How My Father Brought Me Back to Life

“The future turns out to be something that you make instead of find.” – Lewis Lapham

I lost my father unexpectedly. My father suffered from a brain aneurysm and passed away immediately. My father was my rock, my world. I was crippled.  He was the only person in my life who loved me unconditionally.

I was paralyzed. Paralyzed with fear, and uncertainty of how I would go on in life without having him as my cheerleader.  How would I? I would never hear the excitement in his voice when I called him, or the smile on his face when he saw me? Life as I knew it was over! I was now fatherless.

After months of hiding and running away from the pain felt from my loss, I began to wonder what was it that my father saw in me? He spent my entire life bragging to his friends about how amazing his daughter was. But truthfully, I did not feel amazing. I couldn’t even pinpoint any part of me that he felt was worth talking about to his friends. I felt lazy, unmotivated and unworthy. I was a 30-year-old college dropout. I was living a life where I had forgotten about my dreams and never challenged myself. I worked a job where there was no opportunity for growth. I wasn’t healthy, emotionally or physically. I was smoking two packs of cigarettes a day and spending way too many nights out, socializing until the wee hours of the morning. I had no dreams. Well, I did at one point, but I had forgotten about those decades ago. I was a lost soul, living a life without purpose.

I spent more than a year depressed until one morning when I woke up and had an epiphany. I realized that even if I wasn’t the person my father thought I was, it didn’t mean that I couldn’t still become that person. I was going to turn my life around and be the person that I had always envisioned, the one my father always saw. Where was I going to start?

I started by taking a few classes at the local community college. Eventually, I found myself with enough credits to transfer to a four-year state school. I put down my cigarettes and picked up my old, beat-up running shoes. The open road offered me an opportunity to reconnect with my own personal thoughts, but to also talk with my father.  Running brought me peace. I began to run regular races and with each and every race I ran I found that I was changing. My self-doubt had taken a new shape and was being formed into self-confidence.  I was on a new path, a healthy path that would ultimately bring me peace.

When I started to challenge myself, I actually began achieving things in life that were larger than any personal vision I previously had. I graduated with honors (Phi Alpha) and because of this, I was accepted into a Master’s program at the University of Southern California. I went from being a college dropout to being accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the United States. I was starting to see less and less of the old me, and more and more of the new me.  The paranoia and self-doubt that had crippled me disappeared, and it was replaced with an incessant desire to push the envelope and try harder at life!

I decided to pack up all of my belongings and leave my home state of Connecticut for California. I left the past I was holding onto for so long, for the new future that I was assured was waiting for me. What I found was amazing. What I found was a new chance at life!

It has almost been ten years since I lost my father. What I realize now, and didn’t realize then, is that my father gave me life, not once but twice. He breathed it into me the first time he held me in his arms on the day I was born, and he did it again with his last breath. You see the loss of my father prompted me to change my life, and I am not sure that I would have been strong enough to change before.

There are pieces of my father that I will never be able to have again. I would give anything to hold my father’s hand. I would give anything to hear his voice, his laugh or even just be able to look at him. These pieces of him are lost forever, but what I have been left with is something much deeper. I have been left with a second chance at life. I know that it was his last breath that brought life back to mine. It was because of that last breath that I am where I am today, filled with love, acceptance and desire to succeed beyond any previous personal limitations. For the first time in my life, I am whole.

Do you ever wonder about how your life could be different if you had responded to an event or circumstance in a different way?

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Actual Live Sales Call Sales Training

if you cannot sell yourself , how will you get ahead in life?

The Power of Listening to Your Loved Ones

“One of the most sincere forms of respect is actually listening to what another has to say.” – Bryant H. McGill

For a large chunk of the English speaking world, 2016 has been a divisive political year.  Between the Brexit vote in the UK and the American presidential race, we have seen very sharp lines drawn between people with opposing opinions.  If you lived in either of these countries, odds are high that you were drawn into a political argument or two.  Given how much these two decisions affect international economics and politics, you probably faced a conversation even if you lived elsewhere.

Having grown up in a very conservative state, but now living in a more liberal one, I know people across the entire political spectrum.  I also enjoy debates, so I’ve gotten into some interesting discussions and even out-and-out arguments with various people, including my mother-in-law.  We have conflicting opinions on just about every subject.  We can also both be stubborn at times, each with a passion in believing we individually have the “right” answers.  We’ve discussed issues in person and also on social media platforms.

