Whenever we try to appear angelic on the surface, the devil inside dances.

                              

As soon as we become absolutely certain that our way is the only way, imps start to grin.

If we can’t admit being wrong… can’t calmly discuss important issues… simply won’t tolerate other points of view, much less change our minds faced with new evidence…

                            

when we are obviously much cooler and smarter, and other people are obviously much lamer and dumber…

                       

we are bewitched. Self-enchanted. Firmly stuck in a fairy tale role.

 

And there's only one way to break such a spell: to take off the mask that goes with whatever role we're playing.

To bare-facedly face the fact that every person on earth—you, me, and the guy in the corner booth over there—is just as much Court Jester as Wise King, just as much Wicked Witch as Snow White.

To go ahead and admit that we're not always perfect, so we can start to do something toward mending our mistakes.