Improving Myself Day By Day Quotes

Today is a new day and it brings with it a new set of opportunities for me to act on. I am attentive to the opportunities and I seize them as they arise. I have full confidence in myself and my abilities. I can do all things that I commit myself to. No obstacle is too big or too difficult for me to handle because what lies inside me is greater than what lies ahead of me. I am committed to improving myself and I am getting better daily. I am not held back by regret or mistakes from the past. I am moving forward daily. Absolutely nothing is impossible for me.

For me, running is both exercise and a metaphor. Running day after day, piling up the races, bit by bit I raise the bar, and by clearing each level I elevate myself. At least that’s why I’ve put in the effort day after day: to raise my own level. I’m no great runner, by any means. I’m at an ordinary – or perhaps more like mediocre – level. But that’s not the point. The point is whether or not I improved over yesterday. In long-distance running the only opponent you have to beat is yourself, the way you used to be.

What is going to happen in the course of my day that will be an improvement over lying on something very soft, underneath something very warm, wearing only underwear, doing absolutely nothing, all by myself?

Why do we get out of bed? Is there any feeling better then being in bed? What could possibly feel better than this? What is going to happen in the course of my day that will be an improvement over lying on something very soft, underneath something very warm, wearing only underwear, doing absolutely nothing, all by myself?

Every day I wake up and ask myself, ‘How can I accept myself and others more fully?

This time around I was so lonely that I was forced to be face to face with myself. Realizing at the end of the day I only have me and I didn't seem to like my own company. I decided to I had to make myself into someone I can live with.

I learned that by constantly doing things that are hard and making myself uncomfortable, I improve my ability to handle obstacles. I get comfortable being uncomfortable—and that’s real mental toughness.

Do I have an original thought in my head? My bald head. Maybe if I were happier, my hair wouldn't be falling out. Life is short. I need to make the most of it. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I'm a walking cliché. I really need to go to the doctor and have my leg checked. There's something wrong. A bump. The dentist called again. I'm way overdue. If I stop putting things off, I would be happier. All I do is sit on my fat ass. If my ass wasn't fat I would be happier. I wouldn't have to wear these shirts with the tails out all the time. Like that's fooling anyone. Fat ass. I should start jogging again. Five miles a day. Really do it this time. Maybe rock climbing. I need to turn my life around. What do I need to do? I need to fall in love. I need to have a girlfriend. I need to read more, improve myself. What if I learned Russian or something? Or took up an instrument? I could speak Chinese. I'd be the screenwriter who speaks Chinese and plays the oboe. That would be cool. I should get my hair cut short. Stop trying to fool myself and everyone else into thinking I have a full head of hair. How pathetic is that? Just be real. Confident. Isn't that what women are attracted to? Men don't have to be attractive. But that's not true. Especially these days. Almost as much pressure on men as there is on women these days. Why should I be made to feel I have to apologize for my existence? Maybe it's my brain chemistry. Maybe that's what's wrong with me. Bad chemistry. All my problems and anxiety can be reduced to a chemical imbalance or some kind of misfiring synapses. I need to get help for that. But I'll still be ugly though. Nothing's gonna change that.

JUST FOR TODAY, I will live through this day only. I will not brood about yesterday or obsess about tomorrow. I will not set far-reaching goals or try to overcome all of my problems at once. I know that I can do something for 24 hours that would overwhelm me if I had to keep it up for a lifetime. JUST FOR TODAY, I will be happy. I will not dwell on thoughts that depress me. If my mind fills with clouds, I will chase them away and fill it with sunshine. JUST FOR TODAY, I will accept what is. I will face reality. I will correct those things that I can correct and accept those I cannot. JUST FOR TODAY, I will improve my mind. I will read something that requires effort, thought and concentration. I will not be a mental loafer. JUST FOR TODAY, I will make a conscious effort to be agreeable. I will be kind and courteous to those who cross my path, and I'll not speak ill of others. I will improve my appearance, speak softly, and not interrupt when someone else is talking. Just for today, I will refrain from improving anybody but myself. JUST FOR TODAY, I will do something positive to improve my health. If I'm a smoker, I'll quit. If I'm overweight, I will eat healthfully -- if only for today. And not only that, I will get off the couch and take a brisk walk, even if it's only around the block. JUST FOR TODAY, I will gather the courage to do what is right and take the responsibility for my own actions.

You know what Dad called me when I was growing up? ‘Five ninety-eight.’ That’s what all the chemicals in the human body would be worth if you bottled them raw and sold them. He told me that was all I’d ever be worth unless I worked every day to improve myself. Five ninety-eight.

Today was a rough day, but at least I admit to my failure and I am willing to improve tomorrow. I smiled and said to myself, now that is growth.

Question yourself every day. Ask yourself: Who am I? What have I learned? What have I created? What forward progress have I made? Who have I helped? What am I doing to improve myself—today? To get better, faster, stronger, healthier, smarter?

Failures mean nothing at all if success comes eventually. And that’s a thought that should cheer you up and help you keep on keeping on when the going seems hard. Keep going! Each week, each month, you are improving. One day soon, you will find a way to do the thing that today looks impossible.

At times we feel outnumbered in our attempts to improve the world—to brighten and beautify, to preserve and heal and do what’s best for humanity. Selfless efforts can start to feel beleaguering, discouraging, even pointless with so little support. It is at these times I remind myself that I would rather be the last Good Samaritan standing than to join the ranks of selfish multitudes creating misery.

It sounds like a lot when you summarize it, but I don't do all of it every day. If you want to know the truth, most days I feel like I'm miserably behind and only doing about half of what I should be doing. But when you look back you can see that you're building something. I think people who say 'Don't look back' are crazy. I wouldn't survive if I weren't looking back and patting myself on the back all the time for making it this far.

Nothing extraordinary was happening anymore, or would ever happen again. I was just there with my relatives, living pointless, shapeless days that weren't bringing me any closer to anything. It seemed to me that this state of affairs was a relief to my mother. From her perspective, I thought, the past weeks had been a perilous, temporary adventure, something to be endured, and now things were back to normal. It was painful to feel at such a cross-purposes with her. Almost everything that was interesting or meaningful in my story was, in her story, a pointless hazard or annoyance. This was even more true with my aunts. They didn't take anything I did seriously; it was all some trivial, mildly annoying side activity that I insisted on for some reason, having nothing to do with real life. I couldn't challenge or contradict this view, even to myself, because I really didn't know how to anything real. I didn't know how to move to a new city, or have sex, or have a real job, or make someone fall in love with me, or do any kind of study that wasn't just a self-improvement project. For the first time in my life, I couldn't think of anything I particularly wanted to study or to do. I still had the old idea of being a writer, but that was being, not doing. It didn't say what you were supposed to do.

Every new day, I reach out to the best of myself by grace.

But what says Socrates?—"One man finds pleasure in improving his land, another his horses. My pleasure lies in seeing that I myself grow better day by day.

Sometimes I believe that God wants to try me, both now and later on; I must become good through my own efforts, without examples and without good advice. Then later on I shall be all the stronger. Who besides me will ever read these letters? From whom but myself shall I get comfort? As I need comforting often, I frequently feel weak and dissatisfied with myself; my shortcomings are too great. I know this, and every day I try to improve myself, again and again.

JUST FOR TODAY Just for today I will be happy. This assumes that what Abraham Lincoln said is true, that ‘most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.’ Happiness is from within; it is not a matter of externals. Just for today I will try to adjust myself to what is, and not try to adjust everything to my own desires. I will take my family, my business, and my luck as they come and fit myself to them. Just for today I will take care of my body. I will exercise it, care for it, nourish it, not abuse it nor neglect it, so that it will be a perfect machine for my bidding. Just for today I will try to strengthen my mind. I will learn something useful. I will not be a mental loafer. I will read something that requires effort, thought and concentration. Just for today I will exercise my soul in three ways; I will do somebody a good turn and not get found out. I will do at least two things I don’t want to do, as William James suggests, just for exercise. Just for today I will be agreeable. I will look as well as I can, dress as becomingly as possible, talk low, act courteously, be liberal with praise, criticise not at all, nor find fault with anything and not try to regulate nor improve anyone. Just for today I will try to live through this day only, not to tackle my whole life problem at once. I can do things for twelve hours that would appall me if I had to keep them up for a lifetime. Just for today I will have a program. I will write down what I expect to do every hour. I may not follow it exactly, but I will have it. It will eliminate two pests, hurrying and indecision. Just for today I will have a quiet half-hour all by myself and relax. In this half-hour sometimes I will think of God, so as to get a little more perspective into my life. Just for today I will be unafraid, especially I will not be afraid to be happy, to enjoy what is beautiful, to love, and to believe that those I love, love me. If we want to develop a mental attitude that will bring us peace and happiness, here is Rule 1: Think and act cheerfully, and you will feel cheerful.

