Money is nothing more than a symbol; its true power does not originate from its inherent worth (a paper bill), its true power comes from the TRUST we place in it, a trust that allows it to be exchanged for goods or services.  

Trust is the most valuable currency, and it can be replicated at all scales of being.  If I trust myself to consistently think critically, to be disciplined, to be persistent, to be audacious, I can trust myself to stay steady within higher levels of ambiguity and chaos.  In dealings between people, these markers of trust can demonstrate the ability to meet deadlines, lack of flakiness, and that one doesn’t need micromanagement.  These markers also invite opportunities that one might not normally be able to access.  So yeah, building trust in yourself through consistent discipline and critical thinking is absolutely worth it.

Forgive the expression, but you could consider it money in the bank.

I believe after a certain amount of responsibility has been avoided, after a certain amount of truth has been deflected, the choice becomes:  hide deeper and deeper in the cramped confines of comfort, or venture into suffering, and possibly break through into a state of unrestrained fulfillment.  The first option is sure and easy.  The second is unsure and fraught with risk.  But that’s why in all those classic stories, the hero must demonstrate [bravery/honesty/ruthlessness/discipline/etc. etc.] but above all that, the willingness to sacrifice his/her attachment to their old identity, and the resolve to be born anew into something formidable.

For a writer, the willingness to write a bad first draft is one of the most devastating weapons against procrastination.

The willingness to be a fool—without ego, and as part of a greater strategy—allows for the possibility of greatness.

From what I understand, the true hero’s journey is not to bang one’s chest and bleat platitudes; the true hero’s journey is to venture into personal darkness, and face that lurking dragon deep in your soul, the one made of convenient lies and unacknowledged truths.  If one can stare that dragon deep in the eye and address it as a part of oneself, then one can claim its gold and use that informational wealth to upgrade the castle of their mind.  This must be done over and over—and done voluntarily—or the castle will become weaker and weaker, and the dragon will become larger and hungrier.  Eventually, that monstrous beast—the one made of unacknowledged truths and convenient lies—will fly from its lair and rip through the weakened castle as if it was nothing more than a child’s plaything.  

It is no coincidence that variations of this scenario appear again and again in our stories and myths.

Editing is a chance to become a scholar of your own work, and refine its messages and themes to a razor-sharp edge, but the entire process—drafting, editing, publishing, interacting—that’s a fully realized dynamic, one that allows you to see the entire breadth and maneuverability of your artistic expression.  

Which allows you to become a scholar of yourself.  

I understand why people don’t want to examine the evidence and be honest about their failings—it hurts.  But if that behavior propagates, it’s one of the surest ways to remain weak.

(Which, ironically, devalues their original intent behind not admitting failure, which is to feel/appear strong).

There are some [profession]s who can do any job in the world, and some [profession]s who can’t do anything but be a [profession].  

Personally, I think the first possibility is cooler.

Success doesn’t guarantee fulfillment, as you can clearly see in multiple anecdotes concerning celebrity and power.  Work hard, aim to produce, hold yourself accountable by being strategic/effectiveness-oriented, and take joy in the struggle.  This is a hard thing to accept, as it doesn’t fit into the transactional, tit-for-tat paradigm most of us have been inundated in.  The best shield against slim chances and likely futility is being detached from the outcome, and enjoying the activity.

I think being able to have fun (or at least laugh) in whatever circumstance you find yourself in—whether it’s one of suffering, mundanity, excitement, ambiguity—is the ultimate super power.  

When you can pull this off, the tricky part is hiding it from others; they get bent out of shape when they don’t think you’re a companion in misery.