I am a magnet for creativity, success, and direct deposit notifications.

I give myself permission to call myself a writer, even if all I wrote today was a list of skin-care brands to try.

I am semi-confident in my ability to pressure cook rice.

I am at peace with the fact that the only person I’ve spoken to today was the clerk at the McNally Jackson notebook store.

I put my energy into things that matter to me and the fact that I may die before reaching my full potential.

I have a real job. I technically have three.

No one can make me feel inferior because that’s what my grad school peers are for.

I feel proud of myself when I finally put on pants for the day.

I know my worth, but am open to reminders from friends and mentors.

I firmly believe that I will soon stop sobbing in this tasteful French bistro.

I am learning valuable lessons about myself and invoicing from Andrew in accounting every day.

I am blessed to have people in my life who click, like, and share my work across social media.

I rejoice in other writer’s publishing deals, development slates, and celebrity retweets.

I’m creatively inspired by the deadlines torpedoing towards me.

I don’t feel weird about visiting the same café seven days a week.

I don’t feel weird about ordering the same omelet at the café seven days a week.

I know how to scramble eggs and everyone employed by the café knows it.

I am worthy of love, abundance, and as many readers as Shakespeare and JK Rowling combined.

My clients are not laughing at me from behind their computer screens. They simply do not have the time.

I am becoming closer to myself with every kindly-worded rejection email.

I give myself permission to have full-fledged panic attacks at 3 AM because I trust the creative process.

My drive, ambition, and overpriced gel-tip pens will catapult me into a life of renown.

I embrace uncertainty not only in writing but also in all aspects of my personal life.