Archive for September, 2009

About our set points

Wednesday, September 30th, 2009

We hear all about “set points.” We have a weight set point: the weight we naturally gravitate up or down to if and when we stop trying to change it. Marci Shimoff talks about a “happiness set point” in her book Happy for No Reason. Same idea: whether something good happens or something bad happens, we eventually settle back to our happiness set point.

Here’s another example: temperature. This morning when I went for a walk, it was 43 degrees—the coldest it had been for several months. It felt cold! Now, that sounds like actual, legitimate cold to some people. But I lived in Maine for two years, and many mornings it would be around 0 degrees Fahrenheit when I went out for a walk. Some days it would be snowing as well, and on a few days it would be windy on top of all that.

Yes, it was cold. But it was bearable. And now that I’m no longer in Maine, and I’ve just been through a long, hot Gold Country summer, 43 degrees feels cold!

So what’s the broader application here? (Yes, I like to ask that question.) It’s this: that which once seemed extreme or even completely unbelievable can become comfortable and normal. In other words, something you desire or aspire to may seem so far out of your reality that you can’t even “feel” what it would be like to have it. Health, wealth, good relationships: any of those may seem very far away right now, but that doesn’t mean they are.

I remember saying, “Ten degrees isn’t cold,” and meaning it. Imagine yourself saying “[fill in the blank with whatever it is you want] isn’t too much to ask”—and mean it.

Like riding a bicycle

Tuesday, September 29th, 2009

We’ve all heard the saying, “It’s like riding a bicycle—once you learn how, you never forget.”

I recently joined the local fencing club. Last night was my first class. (For the uninitiated, fencing is like pretend sword fighting.) I had learned a bit about fencing way back in high school, in an acting class. So here we were, at the first class, practicing en garde, thrust, and lunge.

The instructor, inspecting each student’s form, asked me if I’d taken fencing before. I answered, “Yeah, 35 years ago.” (It was actually a bit more than that.) “Everything is just right,” he said. Imagine that! 36 or 37 years after learning these moves, I can still do them correctly. Apparently fencing, like many other things in life, is like riding a bicycle. You never forget.

So what’s the broader application here? It’s that we can “remember” how to do anything we’ve done before. What are you struggling with? Whatever it is, surely you’ve succeeded at something in your life, and surely you remember what success feels like. Practice feeling successful. You’ve done it before. You never forget.

As I discuss in my e-book Help! I Need a Hug, we can re-learn success by re-living the feeling of success. Try it!

Life can turn on a dime

Monday, September 28th, 2009

This was my first thought as I awakened this morning. Life can turn on a dime! I actually came across this phrase while I was researching Help! I Need a Hug, and it’s quoted therein (although I don’t remember the author at the moment).

It’s so true, and its implications are huge. You can go to bed poor and wake up rich. Or go to bed sick and wake up well. Or go to bed lonely and meet someone wonderful the next day.

Of course, the opposite can happen as well. But why focus on that? Most of us are already thinking about not being wealthy enough, not being well enough, not being in good enough relationships. What we need to keep in mind is that things can go from bad to good in a heartbeat. What we focus on, we get more of. I explore this truth in my e-book. I urge you to get a copy on the home page of http://helpineedahug.com.

The curious concept of aging backward

Wednesday, September 23rd, 2009

Have you seen the movie The Curious Case of Benjamin Button? If you haven’t seen the movie or read the story, then just briefly:

Benjamin is born the size of a newborn baby, but looking like a little old man and having numerous old-age afflictions such as arthritis. As time goes by, he grows in size accordingly, but becomes more youthful and robust.

The explanation for this phenomenon is that on the day of his birth—the final day of World War I—a clockmaker unveiled a clock he’d created for the city’s train station. The clock ran backward, because, you see, the clockmaker had lost a son in the war, and he desperately hoped that time running in reverse might bring back his son and all the other young men lost in the war.

Of course, Benjamin’s condition has never actually occurred in medical history. Yet in a way, it’s merely a magnification of what happens to all of us. Part of Benjamin’s burden is that he cannot form long-term relationships. Very few people know about his condition; an acquaintance of more than a short time would need an explanation, which was difficult to give.

All of us, if we live long enough, see people around us growing old and infirm and dying. Some people, by reason of genetics or lifestyle, age faster than others. And sometimes we may be tempted to avoid forming a relationship with someone simply because it’s so hard to watch them go before us. (This is truer still with pets, of course.)

While I didn’t particularly love this movie (it was too long, I found the part about Hurricane Katrina a distraction, and I wasn’t terribly fond of any of the characters), I did find it philosophically intriguing. Benjamin is really just an extreme case of the human condition, and on that level, I empathized with him.

An off day

Tuesday, September 22nd, 2009

Hi readers,

I was hoping to create a life-altering message for you today, as I always aim to do, but I’m having a low-output day. My allergies are very bad and my head is congested. This doesn’t happen often, fortunately, so I expect to be back in full form soon!

Off days serve as reminders that most days are “on” days!

What do you mean, you can’t afford it?

Monday, September 21st, 2009

I have an interesting question for you. What does it really mean when we say we “can’t afford” something? The obvious answer is that we don’t have enough money for it. Yet sometimes our underlying attitudes about money give the “I can’t afford it” message a strange twist.

