There is a particular kind of person this book was written for. You
may have spent years—perhaps most of your life—pursuing the
things you were told would make you whole: the relationship, the income,
the recognition, the freedom, the body, the status. And perhaps
you found some of them, or most of them, and still felt the quiet ache
of incompleteness. Or perhaps you found none of them, and have
grown suspicious — not of your worthiness, but of the framework itself.
Either way, something in you has begun to whisper a different kind
of question. Not "how do I get what I want?" but something deeper,
something stranger, something that rises at odd hours and refuses to be
answered by any of the usual voices.
The question sounds something like:Who am I, really?