On the road all day, with no interest in the radio, we had not heard the news. Usually I spare myself from the news, because if it's not propaganda, then it's one threat or another exaggerated to the point of absurdity, or it's the tragedy of storm-quake-tsunami, of bigotry and oppression misnamed justice, of hatred passed off as righteousness and honor called dishonorable, all jammed in around advertisements in which a gecko sells insurance, a bear sells toilet tissue, a dog sells cars, a gorilla sells investment advisers, a tiger sells cereal, and an elephant sells a drug that will improve your lung capacity, as if no human being in America any longer believes any other human being, but trusts only the recommendations of animals.

For me, running is both exercise and a metaphor. Running day after day, piling up the races, bit by bit I raise the bar, and by clearing each level I elevate myself. At least that’s why I’ve put in the effort day after day: to raise my own level. I’m no great runner, by any means. I’m at an ordinary—or perhaps more like mediocre—level. But that’s not the point. The point is whether or not I improved over yesterday. In long-distance running the only opponent you have to beat is yourself, the way you used to be.

In my present life from day to day, I attempt to improve my understanding of God by responding to Him in three basic ways: by moving outwards into positive action, by exercising my ability to choose positive thoughts, and by allowing myself to be drawn inwards to positive being.

Yet we all dragged our cyborgian carcasses across the trashed planet every day. We all chased various forms of intoxication, hoping to soothe our savage souls. I could see myself some twenty years hence, a gray-haired troll slumped on a barstool, my nose a bulbous mess of clotted capillaries.

NOEL: And even when I don't stay up until midnight, I still enjoy the tradition of New Year's resolutions. What can I say? I like setting personal goals and challenging myself to improve. I suppose I could do it on any day of the year, but the New Year is as good a day as any. It's a fresh start.

We always make the best decision we can based upon what we believe in that moment. When I was growing up, my father and I experienced a lot of tension with each other for many years. He had bipolar disorder and it was very difficult for him. As I got older and went through my transformation of consciousness and really forgave him—and forgave myself and forgave the world—my father started showing up in my awareness as an angel. He got happier and happier and our relationship began to improve. People would say, “Your dad has really changed a lot,” and I would say, “My mind has really changed.” My father was just reflecting that back. In fact, he came to me one day and said, “David, I’m sorry. I was not a very good father. I didn’t do the things that a good father should do.” I replied, “Nonsense! I don’t believe that for one instant. You did the best you could and I did the best I could. You didn’t let me down and I didn’t let you down. We’re not going to buy into that guilt trip anymore.” He lit up when I said this. His whole demeanor changed and he instantly reflected love back to me. That simple exchange completely rearranged our view of everything that had taken place during those early years. None of it mattered anymore. We had been mistaken about many things because we couldn’t perceive truly while we were going through our time together.

It was also revealed that the reason I am cruel to others is because I have low-self-esteem. Because I don’t love myself, I am unable to understand those who do love me in spite of it all, and so I test them. “You love me even when I do this? Or this? Or this?” Even when the other person forgives me, I am unable to understand their forgiveness, and when they give up on me, I torture and console myself with the “fact” that no one could ever love me. That goddamn self-esteem. [...] Looking more closely at myself, there are parts that I've improved on. I still remain someone who is unable to love herself. But as I had that thought, I had another: light and darkness are part of the same thing. Happiness and unhappiness alternate throughout life, as in a dance. So as long as I keep going and don’t give up, surely I will keep having moments of tears and laughter. This book, therefore, ends not with answers but with a wish. I want to love and be loved. I want to find a way where I don’t hurt myself. I want to live a life where I say things are good more than things are bad. I want to keep failing and discovering new and better directions. I want to enjoy the tides of feeling in me as the rhythms of life. I want to be the kind of person who can walk inside the vast darkness and find the one fragment of sunlight I can linger in for a long time. Some day, I will.

It was clear to me that my hosts too were feeling anything but comfortable, that their cheerfulness was forced, whether because they were inhibited by me, or else were out of sorts for some domestic reason. They only asked me questions it was impossible to give an honest answer to and, as a result, I had soon lied myself into such a corner that every word I uttered almost made me sick. Eventually in an effort to distract them, I started to tell them about the funeral I had witnessed that day, but I struck a wrong note. My attempts at humour did nothing to improve the general mood, and we were increasingly at odds with one another. Inside me, Steppenwolf was laughing and baring his teeth and, by the time dessert was served, we had all three fallen quite silent.

I find it simpler to envision shedding tears over a matter than picturing myself genuinely prepared for change. Understanding my emotions proves intricate. It commences with a yearning to refine my thought processes, a longing to evolve into a superior version of myself, and an acknowledgment of the knowledge and superiority of others beyond my current perception. On rare occasions, this contemplation lingers within me, day after day, gradually evolving from a fleeting thought into an intrinsic facet of my identity. The aforementioned notion holds promise for instigating positive change within me, yet it often necessitates a significant passage of time before I yearn for it, and the resultant impact is distressing. I come to terms with the notion that my heart is astray, preyed upon by untamed beasts. I can anticipate your reassurance: "Don't worry, no one is perfect." Nonetheless, I acknowledge that I stand just a notch above the beasts and several steps below the angels.

By the time I got to work, I had this realization that I didn’t have any more goals.”26 For the next two months, he assiduously tended to the task of finding for himself a worthy life goal. “I looked at all the crusades people could join, to find out how I could retrain myself.” What struck him was that any effort to improve the world was complex. He thought about people who tried to fight malaria or increase food production in poor areas and discovered that led to a complex array of other issues, such as overpopulation and soil erosion. To succeed at any ambitious project, you had to assess all of the intricate ramifications of an action, weigh probabilities, share information, organize people, and more. “Then one day, it just dawned on me—BOOM—that complexity was the fundamental thing,” he recalled. “And it just went click. If in some way, you could contribute significantly to the way humans could handle complexity and urgency, that would be universally helpful.”27 Such an endeavor would address not just one of the world’s problems; it would give people the tools to take on any problem.

Gabriel Duke. You are a complete hypocrite." "A hypocrite? Me?" "Yes, you. Mr. I-Know-a-Hidden-Tresaure-When-I-See-It. You said you know how to spot undervalued things. Undervalued people. And yet you persist in selling yourself short. If I'm the crown jewels in camouflage, you're a..." She churned the air with one hand. "... a diamond tiara." He grimaced. "Fine, you can be something manlier. A thick, knobby scepter. Will that suffice?" "I suppose it's an improvement." "For weeks, you've been insisting you haven't the slightest idea what it means to give a creature a loving home. 'I'm too ruthless, Penny. I'm only motivated by self-interest, Penny. I'm a bad, bad man, Penny.' And all this time, you've been running an orphanage? I could kick you." "I'm not running an orphanage. I give the orphanage money. That's all." "You gave them kittens." "No, you gave them kittens." "You sent them gifts at Christmas. Playthings and sweets and geese to be roasted for their dinner." "It was the only business I could attend to on Christmas, and I don't like to waste the day. All the banks and offices are closed." She skewered him with a look. "Really. You expect me to believe that?" He pushed a hand through his hair. "What is your aim with this interrogation?" "I want you to admit the truth. You are giving those children a home. A place of warmth and safety, and yes, even love. Meanwhile, you are stubbornly denying yourself all the same things." "I can't be denying myself if it's something I don't want." "Home isn't something a person wants. It's something every last one of us needs. And it's not too late for you, Gabriel." She gentled her voice. "You could have that for yourself.

