. Done. Done. A+. More money in the bank.

Then, the day that changed everything. 

I had just turned 51 years-old, and my father called me with the news that my mother had been diagnosed with stage-4 lung cancer. She started chemo immediately. 

She didn’t make it through the second week. Mom was weak and intubated in the hospital. As I stood at her dying bedside, I lightly touched her hand. My mother opened her eyes and stared right at me, a smile on her cracked lips. Instead of their normal dark brown, her eyes glowed with light. Instead of running, I allowed myself to stare into her eyes. I felt my heart soften; years of hard shell started to crack and melt away.

Forgiveness gently seeped into my tender, yearning heart. 

My mother died the next day with my father and me and my sisters at her side.

Slowly, feelings that I had long buried started creeping in. I noticed blooming flowers as if for the first time. I caught myself enraptured by the grace of moving clouds. The brilliance of sunsets. Crying at movies. Smiling at strangers. Having deep conversations with close friends. Taking deeper breaths

It wasn’t all at once, but the armor around my heart was melting away.

Forgiveness. It was the key to my heart. I hadn’t realized I had swallowed that key as a young child. I had run ahead of my heart, not trusting love. Not trusting myself. Chasing success to compensate.

Suddenly, my thirty-plus years as an engineer at a successful technology company didn’t fill the deepest yearnings of my heart. I left my job and steady paycheck.

I started hosting events in my home that embraced the arts – writing, painting, dancing, singing.  I formed a non-profit that supported education and health projects for at-risk communities around the world.  

I practiced leading with my heart, instead of my head. Slowly I learned to connect authentically with others. With myself.  Staying In the moment with full presence. Learning to be a blessing in each moment, instead of a curse.

It was a relief to let go of all those math equations running in my head. Instead, with a courage I didn’t know I had, I put my story on the page, reclaiming my buried diary of so many years ago. 

I am so grateful I found the key to my heart. It’s never too late.

Forgiveness. Wholeness.

I am here.

About the Author

Lena Fein is an author, retired engineer, and philanthropist based in San Francisco. A graduate of Engineering at UC Berkeley, Lena spent decades as Vice President of Sales and Marketing at a successful high tech company. When Lena was fifty-one, her mother died which propelled Lena on a path of healing from childhood abuse and trauma. Her debut memoir, Shattering the Mirror, explores her transformative journey to wholeness. Lena believes it is never too late to reclaim your freedom and truth. Now in her late sixties, Lena can often be found taking long walks by the San Francisco Bay and hugging her grandchildren.

Conservation and Character-Building through Picture Books and Pangolins by Wayne D. Kramer, Penny Pangolin Series

Active by night, a tongue like a whip, claws like a mini-excavator, a diet of bugs and rocks, and a body armored in scales strong enough to repel jaguar teeth. You might think this describes the next great X-Men villain rather than one of the world’s most endangered animals, but really these are the qualities of the gentle pangolin, one of the coolest and perhaps least understood creatures on Planet Earth.

As an author originally focused entirely on my Heroes of Time fantasy series, I didn’t set out to become passionate about endangered pangolins. My daughters had been watching nature shows and reading books about them. I thought they were pretty neat—I actually created a warrior pangolin character for a future fantasy book—but that was the extent of it.

Then my kids demanded I write children’s books. I was already working with a fantastic Australian illustrator, so I was open to the idea, but only if the character was unique and the premise interesting, with actual purpose and conviction. Discussing it with my family, the pangolin immediately came to mind, and the name Penny Pangolin came out of my mouth as though guided by fate.

Stories with a Purpose

As the first books went into development, it occurred to me just how much significance existed behind this series and the subjects it would tackle. Pangolins, it turns out, are the most heavily trafficked animals on the planet—all eight species across Asia and Africa. They seriously need our help! Every time I sell books live, I meet people who have never even heard of pangolins. Thus, I’m very proud of the opportunities for conservation and education that have been created through these books. In support of this, we have even partnered with SavePangolins.org and the Wildlife Conservation Network to help further raise awareness. You should definitely check it out!

