Today marks exactly one year since I published my book, Hidden Genius: The secret ways of thinking that power the world’s most successful people.

So many cool things have happened thanks to this book: I saw it on the shelves at Barnes & Noble. The Rock congratulated me. I did a book tour where I met many of you! I spoke at conferences. I spoke at The Strand. I got to see it published in Bulgaria, where I was born. It was translated to 14 languages and sold tens of thousands of copies.

So naturally, the question I am most often asked since publishing the book is: “How does it feel to be an author now?”

The truthful answer? It feels the same as it did before anyone considered me an “author.”

I’ve done so many things in the last year, but my identity hasn’t shifted in the least.

I recently read a New York Magazine article titled, ‘What if Motherhood Isn’t Transformative at All?’ In it, a mom addresses the trope that “motherhood is transformative.”

She says that all the same things that mattered to her pre-kids continue to matter to her post-kids: “the same philosophical questions, the same friends and their same problems, the same politics, the same petty gossip.”

Here is an excerpt:

“Soon after I gave birth to my daughter three years ago, questions about my well-being started to take a new, unexpected form. Interest seemed to shift away from my physical state — how was I feeling, how much sleep were we getting — toward something else. ‘So, how’s motherhood?’ ‘How is being a mother?’

“I had no idea what they were talking about.

“There were many obvious changes: new tasks, new research assignments, new things — soft things, plastic things — that I could not fit anywhere in the cupboards and closets. But when asked about ‘motherhood,’ I didn’t know where to look. To have a child, it is often said, is to transform one’s identity.

…

“For years, I used to go to the cinema on a weekly basis … Since my daughter was born, I’ve been to the movies twice. But I also find myself wanting to insist that how you watch films — just like how much you work out, how exotic your vacations are, or how freely you can schedule impromptu dinner dates — does not constitute an identity. No one has died, you’ve just grown up.”

As someone who writes a lot about the slippery nature of identity, you may not be surprised that I (mostly) agree with that characterization of parenthood. New tasks don’t necessarily equal a brand new identity. But allow me to add nuance.

For me, writing a book was simply another task. It brought about new opportunities, new responsibilities, and new challenges, but it didn’t alter my identity, or the way I see myself.

I used to think, “I will be so happy when X happens” or “I will be a brand new person after I achieve Y.”

And now I understand this lesson so deeply: No one single event will transform your entire identity. Rather, the habits that will transform your identity are so tiny and so minuscule that they’re nearly invisible to the naked eye. They are often extensions of a seemingly ‘life-transforming moment’ but never the moment itself.

Since I became a mom, I have become much (much!) more patient. But that didn’t happen the day after I gave birth. It happened after 200 middle-of-the-night wake-ups, 72 toddler tantrums, and 50 travel mishaps.

Since I published a book, I have become a more confident writer. But that certainly didn’t happen the day (or week, or month) after publishing the book. It happened after receiving critical feedback. It happened after I started trusting my voice a little more. It happened after I read email after email about how something you read in the book changed your life for the better.

All this to say: If you plan to write a book, don’t expect it to transform your life. In fact, don’t expect anything to transform your life. Your life changes in the most subtle ways over a long period of time.

I heard someone once say: “If you ask God to give you patience, he’ll give you a line at the bank.” In other words, if you’re looking to become a better person, you won’t magically become one by getting married, writing a book, having kids, or getting a gold medal at the Olympics.

You’ll become a better person by being subjected to the reality of everyday life — dealing with a screaming toddler or handling constructive criticism — over and over again until you’ve gained new skills and become a different person.

It happens slowly, and then all at once.

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P.S: I want to thank all of you who have read the book, left a review, or sent me an email from the bottom of my heart. The readers of this newsletter have been so supportive from Day 1, and I don’t take it from granted. Thank you all. Below is a short video highlighting the book-writing journey:

— Polina

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