Recently, we took one of our debates onto Facebook, where mutual relatives could see our responses.  We each had our say to each other, and some of our friends also chimed in.  I thought the heat had died down on that discussion when a relative of ours wrote that I had crossed the line and made character attacks on my mother-in-law.

This accusation mortified me.  I went back and re-checked all my statements.  While I did throw around the word “moral” a few times and asked her questions based on ethics, I did not see where I had made an outright character assault.  I certainly did not feel I had called her names.  However, the line between opinion and derision isn’t always so clear.  Maybe a few of my lines could be read as insulting.  When I re-read some of her statements, I found areas where I could have chosen to interpret them as character attacks on me (although I did not think that was her intent, and I still do not interpret them that way).

This made me wonder about the purpose of debate at all.  Especially on very contentious issues where each side has strong opinions, you are not likely to change anyone’s mind.  In my near decade of discussions with my mother-in-law, I doubt either of us has made much of a dent on each other’s core moral values.  We have made up our minds given our experiences, and barring some catastrophic event, we are unlikely to be swayed from our viewpoints.  So why risk the potential hurt feelings?

My mother-in-law replied on the thread, mortified herself that she might have insulted me.  She said that she had laid out her opinion, she never meant to hurt anyone, and said thank you for the opportunity to speak. She then promised to bow out of the conversation.

This could have been the end of it, but again, I was dissatisfied.  Clearly, we were not going to change each other’s minds, but on the flip side, there is a gift in listening to someone with a dissenting view, even if you vehemently disagree.  In all the times my mother-in-law and I have exchanged heated words over a topic, it has never affected our personal relationship.  We could always end the debate with agreeing to disagree.  I know she is a good person at her core, and I believe that she thinks the same of me.

So I returned to the discussion thread and thanked my mother-in-law, not because I agreed with her, but because she was brave enough to have the conversation.  She needed to have her voice heard as much as I needed mine heard.

I’ve heard many arguments that defending your opinion means nothing, that presenting an opposing argument with someone who has made up their mind is a waste of time.  I must respectfully disagree.  It’s a sign of mutual respect and trust in being able to say what you believe and knowing your loved ones will listen, even if they never agree.  In the absence of discussions, many negative feelings can fester – anger, resentment, frustration.  In those few relationships in which I feel I cannot fully express my thoughts and feelings, I have certainly felt limited in how far that relationship can form.

The fact that my mother-in-law and I can have heated arguments and yet still be comfortable around each other is a strength in our relationship, not a weakness.  It is exactly because we have our exchanges that we are able to at least understand each other, if only on an emotional level.   Only then can we put aside our differences and still focus on what matters most: our family and loving each other.

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SECRETS OF THE MILLIONAIRE MIND BY T. HARV EKER | ANIMATED BOOK REVIEW

did you know how much your mind has to do with your success?

How I Learned the Difference Between Courage & Recklessness

“It is only in adventure that some people succeed in knowing themselves – in finding themselves.” – Andre Gide

In 2007, a friend of mine invited me to join her on a three day supported ride of the Kokopelli trail. The trail started about 40 miles west of Grand Junction down Highway 70 and ended in Moab, Utah, just south of Arches National Park. The ride started as a tradition among a group of talented endurance mountain bikers who could have easily been mistaken for athletes from the X Games.

After a few years, the ride leaders started a tour company to help several dozen intermediate riders complete this “epic ride of a lifetime” every May.  On their website, they rate the overall challenge level of the ride about halfway between “hard” and “insane.” But they also say that any intermediate rider who does the appropriate endurance training can complete the ride.

When I signed up, I was excited. And nervous. I knew I could do the endurance and strength training. I was a bike commuter and on a bike racing team which meant I rode a lot. Ten miles a day during the week and long rides of thirty to fifty miles on the weekends. I’d just have to bump that weekend mileage up a bit to be ready.

What I was really nervous about was the desert. I was a beginner camper and had no experience navigating on my own. My boyfriend, who happened to be an experienced mountain search and rescue volunteer, quizzed me on first aid and survival skills before I went. Because, well, we had gone camping once.

The first day of the ride started badly. Within a few minutes of hitting the trail our group of seven splintered into a group of five-speed demons and two stragglers — I was one of the latter. I was taking it easy, unsure if I’d had enough time to adjust to the 4,000 ft altitude.

Later that afternoon, we regrouped. I finally understood what our five fastest riders were so excited about. We spent the afternoon riding a trail that had a series of smooth rolling hills on a slight decline. It made it feel like you were flying. I couldn’t wait to do it again!

