On my ninth birthday, I got a bright pink envelope from my Uncle Joe, and a five dollar bill slipped out of the birthday card. Five dollars!  When I was nine, that was a fortune.  I rushed outside to share my newfound wealth with my best friend Cindy.

I did not hear my father follow me outside.  As I waved the bill over my head, my father’s voice exploded behind me like a bomb: “Don’t brag about your money!” My father lifted me up by one arm and swung me into the house. Inside, the order was repeated: “Never talk about your money!” Talking about money was crude and impolite. The lesson was direct, immediate and I will never forget it.

Most of us have a pretty good idea of who we should be, and how we should behave. Pieces of this idea come to us from all kinds of sources. Parents, family, friends, clients, teachers and the media—there is no shortage of chefs who want to work in the kitchen of you. And because these people are well-meaning, or in a position of apparent authority, we feel compelled to take their advice. Sometimes we even try to take everyone’s advice all at once.

And having something to strive for isn’t the problem. The problem is that most of us have been taught to speak from the person we think we should be, rather than who we really are.

—“Hi, Lou, how’s business?”
— [My biggest client is going bankrupt.] “Business is good!”

We are comfortable functioning this way, and for a casual exchange between acquaintances on the fly, it’s mostly okay. But when it counts, you need to say something real.  Too many times, Sophisticated Bull happens. Our subconscious reads the room and gives us the “right” thing to say. These are the moments in which we think we should be less oddball and more normal; less afraid andmore confident; less unnoticed and more popular.