The dream evolved
Spoiler: I did not get a lucrative book deal from a Big Five publisher.
But there was a bigger, better dream that came true for me.
Growing up in America, I was conditioned with stories about George Washington’s cherry tree, the Boy who cried wolf, and the Emperor’s new clothes. I would always marvel at the importance of Truth—and at the sheer courage it takes to practice constant integrity, when sometimes it’s so much easier just to fib. I hoped with all the earnestness in my small toddler body that, if placed in scenarios like those of the folk tales, I’d also confess to my father that I cut down the tree; I’d only shout about wolves if one were actually present; I’d also declare to the crowd that the emperor was, indeed, naked.
Of course, the strength of one’s integrity is only known when it’s tested.
And for many years, my integrity was not strong. I lied to my parents first as a child—pretending to have practiced violin when they were out of the house—and then as a teen, sneaking out the window at night to drive around with not-so-nice friends. I’m appalled at this now, but I was actually trained to lie as a film student—encouraged by well-meaning teachers to bullshit my way through interviews and win the job at any cost. Even into my 20s, I would exercise the “white lie” (the equivalent of, “um… it could have been anyone who cut down this cherry tree”) to serve my own convenience.
My integrity had the strength of a Jenga tower.
But something shifted when I decided I’d rather be universally rejected than compromise my ideals.
My integrity became… ironclad.
I made that decision, and I drew a hard line on my values. I chose the tenderness of my own heart over the perceived potential for money and fame–for the book deal I craved for so many years. And from that day forward, in any choice between my integrity vs. any worldly gain (no matter how vast or tantalizing), my ideals would win. Every time.
That choice became easy (even if the conversations around that choice, whether with friends or with colleagues, were sometimes not).
This, my friends, was a much sweeter dream come true.
And I didn’t know it at the time, but when I fully let go of the book deal dream, I would soon find another gift waiting for me.
“An ethical person, who has fulfilled ethical conduct, need not make a wish: ‘May I have no regrets!’
It’s only natural that an ethical person has no regrets.”
—Gotama Buddha, Anguttara Nikaya 11.2