Here are the top 10 ways people give away their power:
1. Asking others what they should do.
2. Thinking God decides who gets what.
3. Worrying about how their dream will come true.
4. Thinking they have dues to pay.
5. Attaching to unimportant details and outcomes.
6. Believing in soul mates.
7. Thinking karma or spiritual contracts are absolute.
8. Fear of anything, especially falling in love.
9. Waiting for their ducks to line up before acting.
10. Choosing to be unhappy.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Compliment
Yesterday I ran. I never like running, while I am in the act of running, it's the feeling I get after I seek.
Despite my staccato running habit, there HAVE existed in my past a nary handful of days where I achieved that 'in the act' timelessness people speak of.
It's something I can more readily achieve on the bike, or on my yoga mat, but I do know it exists, Running.
Allow me to be clear, I am currently no where near that point in my running fitness, and at this juncture that feeling altogether eludes me.
So I painfully hobbled along; tunes cranked to camouflage my breath, and I happened upon a woman. She walked her Vizla with authority, bright colored summer dress, belted at the waist, sassy shoes, clicking along the trail in front of me. She had presence, deep red hair cut into a bob and she commanded the space. Her dog craned around as I approached and I startled her as I hopped into the grass to go around them.
As I passed I yelled, "Love the dress, you wear it perfectly" and continued on. Her response was a combination of a near shriek of delight, thank you and something else I couldn't make out over the bass of a tired rap song meant to incent pace.
I kept running.
I've wondered since why there isn't more of this; random compliments thrown towards strangers (or even neighbors) under odd circumstances, but that make a person's day?
I resolve to compliment more.
And keep running.
Despite my staccato running habit, there HAVE existed in my past a nary handful of days where I achieved that 'in the act' timelessness people speak of.
It's something I can more readily achieve on the bike, or on my yoga mat, but I do know it exists, Running.
Allow me to be clear, I am currently no where near that point in my running fitness, and at this juncture that feeling altogether eludes me.
So I painfully hobbled along; tunes cranked to camouflage my breath, and I happened upon a woman. She walked her Vizla with authority, bright colored summer dress, belted at the waist, sassy shoes, clicking along the trail in front of me. She had presence, deep red hair cut into a bob and she commanded the space. Her dog craned around as I approached and I startled her as I hopped into the grass to go around them.
As I passed I yelled, "Love the dress, you wear it perfectly" and continued on. Her response was a combination of a near shriek of delight, thank you and something else I couldn't make out over the bass of a tired rap song meant to incent pace.
I kept running.
I've wondered since why there isn't more of this; random compliments thrown towards strangers (or even neighbors) under odd circumstances, but that make a person's day?
I resolve to compliment more.
And keep running.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Evolution
The clock ticks mercilessly toward midnight and we are finally driving home after a long day in the sun, and baseball games. There were tough last inning losses and quality time spent with folks who were once reluctant friends of circumstance, and now dear confidants.
T first describes to me the insane amount of food he devoured between games earlier, while a girlfriend and I snuck in a quick bike ride. He sings the lyrics to every bad song on the pop radio station he's selected; bouncing between stanzas and peppering me with random questions.
I love it when he sings.
His questions are relentless, and he bounces from one topic to the next so quickly. To his chagrin I turn down the radio so I can more adequately respond to each inquiry, stay focused.
How long do you think you drove a car before you really felt comfortable driving?
What do you know of my dad's heart condition and medical history?
What was the first concert you ever attended? The BEST concert?
How do you remember where to go when you drive places, you rarely use a map?
Did my Great Grandpa Ray have any twins in his side of the family of just my Great Grandma?
Exactly how many months did YOU have your braces?
Uncle Cale?
Aunt Annie?
Were there colored rubber bands for braces then too?
What do you suppose my on base percentage is?
Did you see when Bo chased that foul ball, how he just threw down his toy bat and ran?
How many days till football starts?
What about 3 on 3 basketball? I AM playing on that team, right?
Why do you think we lost tonight? I mean, what's your analysis?
Where is my pool pass anyway?
How do old people teach themselves how to date, you know, if they got married when they were young and then get divorced, and have to go on a date?
If you could take a trip to anywhere, where would you go?
Who is your best friend, anyway?
And then finally, approximately five miles outside of town, he shifts awkwardly in his seat, turns his head and falls into silence, popping up as a deer nearly scampers onto the interstate, and then again, silence.
My car transitions eventually from the interstate to the awkward exit ramp, and he pops up in his seat and says:
Don't you think I've evolved nicely, as a human, Mom?
I respond, "Of course, but what specifically are you speaking of?"
T Says:
"You know, how I used to be afraid of my skin showing for that one year, and how I was afraid of doing all these things and eating new things and trying new things, and now I am still afraid of a lot of those same things, but I am now that guy who only wears shorts 12 months a year!"
T first describes to me the insane amount of food he devoured between games earlier, while a girlfriend and I snuck in a quick bike ride. He sings the lyrics to every bad song on the pop radio station he's selected; bouncing between stanzas and peppering me with random questions.
I love it when he sings.
His questions are relentless, and he bounces from one topic to the next so quickly. To his chagrin I turn down the radio so I can more adequately respond to each inquiry, stay focused.
How long do you think you drove a car before you really felt comfortable driving?
What do you know of my dad's heart condition and medical history?
What was the first concert you ever attended? The BEST concert?
How do you remember where to go when you drive places, you rarely use a map?
Did my Great Grandpa Ray have any twins in his side of the family of just my Great Grandma?
Exactly how many months did YOU have your braces?
Uncle Cale?
Aunt Annie?
Were there colored rubber bands for braces then too?
What do you suppose my on base percentage is?
Did you see when Bo chased that foul ball, how he just threw down his toy bat and ran?
How many days till football starts?
What about 3 on 3 basketball? I AM playing on that team, right?
Why do you think we lost tonight? I mean, what's your analysis?
Where is my pool pass anyway?
How do old people teach themselves how to date, you know, if they got married when they were young and then get divorced, and have to go on a date?
If you could take a trip to anywhere, where would you go?
Who is your best friend, anyway?
And then finally, approximately five miles outside of town, he shifts awkwardly in his seat, turns his head and falls into silence, popping up as a deer nearly scampers onto the interstate, and then again, silence.
My car transitions eventually from the interstate to the awkward exit ramp, and he pops up in his seat and says:
Don't you think I've evolved nicely, as a human, Mom?
I respond, "Of course, but what specifically are you speaking of?"
T Says:
"You know, how I used to be afraid of my skin showing for that one year, and how I was afraid of doing all these things and eating new things and trying new things, and now I am still afraid of a lot of those same things, but I am now that guy who only wears shorts 12 months a year!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)