Let’s take this scenario. You’re at a festival of some sort, with all kinds of foods being offered for sale. Let’s say each food booth offers what they have for $10; in each case it’s a similarly large quantity of food, with only the type of food differing from one booth to the next.

Now let’s say you pass a booth offering a kind of food you don’t like. In my case, that would be, for example, a big, fat, greasy hamburger, fries, and soda. “Ten dollars for that?” I’d say. “I can’t afford that!” …meaning that a big, fat, greasy hamburger, fries, and soda is under no circumstances worth $10.

Now let’s suppose the next booth is offering something I do like: Mediterranean food and an iced coffee drink. “Ten dollars? I can’t afford that!” …yet in this case it means something quite different, namely, that something I really want is out of my reach.

What’s the difference here? Not the quantity…not the price…but merely the quality, and how I feel about not being able to buy it. In one case, the item for sale is “below” me; in the other, it’s “above” me. In other words, the world has only two kinds of offerings: things I don’t want, and things I want but can’t have.

Don’t we often approach life that way? Let’s chew on it!

The Mary Poppins effect, part 3

Wednesday, September 16th, 2009

Here’s my third and final takeaway from Mary Poppins. As kids, we don’t always appreciate the effort that’s been put into something for our benefit. Take, for example, the talent that went into the making of this movie. Now, Mary Poppins was released in 1964; some of the animation and special effects may look “cheesy” to us, but in a way, that just makes the results more impressive.

There’s the acting. The chemistry between Mary and Bert is just palpable, is it not? As a kid, I found the different British accents of the characters both amusing and confusing. I read recently that Dick Van Dyke’s fake Cockney accent made the list of “worst movie accents ever.” Ah well; I reluctantly concede that it’s pretty bad.

But the dancing! I saw a YouTube clip of Mr. Van Dyke on the Rosie O’Donnell show where he said he didn’t start dancing until his 30s. Since he was still in his 30s when the movie was made, he had been dancing only a few years! Amazing! As a kid, I had no clue about the skill required to dance so well—all I knew was that I was being entertained.

And therein is the takeaway: we don’t always know what others are doing that benefits us. Much of the time, all we notice is whether or not we are pleased with a situation. I suggest that we will all be blessed if we pay more attention to the contributions of others.

The Mary Poppins effect, part 2

Tuesday, September 15th, 2009

Another aspect of Mary Poppins that didn’t have a significant impact on me as a child—but did now—was Uncle Albert’s peculiar habit of laughing so hard he levitates up to the ceiling. Remember the scene? Mary, along with Jane, Michael, and Bert, goes to visit Uncle Albert because he’s having a particularly severe spell of…what? Jollity, merriment, the giggles? Anyway, he’s up there, telling corny jokes and laughing until he tumbles head-over-heels, just below the ceiling.

Then the others catch what he has—first the children, then Bert, and finally Mary—and they all end up having a tea party while hovering in the air.

It all reminds me of Marci Shimoff’s book Happy for No Reason. Do we really need a “reason” to laugh so hard that we float—if not literally, at least figuratively? I say no! So be happy, laugh, and infect others with your happiness.

The Mary Poppins effect, part 1

Monday, September 14th, 2009

I watched Mary Poppins on DVD over the weekend. I’d seen the movie as a kid, when it was new in the theater. I can’t remember if I saw it again, perhaps on TV, in the intervening years.

When you watch a movie again as an adult, of course, you get something rather different out of it. Such was the case with Mary Poppins. As a kid, I grieved along with Jane and Michael Banks as Mary packed up to leave. “Don’t you love us, Mary Poppins?” they asked. I figured the Banks family had found their perfect nanny at last and that they’d all live happily ever after—until Jane and Michael outgrew the need for nannies, anyway. But it was not to be; she left just as everyone was getting happy. How mean! Yet she must have had her reasons, I figured, even at that age: someone as sweet and wonderful as Mary Poppins wouldn’t be mean on purpose.

Now, of course, I understand. Mary Poppins had other kids to take care of, other families to “fix.” The Bankses were forever changed; they had been a dysfunctional family with unruly kids who’d frightened off a whole string of nannies. During Mary’s brief stay, Mr. Banks learned to appreciate his kids, and the entire household was left in a better state than it was before her arrival. And this is how it is with many of the people and events in our lives—we’re happy when they come, and sad when they go, but, if we are wise, are forever changed.

What’s it like outside your comfort zone?

Wednesday, September 9th, 2009

“Comfort zone” has become a cliché. It gets used so much, its meaning is almost lost. Yet comfort zones (better called “familiar zones,” as discussed in my e-book Help! I Need a Hug) are real. Chances are you have one or more; we probably all do. What would it be like if you stepped outside it?

I recently did that. As a five-month member of a local Toastmasters club, I decided, quite on the spur of the moment, to enter the club’s Humorous Speech contest. I’m fairly new to public speaking. I don’t consider myself funny. I was up against some tough competition. Yet I had the stroke of good fortune to have recently submitted a story for publication that I thought would be adaptable to the assignment.

I delivered my speech and came in second place. Suddenly, preparing and giving a speech no longer seems uncomfortable at all—and that in itself used to be outside my comfort zone! You see, when you do something really hard, that which was formerly “hard” suddenly becomes not very hard at all. Incidentally, it’s amazing how many of my fellow Toastmasters claim to have been extremely shy as children—including me.

What would it be like for you?