At my yoga studio, there's a huge container of wipes near the door. They are offered to any person who wishes to use them. These wipes come in one long roll, each separated from the next by a perforated line—a suggestion of where one wipe ends and the next begins. On the container is a hand-written sign: PLEASE TAKE ONE WIPE. So, naturally, I obeyed the rule. The pull of the Good Girl identity is strong. The problem was, one wipe was never enough. I would start at the top of

I’ve started writing my second book. And I’ve already caught myself writing for the reader's gaze. A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with a woman in publishing about my book. She asked me for three things, when I was ready to share more: an outline, an introduction and a sample chapter. There was no deadline. No pressure. No expectation that I produce any of them immediately. And yet—as I started writing—I put her in the room with me. I started thinking about the outline.

Towards the end of my career at the agency where I spent a decade, we went all in on "relevance." We did this—not because it was the smartest business strategy, but—because it satisfied the egos of the executives in our company and those we called clients. So, when social media gave us a way to measure our relevance in real time, everything changed. Being the center of attention delivers a dose of dopamine that becomes addicting. It was inside this system, that I was told my