Of course, the cadavers, in life, donated themselves freely to this fate, and the language surrounding the bodies in front of us soon changed to reflect that fact. We were instructed to no longer call them “cadavers”; “donors” was the preferred term. And yes, the transgressive element of dissection had certainly decreased from the bad old days. (Students no longer had to bring their own bodies, for starters, as they did in the nineteenth century. And medical schools had discontinued their support of the practice of robbing graves to procure cadavers—that looting itself a vast improvement over murder, a means once common enough to warrant its own verb: burke, which the OED defines as “to kill secretly by suffocation or strangulation, or for the purpose of selling the victim’s body for dissection.”) Yet the best-informed people—doctors—almost never donated their bodies. How informed were the donors, then? As one anatomy professor put it to me, “You wouldn’t tell a patient the gory details of a surgery if that would make them not consent.” Even if donors were informed enough—and they might well have been, notwithstanding one anatomy professor’s hedging—it wasn’t so much the thought of being dissected that galled. It was the thought of your mother, your father, your grandparents being hacked to pieces by wisecracking twenty-two-year-old medical students. Every time I read the pre-lab and saw a term like “bone saw,” I wondered if this would be the session in which I finally vomited. Yet I was rarely troubled in lab, even when I found that the “bone saw” in question was nothing more than a common, rusty wood saw. The closest I ever came to vomiting was nowhere near the lab but on a visit to my grandmother’s grave in New York, on the twentieth anniversary of her death. I found myself doubled over, almost crying, and apologizing—not to my cadaver but to my cadaver’s grandchildren. In the midst of our lab, in fact, a son requested his mother’s half-dissected body back. Yes, she had consented, but he couldn’t live with that. I knew I’d do the same. (The remains were returned.) In

Once you pay attention to those feelings, you can turn them around and begin to improve your overall outlook. Knowing what causes your negative feelings can work a great deal towards ending the cycle of Generalized Anxiety Disorder and panic attacks. What drove me to the ER were one of the two different kinds of anxiety symptoms I experienced throughout a day―there were the lingering kind such as a lump in the throat feeling, more commonly known as Globus Hystericus, or the dizzy feeling of literally feeling like you’re walking in a dream and no one can really see or hear you. Or there were the sudden symptoms in the form of a heart palpitation that seemed to rise from nowhere and scared the life out of me, or the numbness/tingling in my arms that led me to always think a stroke was right around the corner, but as always I was wrong again...thankfully.

What then? Are we only to buy the books that we read? The question has merely to be thus bluntly put, and it answers itself. All impassioned bookmen, except a few who devote their whole lives to reading, have rows of books on their shelves which they have never read, and which they never will read. I know that I have hundreds such. My eye rests on the works of Berkeley in three volumes, with a preface by the Right Honourable Arthur James Balfour. I cannot conceive the circumstances under which I shall ever read Berkeley; but I do not regret having bought him in a good edition, and I would buy him again if I had him not; for when I look at him some of his virtue passes into me; I am the better for him. A certain aroma of philosophy informs my soul, and I am less crude than I should otherwise be. This is not fancy, but fact. […..] "Taking Berkeley simply as an instance, I will utilise him a little further. I ought to have read Berkeley, you say; just as I ought to have read Spenser, Ben Jonson, George Eliot, Victor Hugo. Not at all. There is no ‘ought’ about it. If the mass of obtainable first-class literature were, as it was perhaps a century ago, not too large to be assimilated by a man of ordinary limited leisure _in_ his leisure and during the first half of his life, then possibly there might be an ‘ought’ about it. But the mass has grown unmanageable, even by those robust professional readers who can ‘grapple with whole libraries.’ And I am not a professional reader. I am a writer, just as I might be a hotel-keeper, a solicitor, a doctor, a grocer, or an earthenware manufacturer. I read in my scanty spare time, and I don’t read in all my spare time, either. I have other distractions. I read what I feel inclined to read, and I am conscious of no duty to finish a book that I don’t care to finish. I read in my leisure, not from a sense of duty, not to improve myself, but solely because it gives me pleasure to read. Sometimes it takes me a month to get through one book. I expect my case is quite an average case. But am I going to fetter my buying to my reading? Not exactly! I want to have lots of books on my shelves because I know they are good, because I know they would amuse me, because I like to look at them, and because one day I might have a caprice to read them. (Berkeley, even thy turn may come!) In short, I want them because I want them. And shall I be deterred from possessing them by the fear of some sequestered and singular person, some person who has read vastly but who doesn’t know the difference between a J.S. Muria cigar and an R.P. Muria, strolling in and bullying me with the dreadful query: ‘_Sir, do you read your books?_

I’ve been doing the same thing for eight years, and I know it doesn’t help anyone. I know the world would be a better place if jobs like mine didn’t exist. I know I take advantage of people’s insecurities and their desire to thrive in a society where no one can improve. And I know this because even I, after an eight-hour day full of elevator conversations that drive me to low-stakes suicidal ideation (like stapling my hand to get out of a meeting that makes me understand the true meaning of the word “infinite,” or pouring boiling water from the office kettle onto myself so I can spend five to ten days at home with my feet up), still believe that the solution to all my problems will be a floral Zara dress made in Bangladesh that has followed me on every website I’ve visited today, and that, in all certainty, will be worn by millions of women on the street next season. I still believe that dress will turn me into a different woman, a happy, carefree, springtime version of myself. I know that when you buy something, what you’re paying for is the promise of a better life. I know I’m also taking advantage of and accepting money from mediocre clients who think the greatest act of creativity is your smell, of leaving an impression, of not being a gray, boring person who spends two hours of their life every day getting to and from work. I sell the possibility that today, yes, today, with the help of that floral perfume, something extraordinary will happen to you. I’m not selling the umpteenth vacuum cleaner that no one needs; I’m selling the idea of having a nice, clean house, of being able to take a photo of that cute little corner you decorated Pinterest-style, uploading it on Instagram, and getting a lot of likes. Then I pitch a creative idea that’s like all the other creative ideas, the ones that came before and the ones that will come afterward. The lipstick effect. The smell of memories. Your dream house. They buy my idea, they pay us, I get congratulated, and we start all over again.

I have to remember as well that I am in a race. Oh, people will say that I’m not competing against anyone. That’s not true. I am competing against time and I will lose. We all lose. In the time that I have, what will I accomplish? Will I give up and say the race is too long or too fast, too hard? Will I tire out early? I am in a race to do my work, the best work I can possibly do. It is important to keep my standards high while others are slacking off saying it’s too hard. It’s supposed to be hard; otherwise, everyone would do it. It’s supposed to make us whine and carp about the pace or the failures we encounter or the simple fact that some days I suck at this work that I have chosen. We all of us feel this way at some time. Then we sleep on it or go for a walk, sit with a friend, or stare out at the mountain. This work is also what makes us feel right. The race is with myself, making myself better each time I go to the bench or the easel or the drawing board. Making sure that I am improving my skills, and staying curious, and getting better at my work each day.

For those who do not wish to blame this sordid history on science, and prefer to speak of pseudoscience, it will be good to consider that eugenics was a serious academic discipline at many universities. By 1930, institutes devoted to it existed in England, Sweden, Switzerland, Russia, America, Germany, and Norway. Its theories were supported by prominent figures, including American presidents. Its founding father, the British anthropologist and polymath Sir Francis Galton, became a fellow of the Royal Society and was knighted well after having espoused ideas about improving the human race. Notably, Galton felt that the average citizen was “too base for the everyday work of modern civilization.”11 It took Adolf Hitler and his henchmen to expose the moral bankruptcy of these ideas. The inevitable result was a precipitous drop of faith in science, especially biology. In the 1970s, biologists were still commonly equated with fascists, such as during the heated protest against “sociobiology.” As a biologist myself, I am glad those acrimonious days are over, but at the same time I wonder how anyone could forget this past and hail science as our moral savior. How

More or less the same can be said for Art Therapy, which is organized infantilism. Our class was run by a delirious young woman with a fixed, indefatigable smile, who was plainly trained at a school offering courses in Teaching Art to the Mentally Ill; not even a teacher of very young retarded children could have been compelled to bestow, without deliberate instruction, such orchestrated chuckles and coos. Unwinding long rolls of slippery mural paper, she would tell us to take our crayons and make drawings illustrative of themes that we ourselves had chosen. For example: My House. In humiliated rage I obeyed, drawing a square, with a door and four cross-eyed windows, a chimney on top issuing forth a curlicue of smoke. She showered me with praise, and as the weeks advanced and my health improved so did my sense of comedy. I began to dabble happily in colored modeling clay, sculpting at first a horrid little green skull with bared teeth, which our teacher pronounced a splendid replica of my depression. I then proceeded through intermediate stages of recuperation to a rosy and cherubic head with a “Have-a- Nice-Day” smile. Coinciding as it did with the time of my release, this creation truly overjoyed my instructress (whom I’d become fond of in spite of myself), since, as she told me, it was emblematic of my recovery and therefore but one more example of the triumph over disease by Art Therapy.

