Prove Nothing and Find Your True Self

We want to prove that we’re right, that our opinions matter, that we’re not stupid, that we can love in a healthy way, that we are successful, and so on. It all comes back to our worth. We try to prove to others (but especially to ourselves) that we have value.

We want to believe we’re worth something. And proving it once isn’t enough. We need constant validation. But when we are in a trying-to-prove-something state, we are in a "pseudo" state. We are seeking. We are wanting. In this state, we block our unique gifts, lowering our potential.

Say you’re at a party and you find yourself acting a certain way to fit in. That’s your false self (Pseudo Self). You don’t want to be your true self (Solid Self), because that may mean you’ll stick out or run the risk of people not liking you. Being in a Solid State and practicing transparency means you are just being you, in your truest form, at every moment.

This is extremely difficult. Think about it. Throughout the day, when are you purely just you? Most likely that only happens when you are alone.

I think many of us live different versions of ourselves depending on where we’re at and who we’re around. The less you seek approval, the more transparent you are. The thing is, you’re not the only one in the crowd displaying your Pseudo Self. Others are also.

So when you show your Solid Self, people notice. Some will not like it, but some will. You will start to attract people who see you for you. These people are valuable. They will be part of building your new world.

In my early thirties, I turned my family’s restaurant into a scenic supper club in Hollywood. It was a heavy lunch but slow dinner business near the studios. We did everything we could to get the night business up, from live music to sushi—although it was an Italian restaurant (that’s the Korean way of doing business, sell whatever you can). But nothing worked until I met a promoter.

He was an actor trying to make money on the side. I was unsure of him but we had nothing to lose. Our little family business slowly morphed into a nightclub. Within two months, the club blew up. It was written up in the trades and suddenly became a hot spot with a strict guest list: only models and millionaires.

I remember sitting at a table with Fred Durst from Limp Bizkit, a movie mogul, and a billionaire who owned a sports team, and thinking: What the hell am I doing at this table? I remember getting a call from Kate Hudson, asking Leonardo DiCaprio where he wanted to sit, and hanging out with Matt Damon in the VIP trailer after hours.

I had a lot of friends then. People were nice to me and gave me a lot of attention. There was cash everywhere. And yet when I look back, all I feel about those days is how small I felt because I wasn’t my true self. I was operating in a pseudo version of myself to seek approval and validation. My friends weren’t friends. They were people who didn’t want to wait in line.

Today the only thing I have to offer is me. No comped meals, no entrance into a shiny make believe world, no exposure, no connections. Just me. Love it or leave it.

I have nothing to prove.

When you have nothing to prove, you have the most to give.

I no longer feel small. The people who are in my life today value me as a person, not because of what I can do for them. I admit I do have fewer friends now than when I ran the club.

That said, when I was living from my Pseudo Self, I wasn’t authentic, so how many of those were actually true friends? It’s not that I have less friends today—I just have more real ones.

When you’re used to being in an environment where you’re afraid to show your true self, it will feel weird at first to suddenly do it. I still had the residual feelings of wanting to give something to people because that’s what I was used to, even though it wasn’t really giving—it was taking.

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It was difficult to just be myself and believe that that was enough. I felt naked, raw, and vulnerable. I had nothing to hide behind.

So my work was about leaning into the uncomfortable place where I allowed myself to just be real—to be me—without feeling like I had to give people things to validate my worth. Like breaking any pattern, there is often a tug that draws you back to who you used to be and how you used to think.

But the more I maneuvered into my solid state—the more I proved nothing to anyone—the more I started to cultivate a new relationship with myself. That’s the key, because that’s when you start to rewire yourself.

I’ve discovered that it’s nearly impossible to have a new relationship with yourself when you’re constantly trying to prove things to other people. When you make the choice to prove nothing, the true you shows up.

Connecting to and embracing this true you is where your potency lives.