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The Hands That Feed Me

Writing a book is like having a baby. First you have this little idea the size of a pumpkin seed. You realize it might be best not to tell everyone. After all, you may lose it. It is not yet viable. Better wait and see.

Then you get to the middle stage and you realize it is kicking! It IS viable. It is alive! So you start telling people about it and you don't even feel so self-conscious about it any more.

Finally, reality sinks in. You are actually having this baby. There is no turning back. And all the fears arrive. What if no one likes my baby? What if it does not have 10 toes and 10 fingers? Translated to book language: What if it is full of grammatical errors? What if no one likes it? (Or, if you are me, you have dreams where it was printed only in Swahili.) Also, like the end of every pregnancy I have known, is the "Get this thing out of me" stage. I have spent the last two months there.

Yes, writing a book is tough and it is a uniquely vulnerable process. In other words, it brings up your unresolved crap. But I am happy I wrote this book and I am equally happy it is out of me and in print.

I wrote it, after all, for two reasons: #1 Because it felt intuitively right and #2 I wrote it for you. I wrote it to come through the page in my most authentic voice and help you live your best life. I hope you like it.

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