Then something changed. My life no longer seemed like a movie to me. Ivan was still in the movie, but had left me behind. Nothing extraordinary was happening anymore, or would ever happen again. I was just there with my relatives, living pointless, shapeless days that weren’t bringing me any closer to anything. It seemed to me that this state of affairs was a relief to my mother. From her perspective, I thought, the past weeks had been a perilous, temporary adventure, something to be endured, and now things were back to normal. It was painful to feel at such cross-purposes with her. Almost everything that was interesting or meaningful in my story was, in her story, a pointless hazard or annoyance. This was even more true with my aunts. They didn’t take anything I did seriously; it was all some trivial, mildly annoying side activity that I insisted on for some reason, having nothing to do with real life. I couldn’t challenge or contradict this view, even to myself, because I really didn’t know how to do anything real. I didn’t know how to move to a new city, or have sex, or have a real job, or make someone fall in love with me, or do any kind of study that wasn’t just a self-improvement project. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t think of anything I particularly wanted to study or to do. I still had the old idea of being a writer, but that was being, not doing. It didn’t say what you were supposed to do.

For the first five or six days I didn’t suffer at all, carried along by the change of scene and the sense of a progression. This was the next step in the story. Ivan was in Tokyo and I was here. It was like when two characters in a movie went to two different places. Then something changed. My life no longer seemed like a movie to me. Ivan was still in the movie, but had left me behind. Nothing extraordinary was happening anymore, or would ever happen again. I was just there with my relatives, living pointless, shapeless days that weren’t bringing me any closer to anything. It seemed to me that this state of affairs was a relief to my mother. From her perspective, I thought, the past weeks had been a perilous, temporary adventure, something to be endured, and now things were back to normal. It was painful to feel at such cross-purposes with her. Almost everything that was interesting or meaningful in my story was, in her story, a pointless hazard or annoyance. This was even more true with my aunts. They didn’t take anything I did seriously; it was all some trivial, mildly annoying side activity that I insisted on for some reason, having nothing to do with real life. I couldn’t challenge or contradict this view, even to myself, because I really didn’t know how to do anything real. I didn’t know how to move to a new city, or have sex, or have a real job, or make someone fall in love with me, or do any kind of study that wasn’t just a self-improvement project. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t think of anything I particularly wanted to study or to do. I still had the old idea of being a writer, but that was being, not doing. It didn’t say what you were supposed to do.

We arrived here yesterday . The ambassador is indisposed and will therefore be staying indoors for a few days. If only he were not so morose, all would be well. I can see all too clearly Fate has severe trials in store for me. But courage! A lighthearted spirit can put up with anything. A light heart? It makes me laugh, the way the words flow from my pen: oh, if there were a little more lightheartedness in my veins I should be the happiest creature under the sun. Am I to despair of my own powers, my own gifts, when others with paltry abilities and talents go showing off, smugly self-satisfied? Dear God who bestowed all these gifts on me, why didst Thou not keep half back, and in their place grant me confidence and contentment? Patience! Patience! All will improve. And I tell you, my dear fellow, you were right. I feel far better within myself now that I am among these people, kept busy day in, day out, watching their doings and goings-on. It is true that, since we are so constituted as to be forever comparing ourselves with others and our surroundings with ourselves, our happiness or misery depends on the things in our environment; and, this being so, nothing is more dangerous than solitude. It is in the nature of our imagination to be rising, impelled and nurtured by the fantastic images of poetry; and it conceives of a chain of beings with ourselves as the most inferior and everything else more glorious and with greater perfections. All of this is quite natural. We often feel that we lack something and seem to see that very quality in someone else, promptly attributing all our own qualities to him too, and a kind of ideal contentment as well. And so the happy mortal is a model of complete perfection – which we have ourselves created. On the other hand, once we set to work diligently, in spite of all our shortcomings and the toilsomeness of it, we quite often find that in our leisurely, tacking style we make better headway than others who sail and row – and it gives us a genuine sense of ourselves, to keep pace with others or indeed outstrip them.

I have personally found it incredibly valuable to simply give myself a score every day, for any behavior I want to improve.

I had to admit, while writing this book, I experienced highs and lows myself. At first, I was filled with excitement and thrilled at the idea of providing people with a guide to help them understand their emotions. I imagined how readers’ lives would improve as they learned to control their emotions. My motivation was high and I couldn’t help but imagine how great the book would be. Or so I thought. After the initial excitement, the time came to sit down to write the actual book, and that’s when the excitement wore off pretty quickly. Suddenly ideas that looked great in my mind felt dull. My writing seemed boring, and I felt as though I had nothing substantive or valuable to contribute. Sitting at my desk and writing became more challenging each day. I started losing confidence. Who was I to write a book about emotions if I couldn’t even master my own emotions? How ironic! I considered giving up. There are already plenty of books on the topic, so why add one more? At the same time, I realized this book was a perfect opportunity to work on my emotional issues. And who doesn’t suffer from negative emotions from time to time? We all have highs and lows, don’t we? The key is what we do with our lows. Are we using our emotions to grow and learn or are we beating ourselves up over them?

But then, he looked up at me with big blue eyes under long beautiful lashes. “It’s just he makes it look so simple, you know?” Yeah, no way I was walking away now. “I take it you have a leak under your sink?” I asked. “A leak? More like a geyser. But the pipe isn’t broken. It’s the part where the pipe changes directions for some reason. I mean, wouldn’t it make more sense to just go straight to where it needs to go instead of looking like a freaking spaghetti highway down there?” “Look, kid, plumbing is like life. If you know what the pipe’s purpose is, where they’re coming from and where they’re going, it all makes sense.” “Oh my god,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Doesn’t that just fucking figure. This was such a shit day. And now I’m stuck in a hardware store with a hotter than fuck stranger who’s talking about plumbing using metaphors like he’s freaking Socrates or some shit.” He glared at me. “Plumbing is like life,” he mimicked. I forced myself not to laugh, which was hard because, in hindsight, it was a pretty stupid thing to say. Instead, I ignored the fact that he called me hot and focused on the fact that he was having a meltdown in the local home improvement store. Apparently not over a burst pipe, but over… well, I wasn’t sure exactly what over, but obviously something bigger than a pipe.

I fell into climbing, so to speak, a willy-nilly response to a crushing bout of depression that began in my mid-thirties. The disorder reduced my chronic low self-regard to a bottomless pit of despair and misery. I recoiled from myself and my life, and came very close to suicide. Then, salvation. On a family vacation in Colorado, I discovered the rigors and rewards of mountain climbing, and gradually came to see the sport as my avenue of escape. I found that a punishing workout regimen held back the darkness for hours each day. Blessed surcease. I also gained hard muscle and vastly improved my endurance, two novel sources of pride.

Hiba S. is one of the pioneer Iraqi women academics and authors in the field of media and journalism, currently exiled in Amman. During a visit to her office in summer 2014, Hiba shared that the early days of the occupation in 2003 were the most difficult she had ever experienced. She recollected: ‘I was sitting in my garden smoking when I suddenly saw a huge American tank driving through the street. I saw a Black soldier on the top of the tank. He looked at me and did the victory sign with his fingers. Had I had a pistol in my hand, I would have immediately shot myself in the head right then and there. The pain I felt upon seeing that image is indescribable. I felt as though all the years we had spent building our country, educating our students to make them better humans were gone with the wind.’ Hiba’s description carries strong feelings of loss, defeat, and humiliation. Also significant in her narrative is that the first American soldier she encountered in post-invasion Iraq was a Black soldier making the victory sign. This is perhaps one of the most ironic and paradoxical images of the occupation. A Black soldier from a historically and consistently oppressed group in American society, who, one might imagine had no choice but to join the military, coming to Iraq and making the victory sign to a humiliated Iraqi academic whose country was ravaged by war. In a way, this image is worthy of a long pause. It is an encounter of two oppressed and defeated groups of people—Iraqis and African Americans meeting as enemies in a warzone. But, if one digs deeper, are these people really 'enemies' or allies struggling against the same oppressors? Do the real enemies ever come to the battlefield? Or do they hide behind closed doors planning wars and invasions while sending other 'oppressed' and 'diverse' faces to the battlefield to fight wars on their behalf? Hiba then recalled the early months of the occupation at the University of Baghdad where she taught. She noted that the first thing the Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA) tried to do was to change the curriculum Iraqi academics had designed, taught, and improved over the decades. While the Americans succeeded in doing this at the primary and high school levels, Hiba believed that they did not succeed as much at the university level. Iraqi professors knew better than to allow the 'Americanization of the curriculum' to take place. 'We knew the materials we were teaching were excellent even compared to international standards,' she said. 'They [the occupiers] tried to immediately inject subjects like "democracy" and "human rights" as if we Iraqis didn’t know what these concepts meant.' It is clear from Hiba’s testimony, also articulated by several other interviewees, that the Iraqi education system was one of the occupying forces’ earliest targets in their desire to reshape and restructure Iraqi society and peoples’ collective consciousness.

