Chapter 270 - What Is True About You Today That Would Make Your 8-Year-Old Self Cry?[3]

When I was a child, I used to write stories. I used to sit in my room for hours by myself, writing away, about aliens, about superheroes, about great warriors, about my friends and family. Not because I wanted anyone to read it. Not because I wanted to impress my parents or teachers. But for the sheer joy of it.

And then, for some reason, I stopped. And I don't remember why.

We all have a tendency to lose touch with what we loved as a child. Something about the social pressures of adolescence and professional pressures of young a.d.u.l.thood squeezes the passion out of us. We're taught that the only reason to do something is if we're somehow rewarded for it. And the transactional nature of the world inevitably stifles us and makes us feel lost or stuck.

It wasn't until I was in my mid-20s that I rediscovered how much I loved writing. And it wasn't until I started my business that I remembered how much I enjoyed building websites — something I did in my early teens, just for fun.

The funny thing though, is that if my 8-year-old self asked my 20-year-old self, "Why don't you write anymore?" and I replied, "Because I'm not good at it," or "Because nobody would read what I write," or "Because you can't make money doing that," not only would I have been completely wrong, but that eight-year-old-boy version of me would have probably started crying. That eight-year-old boy didn't care about Google traffic or social media virality or book advances. He just wanted to play. And that's where passion always begins: with a sense of play.