Fly me to the moon

Years ago the novelist Neil Gaiman found himself at a gathering of great artists, scientists, writers, entrepreneurs and discoverers.

Walking about, he was overwhelmed with imposter syndrome, terrified at any moment someone would look up and realize he didn’t belong.

Neil was standing towards the back of the room watching the evening’s musical entertainment unfold when a nice elderly gentleman struck up a conversation with him. Together, they explored all sorts of topics, including their shared first name.

The elderly Neil pointed to the room full of people and said something along the lines of, “I just look at all these people, and I think, what the heck am I doing here? They’ve made amazing things. I just went where I was sent.”

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