In April of 2009, my book Be Yourself, Everyone Else Is Already Taken came out. The book was released on a Monday, and we had a big launch event at a local hotel. The following few days consisted of the online launch campaign, some media appearances, and a few other events—exciting stuff. Toward the end of the week, I was finally able to get to the local Barnes and Noble near where we were living. I hadn’t been in an actual bookstore since the book had come out.
I wanted to check out this particular store because my publisher told me that not only were they carrying the book, but they would be featuring it up front the first month it was out. I was excited about that. When I walked into the store, at first I didn’t see my book, which concerned me. But before I went over to ask someone where it was, I saw it out of the corner of my eye. In the middle of the store, they had a big circular display for the new releases, and there was a small stack of my books there, on the back side of this display.
I walked over, picked up a copy, and stood there, admiring my own book. Although I had boxes of them in my office, seeing it in the store for the first time filled me with a sense of pride and enthusiasm. Then I had this thought: Should I buy one? I know this might sound a bit narcissistic and self-absorbed, and it is. But what I’d learned when my first book came out is that books are essentially on consignment in the stores. This means that if nobody buys them, they get sent back to the publisher. A few of my fellow author friends and mentors had told me that it was totally okay, especially in the first few weeks after it comes out, to pick up a few copies of your own book when you’re in a store, to “help the cause,” so to speak. I had done this a few times when my first book came out, but for some reason I felt more self-conscious about it this time around.
As I stood there in the middle of the Barnes and Noble, I debated for a while in my head and finally decided, The heck with it. I’m going to do it again, but just one copy. I took the book and got in line. As I was standing there, I told myself that when I got up to the front, I would let the person behind the counter know that it was my book and it had just come out that week. The closer I got, the more nervous I began to feel. When it was my turn to pay, I put the book down on the counter and the woman at the cash register immediately said, “We’ve been selling a lot of these.”
“Really?” I asked excitedly.
Then she asked me a question that kind of threw me off: “Did you see this guy on TV or something?”
Although her question made sense since I had done a few local TV interviews that week, it totally caught me off guard, and here’s what I said in response: “Ah, no, ah, he’s a local author. I just want to support him.” As it was coming out of my mouth, I was thinking, What is that?
I don’t know if this has ever happened to you, but I was mortified by what I’d just said. The woman behind the counter had no idea it was my book, although she probably thought something was up, given my awkward response and the strange look that I’m sure I had on my face. I couldn’t even figure out how to recover or say anything else. All I could do was reach into my wallet and pull out my credit card, with my name on it, to pay for the book. With my head down, I signed the receipt as fast as possible, grabbed the bag containing my new book, and literally ran out of the store. Standing there on the street corner, I thought, I wrote a book on authenticity, and I just lied to that woman.
The irony of this experience was not lost on me, and I found myself laughing about it once the shock and embarrassment of the moment passed. I told Michelle about it right after it happened and ended up telling the whole story to a group of people I spoke to about the book a few days later. It really seemed to resonate with them and also made them laugh. Being able to talk about it, laugh about it, and share it with others is actually one of the ways I was able to be gentle with myself. I could have been overly harsh and critical of myself for what I had done and said at the Barnes and Noble, but I chose not to be. This has now become one of the key stories I tell when talking about the challenges of being authentic and the funny, paradoxical (or even hypocritical) nature of being human.
Essential to our ability to grow, evolve, and change is our capacity to notice what we do and to make conscious adjustments. However, the best way for us to do this is to have compassion for ourselves. All too often we either stay in denial about certain things that are detrimental to us, or when we do notice them we end up judging ourselves so harshly that we hurt ourselves even more in the process—thus making authentic change difficult, painful, and elusive.
My friend Karen Drucker, an amazing singer, songwriter, author, and speaker, has a beautiful song called “Gentle with Myself,” which is one of my absolute favorites; it inspired the title of this chapter. This song, which is all about self-compassion, has a few poignant lyrics that I love. It starts with, “I will be gentle with myself, and I will hold myself like a newborn baby child.” Imagine if we held ourselves in that way—with the kind of love we offer to a newborn. Whether pertaining to something we’re trying to accomplish, an important relationship, our physical body, a challenge we’re facing, or anything else—we often tend to be hypercritical of ourselves, which never helps.
Later in the song, there is a lyric that I sing to myself all the time, especially when I’m feeling scared, resistant, or worried about making a change, taking a risk, or going for something I want—“I will only go as fast as the slowest part of me feels safe to go.” This is such an important message, although often counterintuitive for those of us who pride ourselves on pushing past our limits and being bold. While taking bold actions and going for it in life are things I do believe are important and valuable, sometimes the best thing we can do is slow down, have patience, and give ourselves permission to feel scared. When we do this in an authentic and loving way, the fear almost always subsides, and then we can motivate ourselves, take action, or make any change we want—from a place of truth and self-compassion. When we’re gentle with ourselves, we remember that treating ourselves with kindness, acceptance, and love is essential to our growth and our well-being.