What if the life you're building is for someone else’s approval, not your own?

Much of my life has been coupled with a bad habit: letting the opinions of others govern my own. A kind of distilled people-pleasing—chasing approval at the expense of my own needs, desires, or instincts.

Living life for others is an abandonment of the self.

Abandoning yourself often looks like doing what you feel you should do rather than what you want to do. Yes, it's a thin line between that and duty to your community and the fulfillment of responsibilities.

Doing what you want can be a moral act—if you’ve honored your commitments to others. When others depend on you, when doing what you want inflicts suffering, you may need to do things you don't want to do.

And maybe it's less about doing what you want and more about being who you are.

It is a natural desire—perhaps a childish one—for us to want external approval. We want to be liked. Why? Because if everyone dislikes us, we are out of the tribe. When we are out of the tribe, we are isolated. And being human is being a social animal—our evolutionary survival depended on it.

So there's something to this feeling of external disapproval. It's not imaginary—it can create a real sense of danger. Modern-day disapprovals can also lead to missing our real opportunities for career growth, networking, and social connection.

And yet, living our lives for the approval of others is almost an obvious wrong turn. It leads to an internal dissonance, a corroding of the self.

I've struggled with this balance—how to follow my own authentic path while being in harmony with others.

That tension came up again recently at an art exhibit with some friends. Several of them are newer artists, showcasing for the first time. The event was filled with community.

Towards the end of the exhibit, there was a musical performance. A few friends came up to me to ask what I thought of it—probably because I play music professionally, they see me as an "expert."

Here's where I struggled: on the one hand, the musical performance was an expression of the two artists' genuine exploration. They created a vibe—but as someone who listens with a trained ear, I found myself analyzing it more than enjoying it. The piece wandered. It felt like an exploration still searching for direction—not something I’d revisit outside of this supportive context.

More broadly, I ask myself: what are the performers saying? And in this case, it didn't seem like they said much. The performance meandered—15 to 20 minutes in the same key center, drifting through unphrased melodies. It's not something I would choose to listen to other than in the context of supporting friends.

When people ask what I think, I hesitate. I want to be honest without being rude. I want to support artists wherever they are on their journey. I also think indiscriminately giving out gold stars hinders artists' growth—hearing what resonates and what doesn't is a part of being an artist. That's one of the things that makes it hard and worthwhile.

To make things trickier, the Bay Area feels like a hypersensitive culture—where even mild criticism can quietly get you excluded. And it won't be confrontational. You just won't be invited anywhere.

So going back to self-approval: as much as I'd like to believe that saying the right thing can keep us safe, others' approval of you is out of your control. Doing our best—following one of Miguel Ruiz's Four Agreements—protects us from harming others with negligent speech. So I think to myself: be honest and be courteous. Say something that you would approve of—something that you would not regret for being inauthentic nor for being mean.

Self-approval is a judgment of your actions, not of others' reactions. It isn’t measured by applause. It comes from reflecting on your choices—not their consequences in someone else’s eyes. It’s about focusing on what you can control: your way of being, not how others respond.