I've got two smart boys," she'd say. "Two mighty smart boys." .... "First thing you're going to do is memorize your times tables." .... I learned the times table. I just kept repeating them until they fixed themselves in my brain... Within days of learning my times table, math became so much easier that my test scores soared.... "I've decided you boys are watching too much television," she said one evening, snapping off the set in the middle of a program... "From now on, you boys can watch no more than three programs a week." .... Mother had already decided how we would spend our free time when we weren't watching television. "You boys are going to go to the library and check out books. You're going to read at least two books every week. At the end of each week you'll give me a report on what you read." .... Slowly the realization came that I was getting better in all my school subjects. I began looking forward to. my trips to the library. The staff got to know Curtis and me, offering suggestions on what we might like to read.... By reading so much, my vocabulary improved along with my comprehension. Soon I became the best student in math when we did story problems. .... The final week of fifth grade we had a long spelling bee in which Mrs. Williamson made us go through every spelling word we were supposed to have learned that year. As everyone expected, Bobby Farmer won the spelling bee. But to my surprise, the last word he spelled correctly to win was agriculture. I can spell that word, I thought with excitement. I had learned it just the day before from my library book. As the winner sat down, a thrill swept through me--a yearning to achieve--more powerful than ever before. "I can spell agriculture," I said to myself. "and I'll bet I can learn to spell any other word in the world." .... I can learn about flax or any subject through reading. It is like Mother says--if you can read, you can learn just about anything.... As I continued to read, my spelling, vocabulary, and comprehension improved, and my classes became much more interesting.

Look, I’m not joking around. Smartphones are dangerous. Not because they may cause stress, anxiety, and even depression, but because they change your behavior. It seems like we can’t focus on one thing for more than 5 seconds. Why? Well, we can’t because our smartphone is constantly going off. Not because people are calling you (it seems like people are afraid of calling these days, but that’s another topic), but because you’re constantly getting notifications about THINGS THAT DON’T MATTER. Change Your Smartphone Behavior The same study I mentioned above also found something else: “Researchers asked participants to perform a concentration test under four different circumstances: with their smartphone in their pocket, at their desk, locked in a drawer and removed from the room completely.” The results are significant — test results were lowest when the smartphone was on the desk, but with every additional layer of distance between participants and their smartphones, test performance increased. Overall, test results were 26% higher when phones were removed from the room.” Sure, it’s just a study. And you don’t have to believe everything you read. But this is something I can personally attest. For the past two years, I’ve significantly changed my smartphone behavior. Namely: I have turned off ALL my notifications except messages and calls I’ve removed myself from all Whatsapp groups except for one with my closest friends I’ve removed all news apps (if something important happens, you’ll hear it from the people around you) I only consume music, paid journalism, articles from specific authors I follow, podcasts, YouTube videos (mostly to learn, but also for entertainment because I’m not a robot), books, and audiobooks on it For the rest, I use my phone to call, text, and to take notes, photos and videos Also, I’ve stopped immediately responding to notifications. That doesn’t mean I don’t value other people who try to reach me. It means that I refuse to be a slave to my phone. I control my phone. For most of us, it’s the other way around. In the past, Facebook, Instagram, Apple, Google, etc, all controlled my mind. Obviously, they still do because the only way to escape those idiots is to cut yourself off and run to the woods. That’s not realistic. I like my phone. But I don’t need it. The results have been great since I started using my smartphone in the above way. During the past two years, I got more things done than ever. And, I still have time to work out daily, hang out with my friends, have dinner with my family, and

Fortunately, ideas already exist for how to achieve every aspect of deconsumer society that appears in this book. Lifespan labeling can encourage product durability: new tax regimes and regulations can favour repair over disposability, job-sharing programs and shorter work days or work weeks can keep people employed in a slower, smaller economy. Redistribution of wealth can reverse income inequality, or prevent it from worsening in a lower-consuming world. I set out on my thought experiment as an observer, I wanted to see for myself where a world that stops shopping would lead, rather than be guided by others' theories. In the end, both approaches arrive at the same place. Movements for degrowth and a well-being economy-one measured not by GDP but by its ability to improve the quality of life of citizens-have been steadily refining a set of ideas and ways of life that could free us from the need for relentless, and relentlessly damaging, economic expansion. The alternative to consumer capitalism is not a constellation of possibilities, but increasingly a convergence.

On other days, loving myself meant feeling adequate. On other days, self-love ushered me out of spaces where I wasn’t feeling embraced. The hard days of practicing self-love required making a mental trip to my childhood and reassuring myself that whatever made me feel unloved then no longer counted. It meant emitting my older version and parting ways with the little child whose needs were not met. Self-love expanded my empathy and left me in a state of forgiveness and understanding of the past rather than rage.

This is how experts practice: First, they set a stretch goal, zeroing in on just one narrow aspect of their overall performance. Rather than focus on what they already do well, experts strive to improve specific weaknesses. They intentionally seek out challenges they can’t yet meet.10 Olympic gold medal swimmer Rowdy Gaines, for example, said, “At every practice, I would try to beat myself. If my coach gave me ten 100s one day and asked me to hold 1:15, then the next day when he gave me ten 100s, I’d try to hold 1:14.”11 fn1 Virtuoso violist Roberto Díaz describes “working to find your Achilles’ heel—the specific aspect of the music that needs problem solving.

What on earth was I to do for the next couple of days? Tapestry? It was not in my nature to sit still. Perhaps it was time I learnt how to wait. I would be humble, self-sacrificing. Patient. Even though I was only mildly religious, I imagined myself on my knees before the altar in my local church, praying for his return. Knitting socks for soldiers. Reading improving texts, crying a little into my pillow as I prayed. Perhaps affection changed one fundamentally as a person. I could join a nunnery, briefly, until he came back. I contemplated my possible futures glumly and then shook myself back to common sense.

I weighed myself twice daily, and within two weeks I’d dropped twenty-five pounds. My progress only improved as I kept grinding, and the weight started peeling off. Ten days later I was at 250, light enough to begin doing push-ups, pull-ups, and to start running my ass off. I’d still wake up, hit the stationary bike, the pool, and the gym, but I also incorporated two-, three-, and four-mile runs. I ditched my running shoes and ordered a pair of Bates Lites, the same boots SEAL candidates wear in BUD/S, and started running in those.

There's a telos of self-improvement baked into the immigrant experience. As a teenager, I busied myself with the school newspaper or debate club because, unlike with math or science, I thought I could actually get better at these things. You flip through your father's old physics notebooks, and you know in your bones that these formulas and graphs will never make sense to you. But one day, you realize that your parents speak with a mild accent, and that they have no idea what passive voice is. The next generation would acquire a skill on their behalf -- one that we could also use against them. Commanding the language seemed like our only way of surpassing them. Home life took on a kind of casual litigiousness. The calm and composed children, a jaunty bounce to our sentences, laying traps with our line of questioning. The parents, tired and irritated, defaulting to the native tongue.

I am not concerned about being better than others, my only competition is with myself. My focus is on improving and becoming a better version of who I was the day before.

keeping the first station busy, and it’s similar to first-in, first-out scheduling. But of course, now everyone knows that you don’t release work based on the availability of the first station. Instead, it should be based on the tempo of how quickly the bottleneck resource can consume the work.” I just stare at him blankly. He continues, “Because of how Mark was releasing work, inventory kept piling up in front of our bottleneck, and jobs were never finished on time. Every day was an emergency. For years, we were awarded Best Customer of the Year from our air freight shipment company, because we were overnighting thousands of pounds of finished goods to angry customers almost every week.” He pauses and then says emphatically, “Eliyahu M. Goldratt, who created the Theory of Constraints, showed us how any improvements made anywhere besides the bottleneck are an illusion. Astonishing, but true! Any improvement made after the bottleneck is useless, because it will always remain starved, waiting for work from the bottleneck. And any improvements made before the bottleneck merely results in more inventory piling up at the bottleneck.” He continues, “In our case, our bottleneck was a heat treat oven, just like in Goldratt’s novel, The Goal. We also had paint-curing booths that later became constraints, too. By the time we froze the release of all new jobs, you couldn’t even see the bottleneck work centers because they were surrounded by huge piles of inventory. Even from up here!” Despite myself, I laugh with him. It’s obvious in hindsight, but I can imagine that to Mark, it was anything but obvious. “Look, thanks for the history lesson. But I learned most of this already in business school. I don’t see how this could possibly be relevant to managing IT Operations. IT is not like running a factory.” “Oh, really?” he turns to me, frowning intensely. “Let me guess. You’re going to say that IT is pure knowledge work, and so therefore, all your work is like that of an artisan. Therefore, there’s no place for standardization, documented work procedures, and all that high-falutin’ ‘rigor and discipline’ that you claimed to hold so near and dear.” I frown. I can’t figure out if he’s trying to convince me of something I already believe or trying to get me to accept an absurd conclusion. “If you think IT Operations has nothing to learn from Plant Operations, you’re wrong.