The second day started worse. I took a wrong turn and lost contact with all of the other riders. The anxiety attack started almost immediately. Certain death seemed likely. I had visions of myself laying on the ground with severely sunburned, rotting flesh, begging for water. I started crying. I felt so alone.

I could see a highway in this distance. I considered flagging down a truck and asking them to take me to the nearest town. The fear of flagging down the one truck driver who was secretly a serial killer stopped me. I hated myself for signing up for this dumb ride.

I decided the desert was the better option. I took a deep breath and retraced my steps. When I made it back to the trail, I met up with Susan and John*, two other stragglers who asked me to join their group. They had met at the starting line on day one.

I imagine their conversation that first day went something like this.

Susan: What kind of training did you do for this ride?

John: I didn’t really train.

We were riding over a mountain range with several thousand feet of elevation gain a day. My friends and I had trained for months building up to six or seven-hour rides over lots of hills.

Susan: What kind of maps did you bring?

John: I don’t have a map.

Each member of my group had their own SET of maps. We were completely responsible for navigating between the starting point, lunch, and our night time camping spots.

Susan: How much water do you have?

John: Half a CamelBak.

We were in a desert in nearly 100-degree heat on a trail with no available drinking water. We only got a chance to fill up our water containers at a designated lunch spot and our night time camp. We were told to bring the largest water reservoirs we could carry.

By the time I met Susan and John, John said he was tired and didn’t want to ride anymore. Susan quietly told me she was worried about him. As other riders joined our group, I ended up with the job of keeping an eye on John.

It was so hot and John was so quiet that I worried he might be suffering from heat exhaustion. I tried to keep him talking to monitor his mental state. He told me he couldn’t talk. I offered to tell him stories, but he said he couldn’t concentrate. I kept trying to get him to talk anyways. I’m not sure which one of us was more grateful when we made it to the lunch spot.

John decided that he was going to stop riding — which was the best decision for his safety, and meant that we didn’t have to spend the rest of the day worrying about him.  Susan and I set off for the afternoon ride without him. It was scorching hot. We leapfrogged between shade trees with other riders as we climbed.

We made slow progress — our morning adventure with the man who wasn’t remotely prepared for this ride had taken its toll. And the oppressive heat didn’t make it easy to recover. At nearly 8pm that night, we were two of the last riders to arrive at camp.

We were also two of the last riders to leave camp the next morning. It was our third and last day of riding. And about halfway through the day we would ride part of one of the most famous mountain biking trails in the country: Porcupine Rim.

About a half-mile into Porcupine Rim, I tore my front brake. We couldn’t fix it on the trail. We started walking down into town. That’s when the giggling started. And it didn’t stop.

Because I had signed up for this ride to prove to myself that I was something special. And after riding nearly 150 miles over the La Sal mountains, getting lost, babysitting an alarmingly unprepared rider, breaking my bike, and surviving 3 days in the desert in near triple-digit heat,it just seemed hilarious that I had ever questioned myself. I didn’t need any more crazy endurance rides to know what I was capable of.

We all have times where the path in front of us is intimidating, when we feel lost, and when the things we depend on break. Our job is to respect those feelings, but not let them stop us.

Because the guy who isn’t worried enough about his safety to bring enough water to the desert is in more danger than he realizes. But the girl whose anxiety leads her to take first aid classes, train for months, bring her own set of maps and then laughs at how silly her anxiety was when everything goes horribly wrong? You can bet on her.

Growth happens when you are ready for it. What you do to get to the starting line matters.

Have you ever had a moment where you realized you were more prepared than you thought? Or met someone else who made you appreciate the experience you had that you took for granted?

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Jack Canfield: The Success Principles

wize man do you agree?

How I Changed My Life by Staying Home

Say yes. Live dangerously. Dance like no one’s watching.

Sound familiar?

Get out of your comfort zone. Meet strangers. Make small talk.

When are you allowed to leave? An hour? Half an hour? What’s your excuse when you do?

Finally, you’re free! You savor the relief, stepping away from the chatter.

Yet you feel guilty. Why would you want to be alone? Are you antisocial or something? That’s just weird.

You go home, put on pajamas, and open a book.

The real fun begins.

Have you ever experienced that?

I Socialized To Exhaustion

I had moved to a different city and I needed to make connections. I said “yes” to everything: game nights, concerts, karaoke, friends’ houses, friends-of-friends houses, church groups, Meetups, “girls’ nights,” and blind dates.

No wonder I was drained. I was burned out. I got irritable, depressed, anxious. I wanted to run away and hide.

