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an age, and for all of the wrong reasons.
     
    For example, I knew growing up that I loved the arts. However, I didn’t discover my “dream job” until a fateful day in English class during my sophomore year of high school. Our midterm assignment was to do a project about the 1960s. The class was divided into groups, and we were given complete creative flexibility. So rather than construct a cheesy diorama or give some boring oral presentation, my group opted to produce a short film for which I was the director. From that moment on, I was hooked. My calling became evident:
     
    Show business!
     
    Suddenly, I was obsessed with becoming the next great American auteur; the most famous film director Tinsel Town had ever known. I even gave myself a self-important sounding nickname: “Spielgerber.”
     
    Sure, I’d yet to direct anything more than a high school play. But I could look you in the eye and tell you with absolute certainty the license plate number of my future Ferrari.
     
    I began to connect with various members of my high school’s alumni who I found out had gone on to work in “the business” (that’s how Hollywood insiders—and wannabe insiders—refer to it). All of them claimed to be directors, producers, or screenplay writers; yet in reality they were production assistants merely hoping to fill those positions one day.
     
    I remember thinking to myself I’d never be like those poor schmucks working their way up to the director’s chair by slogging it out 25 hours a day as some coffee gopher. I was Scott Gerber—Tour De Force, future star, and guaranteed millionaire. I was destined to direct a big-budget Orwellian masterpiece right out of college and make millions.
     
    Boy, was I a moron.
     
    Or, as my friends would kindly put it, an arrogant, pretentious, unrealistic jackass caught in a self-absorbed fantasy world. They weren’t wrong. That was a kind assessment.
     
    It wasn’t until years later when I got some real-world experience under my belt that I realized how misguided and delusional I truly was. After deep reflection, I also realized that the only way I’d find success was to rid myself of my irrational ideals.
     
    I wish I could say that I’m an exception, but sadly, this entitled mentality is hardly uncommon in Gen Y. Sure, part of the blame rests with the loved ones who rewarded us with the same shiny plastic medallions for participating in elementary school spelling bees. But truly, most of the blame is our own. We went from being children—helpless victims who were told all along about how great we were—to being adults, conscious of our own mediocrity, patting ourselves on the back for having done nothing.
     
    Our coddled upbringing and fearless attitudes make us willing to take more risks than previous generations. The same outlook also makes us cocky, careless, and, at times, reckless know-it-alls who are under the impression that the world owes us something. Although Gen Y has been referred to as the most entrepreneurial generation in history, we’ve also been called irrational whiners, cry babies, spoiled brats, gratification whores, fame-seekers, approval junkies, and the entitlement generation.
     
    You know what? We deserve every bit of it.
     
    Why? Because the vast majority of us walk around as if our brilliance and enthusiasm entitle us to fame, fortune, and instant success. Well—that couldn’t be a bigger load of crap.
     
    Like alcoholics or drug addicts, the first step to recovery is admitting we have a problem. There are deeply rooted psychological issues that we must get rid of if we are to learn how to take control of our lives and our careers and eventually become successful entrepreneurs. We can continue to live in a fantasy world if we want—but this flawed logic will result in behavioral and emotional traits that are likely to lead us down a one-way road to failure.
     
    Now close your eyes and take a deep breath. You’re about to pop the