Just a damn minute,” Caleb barked, bringing her up short with a quick grasp on her elbow. “Where do you think you’re going?” “To my brother’s home,” Lily replied, her chin high. “Kindly unhand me, Major. If you don’t, I’ll scream.” Reluctantly Caleb let go of Lily’s arm. He swept his hat off his head and then put it back on again in a single furious motion. “I want to know what you’re doing here,” he hissed, keeping up with Lily’s short strides easily when she set out for Rupert’s home. Wagons and buggies rattled by on the brick street, and Lily indulged in a secret smile. “I’ve become a woman of means, Caleb,” she said, still walking briskly. By that time he’d taken her valise, so she swung her arms at her sides. “I’m going to buy all the things I need to homestead my land.” “That’s crazy. Who’s going to protect you from Indians and outlaws?” “I am,” Lily answered without pause, though inside she didn’t feel so confident. “I suppose I’ll marry one day, though.” Caleb swore softly. “Fine. Marry anybody you want to,” he snapped. “Thank you,” Lily replied in a dulcet tone. “I will.” She turned onto a side street, and her spirits lifted because she could see Rupert’s small house in the distance. “Tell me where you got the money for this harebrained project!” Caleb demanded. Lily looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. “I sold myself to every man on the post,” she whispered. “I let them do everything you’ve ever done.” Caleb was practically apoplectic. “I’m warning you, Lily Chalmers—” “Of what?” Just as Lily would have entered Rupert’s front gate Caleb caught hold of her again. He dropped the valise to the ground and gripped her by both shoulders. “Tell me.” Lily sighed. “I don’t know exactly where the money came from, Caleb,” she said moderately. “My mother sent it. Apparently her circumstances improved considerably after she got rid of us. Now, since I’ve answered your question—and may I say it was none of your business in the first place—will you stop carrying on in public?” Caleb glowered at her and let go of her arm. “We have to talk.” Lily worked the gate latch. “Why?” “Because when you go in there you’re going to find out that I’ve been here asking questions, that’s why.” Lily’s hand froze in midair. “What?” “I’ve hired a Pinkerton man to look for your sisters, Lily.” Lily was stunned. “I told you—” “That you didn’t want to be obligated. I know. But I wanted to do this for you, and I can afford it, so I went ahead.” Before

Just a damn minute,” Caleb barked, bringing her up short with a quick grasp on her elbow. “Where do you think you’re going?” “To my brother’s home,” Lily replied, her chin high. “Kindly unhand me, Major. If you don’t, I’ll scream.” Reluctantly Caleb let go of Lily’s arm. He swept his hat off his head and then put it back on again in a single furious motion. “I want to know what you’re doing here,” he hissed, keeping up with Lily’s short strides easily when she set out for Rupert’s home. Wagons and buggies rattled by on the brick street, and Lily indulged in a secret smile. “I’ve become a woman of means, Caleb,” she said, still walking briskly. By that time he’d taken her valise, so she swung her arms at her sides. “I’m going to buy all the things I need to homestead my land.” “That’s crazy. Who’s going to protect you from Indians and outlaws?” “I am,” Lily answered without pause, though inside she didn’t feel so confident. “I suppose I’ll marry one day, though.” Caleb swore softly. “Fine. Marry anybody you want to,” he snapped. “Thank you,” Lily replied in a dulcet tone. “I will.” She turned onto a side street, and her spirits lifted because she could see Rupert’s small house in the distance. “Tell me where you got the money for this harebrained project!” Caleb demanded. Lily looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. “I sold myself to every man on the post,” she whispered. “I let them do everything you’ve ever done.” Caleb was practically apoplectic. “I’m warning you, Lily Chalmers—” “Of what?” Just as Lily would have entered Rupert’s front gate Caleb caught hold of her again. He dropped the valise to the ground and gripped her by both shoulders. “Tell me.” Lily sighed. “I don’t know exactly where the money came from, Caleb,” she said moderately. “My mother sent it. Apparently her circumstances improved considerably after she got rid of us. Now, since I’ve answered your question—and may I say it was none of your business in the first place—will you stop carrying on in public?” Caleb glowered at her and let go of her arm. “We have to talk.” Lily worked the gate latch. “Why?” “Because when you go in there you’re going to find out that I’ve been here asking questions, that’s why.” Lily

One day I saw him going into one of the lecture halls, I followed. I thought it was you when I first noticed him. I sat some distance away from the boy at the lecture hall. He was a freshman law student from a well to do family in the Philippines. I stalked him for a day before I introduced myself. Toby was new at campus and was finding his way around. We started hanging out after classes. He was attractive, charming and pleasant but lacked a certain je ne se quoi which you possess. As much as I like him I had a hunch that he wasn’t altogether the kind of man I would be totally happy in a long term relationship. My loneliness and heartaches got the better of me and I pursued this relationship half-heartedly; thinking our emotional affinity would improve with time. One evening, a week after we met we were at a pub celebrating a friend’s birthday. I was intoxicated trying to drown my sorrows from missing you. He had a wee bit too much to drink at the celebration. We ended up in my flat with our clothes scattered around us. He had a beautiful physique like yours. I began seeing you in him when we became intimate. I longed for your sweet lips and wanted to believe I was making love to you instead of Toby. Ignoring my premonitions, I plunged full steam ahead. I kissed him passionately like I did you when we were a couple. With my eyes clammed shut, I imagine holding you in my arms, caressing you and submerging fully in you. I desired no other only you.

I walk to rid myself of the terror of cancer, and to overcome the fear of it coming back. The fear may never completely fade, but actively engaging life – whatever that may involve – reminds me of the joy each day can bring.

I don't wish to be hampered by any restrictions in the compilation of my notes. I shall not attempt any system or method. I will jot things down as I remember them. But here, perhaps, someone will catch at the word and ask me: if you really don't reckon on readers, why do you make such compacts with yourself — and on paper too — that is, that you won't attempt any system or method, that you jot things down as you remember them, and so on, and so on? Why are you explaining? Why do you apologise? Well, there it is, I answer. There is a whole psychology in all this, though. Perhaps it is simply that I am a coward. And perhaps that I purposely imagine an audience before me in order that I may be more dignified while I write. There are perhaps thousands of reasons. Again, what is my object precisely in writing? If it is not for the benefit of the public why should I not simply recall these incidents in my own mind without putting them on paper? Quite so; but yet it is more imposing on paper. There is something more impressive in it; I shall be better able to criticise myself and improve my style. Besides, I shall perhaps obtain actual relief from writing. Today, for instance, I am particularly oppressed by one memory of a distant past. It came back vividly to my mind a few days ago, and has remained haunting me like an annoying tune that one cannot get rid of. And yet I must get rid of it somehow. I have hundreds of such reminiscences; but at times some one stands out from the hundred and oppresses me. For some reason I believe that if I write it down I should get rid of it. Why not try?

I am not good enough - now, I am not a hero – still. I may be in the limelight for not being the hero, but I am the only person who can make a hero of myself. I must rise above the fear of failure. Every day, I must analyze my performance & improve. Beginning today, I refuse the option to be mediocre by not wasting any time in waiting, but moving ahead in search of greatness.

