I’m going to say something I’m probably not supposed to say.

I have a giant ego.

Not the kind that thinks I’m better than other people. I don’t.

The kind that makes me believe I can do things that, on paper, I probably have no business attempting.

It’s the reason I pitched television shows before I had any business pitching television shows.

It’s the reason I started a bread company in my late fifties.

It’s the reason I entered international pizza competitions against people who had been making pizza longer than I’d been thinking about making pizza.

It’s the reason I write essays like this, knowing plenty of people will disagree with them.

Without that ego, I honestly don’t think I would have done any of it.

Somewhere along the way, we decided ego was always a bad thing. I think that’s only half true.

A healthy ego gives you permission to walk into rooms where you haven’t yet earned the right to feel comfortable. It allows you to stand in front of dozens, hundreds, or even millions of people and say, “I think I have something worth sharing.”

That’s not arrogance.

That’s courage.

Of course, ego can become dangerous. It can convince you you’re always right, make you stop listening, and surround you with people who never challenge you.

That’s when ego stops being an engine and starts becoming a liability.

The trick isn’t getting rid of your ego.

The trick is giving it a job.

Let it convince you to take the risk.

Then let humility convince you to keep learning once you get there.

Looking back on my life, nearly every meaningful thing I’ve done started with a slightly irrational belief that I could.

Maybe that’s ego.

If it is, I’m glad I never got rid of it.

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