Of course, conservation is great, but as this is a children’s series, it was also important to me that each book be fun, uplifting, educational, and encouraging, with positive character-building virtues relevant to kids today. With this in mind, I wrote each book around a central theme, things like forgiveness when a friend wrongs you, taking care of and adopting a pet, food sensitivities, bullying, awareness of screen-time usage, and sportsmanship. And all of these are presented through entertaining stories, with nothing preachy. In children’s books, there’s great importance in both the central themes themselves and the way in which they’re presented. It’s my goal to do it through the storytelling, in way that’s both relatable and entertaining.

Audiobooks by the Voice of a Dog

Audiobooks might not be the first thing you think about in connection with children’s books. It certainly wasn’t for me. Yet, after writing the Penny Pangolin books, I started to wonder if there were any different and interesting ways I could help people experience the stories. I wasn’t new to audiobooks—I’d already gotten into producing them for my fantasy series—but I didn’t realize this was really a thing in the kids’ market. As it turns out, audiobooks for children are a growing trend.

But I also felt that, if I was going to get into audiobooks for this series, it needed to be with someone impactful, someone who could really make it an experience, someone people would relate to. Enter: David McCormack.

David is the voice of none other than Bandit Heeler, Bluey’s dad in the hit cartoon series Bluey. It so happened that I had met David at a comic con event in Lexington, Kentucky several months back. During that event, I got a picture with him and even gave him a set of the books. So, when I considered the idea of audiobooks, I looked up at my picture with David and thought, “I wonder if he’d do it.” I managed to make contact, work out a deal, and the rest is history. Now David is not only the voice of Bandit but the narrator of the Penny Pangolin series, and hearing how he really brings the books to life is so much fun, plus in that voice that’s impossible not to love!

Most important to me, though, is that the audiobooks are not a replacement for the books. Rather, they go hand-in-hand with the text and illustrations, creating a different way to experience the stories. For this reason, the audiobooks are included as a download in the back of the hardcover books. I believe that parents should read to their kids at every opportunity. However, sometimes a little assist is nice, and playing that audiobook as a companion to the physical book is certainly a lot better than more screen-time. This is also why I’m so thrilled that Playaway has created the Penny Pangolin Wonderbooks, bringing the audiobooks together with the physical hardbacks, and available through libraries.

Conclusion

I find it so satisfying when multiple elements of purpose and experience come together and contribute to the appeal of something like a book series. Through conservation, education, character-building virtues, beautiful hand-made illustrations, human-written and edited text, and an impactful voice behind the narration, the Penny Pangolin series is an achievement I’m especially proud of.

Please check it out at Shop.PennyPangolin.com, or Amazon and have a pango-perfect day! 

From Grimm to Golden Books: Writing Myself Out of the Fairy Tale

When I started writing my memoir I had no idea how important fairy tales and children’s books would be to my telling of my story. 

I relate to the classic children’s chapter books Pollyanna and The Little Colonel, but the stories that stimulated my childhood imagination were fairy tales. In Scrap, I describe the red fairy tale book that my father rescued from a school dumpster and gave to me. The book was an anthology with stories by the Grimm Brothers, Charles Perrault, and Hans Christian Andersen. 

From the pens of the German Brothers Grimm were the inspirational “The Elves and the Shoemaker” and the horrifying “The Juniper Tree.” The hope chest stored in my bedroom when I was very young reminded me of the decapitating chest (yes, in a fairy tale) in the latter story. Also from the horror genre of fairy tales was the French Perrault tale, “Bluebeard,” a story replicated in my own life by my father’s admonitions about staying away from the bomb shelter in our basement. 

In an episode in Scrap, I felt humiliated in front of my friends by something my father did and became hysterical. I heard my mother’s refrain in my head, labelling me as (Andersen’s) “The Princess and the Pea” as she often did when she felt I was taking something to heart. I resented that name because it trivialized my emotions.

The fairy tale that most informs Scrap and the relationship I had with my father was Little Red Riding Hood. The version that I knew was outside the red book and, instead, was in the form of the Little Golden Book version. This tale is not as brutal as the Grimm and Perrault versions are. In Grimm’s version, “Little Red Cap,” the huntsman rescues the girl and her grandmother, then kills the wolf by filling him with heavy stones. In the Perrault story, the wolf eats the girl. The Golden Book version has a happy ending for Red and her grandmother, although I will admit not so for the wolf who is killed by the huntsman.

