As I sat outside at the open-air cafe chomping on jerk chicken salad and staring past the bust of Buddha in the middle of the bougainvillaea-filled entrance, I couldn't stop thinking about the power of choice. Not just because the custom salad I chose was chock full of savory chicken breast and within the parameters of my new weight loss plan to "get my dancer's body back". But staring back at me was a Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses; a huge symbol of my past.
If Brene Brown lived in my head, perfectionism would no longer hinder my productivity, stifle my creativity or inhibit my vulnerability. The little voices in my head that insist "I'm still not good enough" would miraculously disappear.
