The Habit of Silly Ego

The First Audition The Queen Elizabeth Theatre in Vancouver is a monster of a room. Over 2,000 red seats stretching back into the dark, the kind of stage where legends stand. Even empty, the place feels alive. That morning, as I drove past it on the way to my audition, I slowed down just to stare. My chest swelled. That’s where I’ll be standing. That’s where this talk will happen. But the audition wasn’t in there. Not yet. Instead, it was in the building next door - just a plain conference room with beige walls, a pull-down screen, and folding chairs lined up in rows.

A room made for board meetings, not standing ovations. Still, when I walked in, I carried myself like the theatre was already mine. A Plastic Ocean had just premiered. Plastic Bank was gaining traction. I had just been booked for a European speaking tour. On paper, I was already a professional speaker. This TEDx talk? It wasn’t a test - it was the coronation. And the coronation was built on a bold idea: saving the world through responsible consumerism. That was my talk. That was the heart of it. Everyday choices, multiplied across millions, tipping culture toward a new era.

This wasn’t just a talk-it was my chance to put that message on the biggest stage of my life. I had poured myself into the script. I rehearsed it dozens of times, tweaking lines, memorizing beats. By the time I stood in that conference room, I was sure it was bulletproof. The organizers settled in with clipboards, ready to take notes. I looked out over the empty chairs, imagined them filled with 2,000 faces, and launched in. My voice carried. My hands moved. My cadence landed right where I thought it should. I wrapped it with my big closer, and in my mind I was already picturing the applause.

Instead, the coaches leaned forward. One tilted her head. “It sounds too polished. Too smooth. It doesn’t feel lived in.” Another tapped the page. “Try shorter sentences. More five-word lines. Cut like a knife.” A third frowned. “You’re mentioning your company too much. This isn’t a promotion. TEDx is about the idea.” Then another added: “Don’t use big numbers. Use visuals. Paint a picture people can see in their minds.” “I’m not even sure you’re breathing at the right time. You need to add strategic pauses. Let the audience catch up.” And then came another note that stung: “You’re speaking too fast.” I half-laughed, defensive.

“Well, yeah-I’ve got a lot to fit in. You need this done in eighteen minutes.” They shook their heads. “No. You don’t speed up to fit it in. You cut down to fit it in. Without rushing. In fact, we need you to get this down to twelve minutes.” Twelve minutes? I thought they were joking. I smiled, nodded, and pretended to take notes. But inside I was fuming. Polished? That’s a bad thing now? Shorter sentences? I’ve held audiences for hours without worrying about sentence length. Don’t mention my company? But that’s the story!

Breathing? You’re seriously telling me I don’t know how to breathe? My chest was tight. My ears were ringing. But my mask stayed on. I walked out of that conference room thinking, They just don’t get it. My talk is strong. They’re nitpicking. That’s ego in its rawest form: Trigger → defense. Reset to Balance That night, after the sting of “backup slot” had sunk its teeth in, I sat with my notebook open, pen pressed hard to the page. My chest was tight. Every thought screamed the same loop: They’re wrong. I’m right. Here’s the truth I’d been avoiding: for years I’d been reading about mindfulness - books, podcasts, courses.

I’d absorbed all the language, underlined all the right passages… and almost never practiced it. No habit. No muscle. Just information. So I asked myself a blunt question: If I had to condense everything I know about mindfulness into one simple process I’ll actually use - what would it be? On a fresh page, I wrote across the top: RESET TO BALANCE ROUTINE I didn’t need another theory. I needed something I could reach for when I was spiraling. So I built it - simple, clear, usable anywhere. The Reset to Balance Routine 1. Notice the trigger.

“Yes - I’m still fuming. I’m triggered.” 2. Name the trigger. “If I had to name it - beyond being mad about ‘backup’ - it’s defensiveness. I needed to be right.” 3. Take an intentional breath. I took a deep breath. 4. Release the trigger. I paused for a moment to reflect. Nope. Still triggered. Which means I still need to get to the root of it. And release that. Because you can’t let go of something you can’t identify. So I added in another step. 5. If the first 4 steps didn’t do the trick.

You will need to go deeper, and figure out the root of the trigger, using the 5 whys technique. 1. Why did that trigger me? Because they said I’d be a backup. 2. Why did they say that? Because I didn’t make enough changes to my script. 3. Why didn’t I change it? Because they gave me clear advice and I didn’t want to hear it - I wanted to be right. 4. Why did I need to be right? Because my script had become validation for how good I believed I was. Big edits would mean admitting I wasn’t as good as I thought. 5.

Why does that threaten me? Because my ego had fused my self-worth to that script. Admitting I needed this much coaching felt like admitting I wasn’t a “real” professional speaker. My ego was protecting an identity - not improving the outcome. I stared at the words. The ink didn’t lie. Then, under it all, I wrote two simple words - my solution: SILLY EGO. Those words made me laugh out loud. That’s all it was. And with that laugh, the entire weight of it broke apart. It became easy - with one slow breath - to let it go.