In the version of Little Red that I concocted in my head, the wolf hid inside of my father and only showed himself when my father became red-faced and angry. That’s when his big wolf teeth would pop out: “the wolf teeth inside him are shifty and unpredictable” (p. 12). When that happened, Little Red needed to look out! That I was Little Red was obvious to me as I felt small and innocent and helpless. In fact, this comparison with the story is so ingrained in me that I wrote a chapbook of poetry called Our Wolves exploring the fairy tale. Many of the poems are based on my own story. 

In writing Scrap: Salvaging a Family I’ve been able to exorcise the wolf from my psyche. And by putting the wolf away, I’ve been able to walk away from my role as Little Red.

Growing Up in a Culture That Doesn’t Let You Fail by Tyson Roberts

I used to think failure was the worst thing that could happen to me.

I built my identity around being disciplined, capable and impressive. In the Navy, performance mattered. Competence mattered. Strength mattered. For a long time, I tied my worth to how well I performed.

Then it collapsed.

One mistake put my integrity and future on the line. Not privately. Publicly. I was discharged. The uniform was gone. The structure was gone. The version of myself I had carefully constructed disappeared overnight.

I remember the tightness in my chest. Replaying conversations. Imagining doors closing.

That was the moment I realised something most people won’t say out loud:

‘If I fail publicly, this will define me.’
‘If I get this wrong, I lose credibility.’
‘If they see this side of me, I shrink.’

And if I’m honest, part of me wasn’t just ashamed. I hated how it made me look.

That was the real battle. Not the mistake. The ego.

What I felt wasn’t just regret. It was exposure.

The Real Pressure

We’re told mistakes build character. But we’re trained in systems that quietly say: get it wrong where people can see it, and it will cost you.

One visible misstep, one bad decision, and it follows you indefinitely. It’s no longer just an event. It becomes an identity.

Today, young adults are growing up in a world where mistakes aren’t private. There’s a screenshot. It’s searchable. It feels permanent.

School trains you to get it right.
Work trains you to look competent.
Culture trains you to look flawless.

We learn early: don’t look foolish.

And somewhere along the way, performance stops being something we do. It becomes who we are.

So instead of building something real, we start managing perception. We talk about what we’re going to do. We curate the image. We protect potential.

Potential feels safe. Action gets judged.

That’s where ego quietly takes control.

Not loud arrogance.
Not swagger.
Just the constant need to protect how we’re seen.

When Identity Is Performance

Here’s the truth I had to confront.

Failure didn’t scare me because of the consequences. It scared me because my identity was built on being impressive.

If your worth depends on performance, every mistake feels existential.
If your identity is secure, failure becomes refining.

Most people aren’t stuck because they failed.

They’re stuck because their ego refuses to look small.

So they over-announce.
Over-explain.
Under-build.

Announcing feels productive. It brings applause without accountability. Once your ego feels rewarded, discipline fades.

I had to learn to do the opposite.

What Actually Helped

If you’re trying to build something — a career, a reputation, a life — here’s what I learned the hard way:

• Work in silence longer.
• Stop announcing projects before they’re built.
• Let results introduce you.
• Own mistakes quickly, before defending them.
• Ask yourself: Would I still pursue this if no one applauded it?

That question changes everything.

Because if the answer is no, ego may be driving.

And ego is fragile.

A Different Foundation

For me, the shift wasn’t just psychological. It was deeper than that.

If my worth rises and falls with performance, I’ll spend my life defending myself.

But if my worth is anchored deeper than applause — not earned, not curated — failure loses its power to define me.

That doesn’t erase consequences. It removes condemnation.

And when you’re no longer trying to protect your image at all costs, you’re finally free to grow.

What I Wish Someone Told Me Earlier

You are not your worst moment.
You are not the mistake that’s keeping you up at night.
You are not the thing people might have seen.

Failure doesn’t have to define you.
But ego will try to.

You can protect your image. Or you can build your future.

One keeps you safe.
The other makes you resilient.

I explore these ideas more deeply in my book, Mistakes Are Like Fertiliser, where I argue that knowledge doesn’t prevent repeated failure. Reflection does.

Failure didn’t shrink my future. Ego almost did.

Choose growth. Build anyway.

Your story isn’t finished yet.

***

Tyson Roberts is the author of Mistakes Are Like Fertiliser. Available on Amazon and Bookshop.org.