So training smart, training effectively, involves cycling through the three zones in any given week or training block: 75 percent easy running, 5 to 10 percent running at target race paces, and 15 to 20 percent fast running or hill training in the third zone to spike the heart and breathing rates. In my 5-days-a-week running schedule, that cycle looks like this: On Monday, I cross-train. Tuesday, I do an easy run in zone one, then speed up to a target race pace for a mile or two of zone-two work. On Wednesday, it’s an easy zone-one run. Thursday is an intense third-zone workout with hills, speed intervals, or a combination of the two. Friday is a recovery day to give my body time to adapt. On Saturday, I do a relaxed run with perhaps another mile or two of zone-two race pace or zone-three speed. Sunday is a long, slow run. That constant cycling through the three zones—a hard day followed by an easy or rest day—gradually improves my performance in each zone and my overall fitness. But today is not about training. It’s about cranking up that treadmill yet again, pushing me to run ever faster in the third zone, so Vescovi can measure my max HR and my max VO2, the greatest amount of oxygen my heart and lungs can pump to muscles working at their peak. When I pass into this third zone, Vescovi and his team start cheering: “Great job!” “Awesome!” “Nice work.” They sound impressed. And when I am in the moment of running rather than watching myself later on film, I really think I am impressing them, that I am lighting up the computer screen with numbers they have rarely seen from a middle-aged marathoner, maybe even from an Olympian in her prime. It’s not impossible: A test of male endurance athletes in Sweden, all over the age of 80 and having 50 years of consistent training for cross-country skiing, found they had relative max VO2 values (“relative” because the person’s weight was included in the calculation) comparable to those of men half their age and 80 percent higher than their sedentary cohorts. And I am going for a high max VO2. I am hauling in air. I am running well over what should be my max HR of 170 (according to that oft-used mathematical formula, 220 − age) and way over the 162 calculated using the Gulati formula, which is considered to be more accurate for women (0.88 × age, the result of which is then subtracted from 206). Those mathematical formulas simply can’t account for individual variables and fitness levels. A more accurate way to measure max HR, other than the test I’m in the middle of, is to strap on a heart rate monitor and run four laps at a 400-meter track, starting out at a moderate pace and running faster on each lap, then running the last one full out. That should spike your heart into its maximum range. My high max HR is not surprising, since endurance runners usually develop both a higher maximum rate at peak effort and a lower rate at rest than unconditioned people. What is surprising is that as the treadmill

Eventually I was ready to learn how to perform routine life tasks again. 'Enabling occupation'—that’s what the learning process was called when it was presented to me. Enabling occupation involved the mastery of skills that I didn’t even know could properly be called 'skills.' How to pick up and carry and manipulate a set of common objects: a handbag, a stoneware saucer, a mobile phone, a paperback book. I was told that my new limbs were capable of hefting an automobile, of bending an iron bar, but I couldn’t make them do any of these magical things—not anything remotely close. Instead, I spent my days trying to pick up a thumbtack from a hard surface using my feeble pincer grasp, to activate a light switch with a single articulated finger, and to fasten a long line of shirt buttons, each of which was around the size of a half-dollar coin. During this period, I worked to improve my gross motor skills in parallel. I relearned how to reach for distant objects without collapsing under my own weight, how to twist a standard brass doorknob, and how to pour liquid from a plastic pitcher into a paper cup without spilling everything everywhere or crushing the handle itself in my grip. Eventually I used these newfound skills to practice clothing myself in simple blouses with velcro fasteners and pants with elastic waistbands, struggling to take it all off again when it was time. At some point during this phase, a team of nameless staff members helped me stand upright in front of a full-length mirror so I could stare at my newly-made body, fully exposed, and with my sharpened vision I was able to see the true extent of my transformation, the exquisite atrocity I’d chosen to perpetrate.

Devoting yourself to a particular art is invaluable. The art becomes our vehicle with which we drive down the road of life. We use this vehicle to learn about ourselves and this place, to conquer fears, to become more of what we already are. In my own life, I have found most valuable the transferable skills of learning from jiu jitsu to all other facets of day to day study. In devoting myself with such commitment to this art, in undertaking the task of understanding jiu jitsu to whatever degree by circumstance allows, I have unknowingly learned how to learn.

Version Two-Morning (Engage in your beginning ritual if you are using one.) THIS MORNING I ADMIT WHEN ISOLATED I AM POWERLESS OVER (Fill in problem). (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I ADMIT WHEN I RELY ONLY ON MY WILL MY LIFE IS UNMANAGEABLE. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I BELIEVE THERE IS A POWER GREATER THAN MYSELF. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I BELIEVE THIS POWER CAN, AND WILL, RESTORE ME TO SANITY. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM MAKING A DECISION TO TURN MY WILL OVER TO THAT POWER’S CARE. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM MAKING A DECISION TO TURN MY LIFE OVER TO THAT POWER’S CARE. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM ENTIRELY READY TO HAVE THAT POWER REMOVE ALL MY DEFECTS OF CHARACTER. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I HUMBLY ASK THAT POWER TO REMOVE MY SHORTCOMINGS. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM SEEKING THROUGH THIS PRAYER TO IMPROVE MY CONSCIOUS CONTACT WITH THAT SPIRITUAL POWER. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR KNOWLEDGE OF THAT SPIRITUAL POWER’S WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE POWER TO CARRY OUT THAT SPIRITUAL POWER’S WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE WILLINGNESS TO TAKE THE ACTION NECESSARY TO CARRY OUT THAT SPIRITUAL POWER’S WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR A SPIRITUAL AWAKENING. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO CARRY THIS MESSAGE TO OTHERS WHO STILL SUFFER. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE ABILITY AND WILLINGNESS TO PRACTICE THESE PRINCIPLES IN ALL ASPECTS OF MY LIFE. (Engage in your ending ritual if you are using one.) Version Two-Evening (Engage in your beginning ritual if you are using one.) TONIGHT I ADMIT IN ISOLATION I AM POWERLESS OVER (Fill in problem)-THAT MY LIFE IS UNMANAGEABLE. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE A POWER GREATER THAN MYSELF AND YOU ARE RESTORING ME TO SANITY. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM GRATEFUL THIS DAY I WAS ABLE TO MAKE A DECISION TO TURN MY WILL AND MY LIFE OVER TO YOUR CARE. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I CONTINUE TO BE ENTIRELY WILLING TO HAVE YOU REMOVE ALL MY DEFECTS OF CHARACTER. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I HUMBLY ASK YOU TO CONTINUE TO REMOVE MY SHORTCOMINGS. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I TAKE PERSONAL INVENTORY AND FIND I HAVE BEEN WRONG AND NOW PROMPTLY ADMIT IT TO YOU. (If after an honest review of the day you are unable to identify anyone you have harmed, skip the next two sentences.) (BREATHE) TONIGHT I LIST THESE PERSONS I HAVE HARMED TODAY, AND AM WILLING TO MAKE AMENDS TO THEM ALL. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AGREE TO MAKE DIRECT AMENDS TO THESE PEOPLE WHEREVER POSSIBLE, EXCEPT WHEN TO DO SO WOULD INJURE THEM OR OTHERS. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM SEEKING THROUGH PRAYER TO IMPROVE MY CONSCIOUS CONTACT WITH YOU. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM PRAYING FOR KNOWLEDGE OF YOUR WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM PRAYING FOR THE POWER TO CARRY OUT YOUR WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM PRAYING FOR THE WILLINGNESS TO CARRY OUT YOUR WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM SEEKING THROUGH MEDITATION TO IMPROVE MY CONSCIOUS CONTACT WITH YOU. (BREATHE) TODAY I EXPERIENCED A SPIRITUAL AWAKENING AS A RESULT OF THESE STEPS. (BREATHE) TODAY I TRIED TO CARRY THIS MESSAGE TO OTHERS WHO STILL SUFFER. (BREATHE) TODAY I PRACTICED THESE PRINCIPLES IN ALL MY AFFAIRS. (Engage in your beginning ritual if you are using one.)

When I started this 500 days ago, I had trouble concentrating; I couldn’t commit to a goal for more than a week at a time. Whenever I had a day off I wasted it in lazy indulgence, knowing that I could be doing more with my time. Now, I can handle 50, 60 hour work weeks regularly without even noticing it. Now, I can exercise regularly and stick to it. Now, I’m in a relationship unlike any I’ve ever been in because I can finally treat my partner as another human being rather than sometimes as an object of desire (I now know firsthand that my own desires aren’t as important as they make themselves out to be). Now, I’m constantly improving myself instead of just wishing I could.