But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t say “no.” What if people were offended?  What if they thought I was unfriendly? What if I missed out on something?

So I kept saying yes.

Until I had to say no.

When It Finally Broke

A couple from my church were having a cookout, and I volunteered to bring a side dish. I thought it was just going to be our usual “group.” Easy peasy.

Then I learned that dozens of other people were invited. People I didn’t know, but I’d have to meet and make small talk with while being crammed into a little townhouse. I felt awkward and claustrophobic just thinking about it.

Two years of frantic socializing crashed over me, and I gave up.

I texted the hostess my apologies, but I couldn’t make it.

Then came the rush of relief—then, the guilt.

How I Crushed My Guilt

I already knew I was an introvert. I didn’t mind time alone, I didn’t like crowds, and I preferred one-on-one conversations with people I knew well. Otherwise, however, I knew little about what being an introvert meant.

That all changed.

Desperate to assuage my guilt over canceling plans, I searched social media and Google for others who might relate.

I found more than that. I found knowledge, a community, and a fresh perspective on life.

I stumbled upon anecdotes of people who felt the same way about parties and evenings alone. I skimmed scientific findings on the brains of introverts and extroverts. I gobbled up excerpts from Susan Cain’s book Quiet. I even whipped up a brief post on my own blog about my feelings that evening. It drew encouraging comments from others who connected with it.

I Learned What Introversion Really Means

It’s more than being quiet or shy or preferring solitude.

Introversion means listening and thinking more than speaking. It means needing time to sort out your thoughts, to “process” information before deciding what to say, do, or even feel. It explained why I hated phone calls and had trouble with casual chit-chat.

Digging further in introversion, I noticed groups of letters like “ISTP” and “INFJ,” with no clue what they meant. Curiosity led me to the Myers-Briggs Type Index—a new turn on my road of self-discovery.

I found my Myers-Briggs type and gained even more understanding of my thought processes, my strengths, and my weaknesses. I learned that many things that were “weird” about me were actually common in my type. I better understood many of my relationship struggles.

What Else Did I Learn?

I learned more than my personality type. I learned principles that almost anyone could benefit from on occasion.

• Sometimes, it’s okay to give up. You don’t always have to move forward. Even the greatest armies have to retreat and regroup at times.
• Guilt is a poor motivator. Sometimes “I don’t want to” is reason enough.
• The easiest way can be the best way. It would have been a challenge to go to that cookout and socialize that day. Some say that’s what makes things worthwhile. But if I hadn’t gone easy on myself, I would have missed out on massive personal growth.

Living In A Whole New World

For one fateful evening, I backed out. I said no. I stayed home.

And my life is richer for it.

Do I still challenge myself? Leave my comfort zone? Force myself to say “yes”?

Of course. Even introverts need to get out of the house sometimes. But now I find a healthier balance.

I was acting like an extrovert with an endless supply of “social energy.” But I was kidding myself, and others around me.

When I finally gave up and explored who I really was, it blew my mind.

I learned not only what I needed as an introvert, but learned to make peace with it. I understood other people better, thus enriching my relationships.

Fading were the fears of being weird and antisocial. Weakened was the shame of not going out.

Recharging my “social batteries” meant that, when I did go out, it was with more energy. Instead of treating it like a painful obligation, I wanted to socialize. There were still awkward or unsuccessful interactions, but I stopped feeling so burned out. I gave myself permission to leave after a set period of time—and sometimes even stayed later!

Guess what? I still meet new people. I connected with other introverts on the Internet, and made deeper connections with real-life acquaintances. I looked for clues to other peoples’ personality types and learned best how to relate to them.

What began with guilt ended with zero regrets.

Live Quiet and Free

Say no. Stay in.

Take a deep breath, put on your pajamas, and enjoy the silence.

If you’re an introvert, burned out from social obligations, you are not alone.

When you can appreciate that in yourself, it sets you free.

Free to socialize when you most want to.

Free to understand yourself and others, to build ever more valuable relationships. Free to reach out when you recognize similarities in others.

Free to say no, to regroup, to collect your thoughts. Free to exert yourself next time.

Free to live as your own beautiful self.

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Unleashing Your Potential: Molly Fletcher at TEDxEmory

she makes some solid points!! agree?