I whispered it again, smiling now: “Silly ego.” It didn’t erase the sting, but it ended the spiral. For the first time that day, I wasn’t reacting. I was choosing. Testing the Notes With the reset fresh in my mind, I gave some of the “easy” notes a try. Don’t use big numbers. Don’t use big numbers? How do I quantify the plastic waste problem without numbers? I muttered to myself. Then I tried: Over the next 18 minutes, a garbage truck’s worth of plastic will have been dumped into the ocean. I paused, letting it hang.

Okay… that’s not bad. Next note: Use short, power phrases. Every purchase is a vote… Corporations only produce what you buy repeatedly… If enough people stop buying… Corporations go out of business. I blinked. Huh. That actually works. Much better. Line by line, pause by pause, I could feel the difference. The advice I had ignored was sharper than what I had clung to. And then I got to work implementing all the changes. The Rewrite That weekend, I sat with the sting. My pride was still bruised, but I decided: Fine. I’ll try it their way.

I pulled out the script and started slashing. Whole paragraphs gone. Long, flowing lines broken into short, five-word bursts. Each sentence like a punch, no wasted air. I stripped out company mentions. No promotion. No Plastic Bank pitch. Just the idea. And then came the strangest note of all - the one I had mocked in my head. “You’re not breathing at the right time. Add strategic pauses to breathe.” So I tried it. I literally wrote PAUSE within the lines of my script. Before the big lines. Before the moments that needed impact. And what a difference.

Delivering lines with lungs full of oxygen was energizing. My voice hit harder. My body felt stronger. The words carried weight. Had I really been speaking all this time without taking energizing breaths? Just coasting on adrenaline instead of oxygen? And those short sentences? They worked too. Five words cut sharper than a mouthful of cleverness. Line by line, note by note, the talk transformed. By the end of the weekend, I had rewritten everything. And when I read it out loud, I had to stop. Out of Character That’s when the reflection started to sink in.

Why did I fight this so hard? Why did I defend the original like my life depended on it? That’s not me. I’m usually calm. Patient. I welcome feedback. I actually love it - it’s how I grow. So why did this trigger me? The more I thought about it, the more I realized why I fought so hard. That first draft wasn’t just a speech. It was my baby. I had poured myself into it, line by line, and I identified with it so deeply that when they attacked the script, it felt like they were attacking me.

My ego blurred the line between feedback on words and judgment on my worth. I wasn’t just defending my talk - I was defending my identity. That’s the most dangerous part of ego: it convinces you that criticism of your work is criticism of who you are. That night, I opened my notebook - my compass for clarity - and wrote the same question I asked myself every week: What one thing can I do this week that will get me closer to my goal? I paused, pen hovering, then wrote: Start a habit of non-negotiables.

A non-negotiable is a personal rule you refuse to break - no matter the circumstance, no matter the mood, no matter the trigger. It’s not a goal you hope to achieve or an intention you set when you’re in the right headspace. It’s a line in the sand. A promise you make to yourself and actually keep. A non-negotiable is like a reset button. It helps to pull you back to the person you want to be. It doesn’t wait until you’re calm - it works right in the fire. So I wrote my first one: New Non-Negotiable: I will never go out of my way to be proven right, or to prove someone else is wrong.

It’s only about the best outcome. That page became my mirror. The Third Round By the third round of coaching, something had shifted in me. The sting of those early auditions had faded, and instead of walking in defensive, I walked in curious. Instead of clutching my script like sacred ground, I held it loosely - ready to trim, bend, reshape. And that’s when the breakthrough happened. One of the coaches leaned back after hearing the latest draft and said, almost offhand: “You know… I actually remember your original version. It called back to the movement you guys created.

And I think that strengthened the message. I’d add that back in.” I blinked. Wait - add something back in? Another coach chimed in: “And it’s okay to mention Plastic Bank once or twice. You don’t need to scrub it completely. Done well, it adds credibility. It grounds the idea in real impact. That makes the whole message land stronger.” I sat there a little stunned. After all my ego-driven panic that they were trying to strip me of my voice, here they were - inviting me to bring it back, but better. That’s when it clicked.

They weren’t trying to erase me. They were trying to refine me. I reached into my bag, pulled out my notepad, and scribbled a new reminder: The Best Outcomes Require Space for Collaboration. Because the truth was clear now: my coaches were open-minded to finding the win-win outcome - as long as I was too. They weren’t married to their notes. They were married to the idea of the best talk possible. But I had to give them the space to do so. Once I dropped my defensiveness, I realized something powerful: I wasn’t fighting against them.

We were fighting together for the message. And the moment I leaned into that collaboration, the whole talk leveled up again. The Ovation When the day came, I walked onto the stage of the Queen Elizabeth Theatre. This time, it wasn’t about defending my brilliance. It was about serving the idea. I hit my power breaths. I felt my lungs fill, my chest open, and my words land with a weight I had never felt before. I delivered five-word punches that cut sharp and clean. I let silence do the heavy lifting, pausing long enough to feel the audience lean in.

