It doesn’t matter who you are now. It doesn’t matter who you were then. It doesn’t matter if you’re a billionaire, if you command armies or enormous audiences. It doesn’t matter that you can persuade or sell or convince juries and judges.

It doesn’t matter how driven you were. It doesn’t matter how much money is on the table. Having kids humbles you. We said recently that having kids changes you because it brings you up close and personal with something that actually means something and all your other worldly stuff naturally pales somewhat in comparison. As the writer Stephen Marche describes (he has a great little book on writing and life), “the physical changes that occasionally transpire with women after birth—eczema disappearing, once intractable allergies going away—have a psychological equivalent. The flesh of little children is the cure for self-importance. Everything matters less. Having children does not necessarily make writing harder, but it makes it a lot harder to pretend that writing matters.”

It makes it harder for that business trip to matter. Not when your son is struggling in school. It makes it harder for that big exit for your startup to matter…now that pursuing it has made your spouse contemplate an exit from your marriage (and now you’re staring down the heartbreak of shared custody). You thought it was all so important. You thought you were so important.

But that’s harder to pretend now. The flesh of your flesh and blood are the cure for that. They are the ego-antidote. They are the truth.