When I was a little boy, I went to sleep almost every night making up stories in my head. I was always the hero.
By the time I was old enough to start liking girls and wanting their attention — about fifth grade, it seems — my stories were mostly about being heroic for a girl. I had a crush on a classmate named Wendy, so she was the metaphorical princess and I was the knight on a white horse.
I didn’t understand it at the time, but I was setting a pattern for much of my life.
I wanted to feel special. I craved the attention and admiration of one woman. Over the years, the identity of that woman changed. of course. When I did something I thought might impress her, I wanted the crowds to love me, but only because that meant she would see.
I wanted her to think I was special. I wanted her to love me for that.

What did you want in childhood? Did you abandon those dreams?
Why do loving parents let schools teach kids to be conformists?
Friend’s happy family and career remind me how good life can be
Tradeoffs about values leave me feeling like ‘double-minded man’
Noise of culture isn’t evil, but it drowns out what really matters
Eviction moratorium is pure theft; it’s a sign of creeping socialism
Deep-seated shame makes it hard for me to take my needs seriously
I didn’t realize this until tonight, but I have been needing to cry