As I spoke, I could see people nodding. Faces lit up. A man in the front row leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hanging on every word. A woman halfway back whispered something to the friend beside her and smiled. I could feel the connection stretching across the room. The Closing I paused on stage, looking out over the sea of faces. The lights were hot, the silence heavy - that expectant hush that only comes when a crowd is leaning in, waiting for the final note to land. “It might sound overly simple,” I said, “but over time, incrementally improving your habits adds up to a huge impact.

“And it’s this incremental approach that makes me optimistic. Because I don’t believe the world can change overnight. But I do believe it can, for the better, change over time. “And this is what we are on the verge of seeing. “We are approaching a new era in which the average person acts like a responsible consumer. And the beautiful thing is… we don’t need everyone to act this way for it to work. We just need the average. Because once we hit the average, we hit a cultural tipping point. “It no longer becomes a hippy thing.

It becomes a human thing to purchase responsibly. “And thankfully,” I let the pause stretch, “being human is the one thing we all have in common. “It’s true, that over the last 18 minutes we’ve shared together, the equivalent of 18 garbage trucks’ worth of plastic has now entered our ocean. “But I know that you have the power to develop the habit of taking that extra five minutes - to use your voice, and your vote - to help create the epic changes this planet desperately needs.” I stepped back from the red dot, heart pounding, the words still hanging in the air.

For a moment, the room was silent. And then - the applause hit, a wave crashing forward, rolling over me. A wall of sound crashed back at me. Applause, loud and fast, building like a wave. Then people started standing. One row. Then another. Then another. In seconds the entire hall was on its feet. Over 2,000 people clapping, cheering, shouting. The lights were hot on my face, but the energy flooding the room was electric. My heart pounded, not from nerves but from joy. My throat tightened. For a second, I couldn’t believe it was real.

That ovation didn’t come because I had outsmarted the coaches. It came because I had finally gotten out of my own way. One Opportunity After Another For now, the TEDx ovation was real. The European tour was waiting. My rock star dream was coming true. When I finally stepped off stage, heart still pounding, David was waiting in the wings. He had been in the audience, watching every beat of the talk. He clapped me on the shoulder and leaned in with the kind of smile that meant only one thing: big news. “I didn’t want to tell you before,” he said.

“Didn’t want to add any more pressure while you were preparing for your talk. But… you know about Windex, right?” I laughed. “Of course. The window cleaner.” “Exactly,” he said. “A window cleaner made by SC Johnson. And they’re interested in using our Social Plastic in their iconic Windex bottles as an initial trial.” I froze. Windex wasn’t just a product. It was a household name. A brand recognized around the world. They also owned other major brands like Method and Mr. Muscle. “But here’s the problem,” David continued, his voice dropping. “Our Haiti plastic won’t meet the quality they need.

To make this real, we’ll need to expand into a new country - and fast. And I have a feeling the Philippines or Bali might be the place to connect all the dots. Be safe I think we should set up both right away.” I agreed. “If Haiti taught us anything, it’s that no one invests until a location is proven to be real and viable.” Nodded slowly, still absorbing it when he added the final blow. “But there’s a condition. The bonus payments to collectors need to be digital. No paper.. Proof of trust, transparency, and scale is a requirement.

Which means your tech platform has to be ready and working by year’s end. It will have to pass their audits.” The applause from inside the theatre still echoed faintly in my ears, but the celebration was already gone. This wasn’t the finish line. It was the starting gun for the hardest sprint yet. The plan was now in motion. David would take care of Bali and the Philippines. I would make sure the technology was ready in time. It was time to go global. Reflections Ego shows up the same way for most of us.

Not in grand arrogance, but in the little moments when we feel triggered and rush to defend. That’s ego’s favorite trick: to turn feedback into an attack, and defense into your only move. And when you defend, you shift your focus from the outcome to the scoreboard. From what’s best to what makes you look best. Sometimes ego escalates into building lists - stacking mental evidence of why someone else is wrong. But it always starts with the same cycle: a trigger followed by the instinct to defend. Here’s the truth: any time you feel the need to be right, that is ego.

Being right is never more important than getting to the best outcome. And any time you feel the need to make someone else admit they are wrong? That’s ego too. You never win by making someone else wrong. It’s always, only, about getting to the best outcome. That’s the trap. Ego convinces you that being right is the goal. But being right at the expense of the outcome is still a loss. Because ego doesn’t care about the outcome. But you do. And every time you choose connection over defense, you reclaim energy for what really matters.

Still a Work in Progress Ego wasn’t something I could cross off a list. It was something I’d have to notice again and again. The truth is, I didn’t reform on the power of ego. I reformed on the power of the reset. Notice the trigger. Name the trigger. Take a breath. Release the trigger. Back to balance. I had used it once, and it worked. Now, I needed to make it a habit. Silly ego. For now, the TEDx ovation was real. The European tour was waiting. My rock star dream was coming true.

We had built the rocket ship. I was strapped in. But I hadn’t noticed the fuel gauge - getting close to empty, with no time to reset and refuel.