Life Lessons I Learned On My Trip to Hawaii

“Life isn’t just to be endured, it’s to be enjoyed.” ― Gordon B.Hinckley

It wasn’t apparent the moment the Hawaiian Airlines jet touched down on the tarmac at Honolulu International Airport, but it didn’t take many days to realize that Hawaii has a split personality. The first is tourist-driven – umbrella drinks, brightly patterned shirts, surfing lessons, a beachside luau, and maybe a touch of sun-poisoning thrown in for good measure. This face of Hawaii is pragmatic, realizing that her best natural resource is the tropical climate and natural beauty that summons tourists by the millions annually on a journey to up-end their wallets and shake out a generous serving of cash for the local economy.

But for those willing to seek, the state has another face, this one older, spiritual, and lurking in the shadows just outside the easy flash of strolling Kalakaua Avenue. That’s the one I came to love. It’s also the one that lodged somewhere in my brain, followed me home to Illinois, and changed me forever. Here’s how.

Digging Into Aloha

Back in the 1960’s, surfers in town to catch big waves off Diamond Head noticed the locals using a strange hand wave now called the shaka sign. It was a funky little acknowledgment of the aloha culture that permeated the Hawaiian islands. It became part of the “hang loose, dude” way of life that attached itself to those longboard riders of yesteryear. But living the aloha way is more than a shriek of joy after successfully navigating the Banzai Pipeline with limbs intact.

In short, there is a deeper meaning to aloha and it came to mean something to me.

For centuries, the spirit of aloha has guided the interactions of Hawaii inhabitants with the natural and human world around them. It’s a code of ethics. It’s a Prime Directive. It’s a recognition of the concept of God (or whatever name you choose to assign) living in all of us. Aloha is about doing right because it’s the right thing to do, an idea sometimes difficult to keep in mind when taking another white-knuckle ride on the morning commute to work.

The code of ethics behind the word aloha could be translated as: “Come forward, be in unity and harmony with your real self, God, and mankind. Be honest, patient, kind to all life forms, and humble.” I intend to do a lot better on this front going forward. This world could use more aloha and less dog-eat-dog.

Life’s Speed Limit

The US mainland seems to have one speed – wide freakin’ open. What’s it good for? Stress, for one thing. Add to that road-rage, ulcers, heart palpitations, insomnia, exhaustion, poor relationships, out-of-shape bodies, and the list goes on. In short, a low quality, fast-paced life has become the norm in our world.

What I quickly noticed about the Hawaiian pace of life, once I wandered outside the big city of Honolulu – which seems to be getting a little too mainland frantic for my tastes – was a slow, relaxed way of life that likely requires fewer trips to the doctor for a Xanax refill.

What is it that drives us to seek out islands around the world in the first place? For some, it’s a way to avoid extradition. Others want to drink themselves silly and behave like they’ve re-entered adolescence. I like to think these are the minority.

For me, it’s about a comfy hammock at sunset and time to just breathe. Why did life evolve at a more leisurely pace on Hawaii? Was it the heat of eternal summer? The hypnotic roll of ocean waves over sand? The soothing rattle and scratch of palm fronds riffled by gentle breezes? Turn the iPhone off and the real conversation up. I’ve learned to enjoy a glass of wine with the fading remnants of the sunset rather than the television’s unholy glow. Live a life of measured existence instead of mirroring the path of a madly careening pinball. These are new old ideas I brought back from the islands.

Hula for Life

I blame hula kahiko, the ancient style of the traditional Hawaiian dance, for forcing me to face the reality that my fast food-propelled way of life had transmogrified my formerly fit figure into something more resembling a gelatinous sow.

It’s true. Tourists get one version of hula (hula auana), a flowing, relaxed presentation typically accompanied by ukulele, guitars, and other modern instruments. But hula kahiko is an entirely different beast. It’s fast, frantic movement driven only by chants and a variety of drums. Born of ancient religious rituals and requiring the kind of strength and agility not normally developed slumped inside a cubicle eight hours daily staring at a computer terminal, a chance hula kahiko performance plugged me back into the natural world with a vengeance. I realized that adulthood had shifted my compass.

Once in Hawaii, I couldn’t remember the last time I felt grass underfoot. Hawaiians, the REAL Hawaiians that populate the small towns and countryside throughout Oahu, the Big Island, and the rest get it. From what I can tell, they never lost touch with the human/nature balance.

It’s been a year since I debarked that jet plane for two weeks in the tropics. Is it too cutesy to say it was a life-changing experience? Heck, I’ll say it anyway. The islands taught me more than I expected. I’m a lot happier these days. And while the rats continue racing frantically all around me, I’m proud to say I’m quite happy ambling along in the slow lane now.

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