Step 1. I analyzed the situation fearlessly and honestly and figured out what was the worst that could possibly happen as a result of this failure. No one was going to jail me or shoot me. That was certain. True, there was also a chance that I would lose my position; and there was also a chance that my employers would have to remove the machinery and lose the twenty thousand dollars we had invested. “Step II. After figuring out what was the worst that could possibly happen, I reconciled myself to accepting it, if necessary. I said to myself: This failure will be a blow to my record, and it might possibly mean the loss of my job; but if it does, I can always get another position. Conditions could be much worse; and as far as my employers are concerned—well, they realize that we are experimenting with a new method of cleaning gas, and if this experience costs them twenty thousand dollars, they can stand it. They can charge it up to research, for it is an experiment. “After discovering the worst that could possibly happen and reconciling myself to accepting it, if necessary, an extremely important thing happened: I immediately relaxed and felt a sense of peace that I hadn’t experienced in days. “Step III. From that time on, I calmly devoted my time and energy to trying to improve upon the worst which I had already accepted mentally. “I now tried to figure out ways and means by which I might reduce the loss of twenty thousand dollars that we faced. I made several tests and finally figured out that if we spent another five thousand for additional equipment, our problem would be solved. We did this, and instead of the firm losing twenty thousand, we made fifteen thousand. “I

Quitting has never been an option for me... I have goals and I will never settle for a "classic" ordinary existence. I will live each day with purpose, focused upon my destination and regardless of the obstacles in my path; I will find a way to overcome them. My attitude makes the difference. When no one else believes in me, I will always choose to believe in myself. - Carla De Oliveira Agrosì & Kianu Starr

No, emptiness is not nothingness. Emptiness is a type of existence. You must use this existential emptiness to fill yourself.” His words were very enlightening to me. Later, after I thought about it a bit, I realized that it wasn’t Buddhist philosophy at all, but was more akin to some modern physics theories. The abbot also told me he wasn’t going to discuss Buddhism with me. His reason was the same as my high school teacher’s: With my sort, he’d just be wasting his time. That first night, I couldn’t sleep in the tiny room in the temple. I didn’t realize that this refuge from the world would be so uncomfortable. My blanket and sheet both became damp in the mountain fog, and the bed was so hard. In order to make myself sleep, I tried to follow the abbot’s advice and fill myself with “emptiness.” In my mind, the first “emptiness” I created was the infinity of space. There was nothing in it, not even light. But soon I knew that this empty universe could not make me feel peace. Instead, it filled me with a nameless anxiety, like a drowning man wanting to grab on to anything at hand. So I created a sphere in this infinite space for myself: not too big, though possessing mass. My mental state didn’t improve, however. The sphere floated in the middle of “emptiness”—in infinite space, anywhere could be the middle. The universe had nothing that could act on it, and it could act on nothing. It hung there, never moving, never changing, like a perfect interpretation for death. I created a second sphere whose mass was equal to the first one’s. Both had perfectly reflective surfaces. They reflected each other’s images, displaying the only existence in the universe other than itself. But the situation didn’t improve much. If the spheres had no initial movement—that is, if I didn’t push them at first—they would be quickly pulled together by their own gravitational attraction. Then the two spheres would stay together and hang there without moving, a symbol for death. If they did have initial movement and didn’t collide, then they would revolve around each other under the influence of gravity. No matter what the initial conditions, the revolutions would eventually stabilize and become unchanging: the dance of death. I then introduced a third sphere, and to my astonishment, the situation changed completely. Like I said, any geometric figure turns into numbers in the depths of my mind. The sphereless, one-sphere, and two-sphere universes all showed up as a single equation or a few equations, like a few lonesome leaves in late fall. But this third sphere gave “emptiness” life. The three spheres, given initial movements, went through complex, seemingly never-repeating movements. The descriptive equations rained down in a thunderstorm without end. Just like that, I fell asleep. The three spheres continued to dance in my dream, a patternless, never-repeating dance. Yet, in the depths of my mind, the dance did possess a rhythm; it was just that its period of repetition was infinitely long. This mesmerized me. I wanted to describe the whole period, or at least a part of it. The next day I kept on thinking about the three spheres dancing in “emptiness.” My attention had never been so completely engaged. It got to the point where one of the monks asked the abbot whether I was having mental health issues. The abbot laughed and said, “Don’t worry. He has found emptiness.” Yes, I had found emptiness. Now I could be at peace in a bustling city. Even in the midst of a noisy crowd, my heart would be completely tranquil.

Let me not take to myself, and suffer over, the actions and reactions of other people. Other adult human beings are not my responsibility, no matter how closely their lives may be intertwined with mine. I will not allow myself to be troubled by anyone else; my one problem is to improve my own way of living and looking at life. “God teach me to detach my mind from what others say and do, except to draw helpful lessons and guidance from them.

With no step-by-step guidance or role models, I had stumbled and fallen and picked myself up. I had survived. I had thrived. All along, I had moved one day at a time, one considered step followed by another, one morning followed by another night. Each day had been an improvement from the day before.

Remember, the Theory of Intimidation states that the results a person achieves are inversely proportionate to the degree to which he is intimidated.  By developing techniques to dramatically improve my posture, I positioned myself for accomplishing my ultimate objective—getting paid.  In the final analysis, what I really did was separate myself from the rest of the pack by learning how to cope with intimidating people and thereby increasing my chances of actually receiving what I earned. Specifically, as a closing drew near, I took three important steps to maintain my strong posture: I kept my finger on the pulse of the deal twenty-four hours a day so I could pinpoint the time and place of the closing. I continued to nurture my relationship with the buyer in the hopes that, at a minimum, I would have his moral support. I showed up at the closing with my attorney, and counted on the Universal Attorney-to-Attorney Respect Rule as my insurance policy if all else failed.

December 3 Only one who continually reexamines himself and corrects his faults will grow. The Hagakure Anyone seeking to perfect his character has to continually examine himself in order to correct the things in his life that need to be corrected. All men have faults. Every man has his own personal shortcomings, yes, even the best trained warriors and men of honor have faults that they need to continually keep in check and correct. This is just part of being human. One of the differences between the warrior and other men is that he continually tries to correct his faults, instead of just ignoring them. He is not satisfied allowing them to control his life or parts of his life. He continually examines himself and molds his life in the way that he knows he should live. Every morning, recall the code that you strive to live by, and every night reflect on whether or not you have been successful in living up to your code of honor. Look for ways in which you have fallen short in your quest and determine what you should have done differently, and know that you will handle that situation differently the next time. Strive to improve your life and your character every day. Little by little your character will be perfected, just as drop by drop the water wears away the stone. Be patient with yourself and continue with your quest. Successes, whether in the warrior lifestyle or any other endeavor, consist of not giving up. Don’t quit, just continue to press on with each new day. Every day is a new chance to start with a clean slate. I reexamine myself regularly and correct my faults.

Anxiety followed me when I changed jobs, during my first year of university, and throughout the following autumn and winter. It hung around when I started to drink more, when I started to drink less, and when I got sober once and for all and was forced to process life without numbness. It would hover over me for days before finally swooping in to convince me that I was failing, that I was weak, that I was alone. It would worsen when I tried to push it down. It thrived in the dark and in my solitude, and the longer I kept it there, the more anxious I became. Well into 2015, I kept chiding myself for not being better -- for not yet outsmarting the narratives that made me feel small and trapped and afraid. So, fueled by comparison with the people around me who seemed to have their lives under control, I threw myself into self-improvement: I decided I needed to commit to bigger and better, doing more, being more, being smarter, being more involved, less thirsty, more enthusiastic, busier, more relaxed, and, and, and. Perfect, perfect, perfect. And anxiety clapped back.

While I wait to heal, I often find solace in solitude. I don't fully understand why, but I know I must be alone. I withdraw from the world, and in that quiet space, I focus solely on my recovery. This solitude forces me to confront my raw emotions, with no distractions to dull their intensity. It is within these moments of despair that my most brilliant ideas emerge. I allow myself to feel deeply, to the point where I can no longer feel. To overcome heartache, it's essential to exhaust every emotion—cry until the tears run dry, feel until you're tired of feeling, talk about the person until even your own voice bores you. When you are drained, empty, and devoid of emotion, you are almost across the bridge to healing. It is only then that true detachment begins. Each time my heart has been broken, I've learned how to heal myself. Heartbreak no longer holds power over me. I've realized that the only way to get over it is to go through it. The longer I deny my feelings to protect myself, the more pain I endure. But if I accept the situation and fully experience my emotions, the pain fades more quickly. At most, they may occupy my thoughts for a few days; if I loved them deeply, maybe two or three weeks. I simply withdraw from society and return when I am better, when I am healed. During my healing process, I commit to self-improvement. I channel my energy into refining the parts of myself that led to unnecessary pain. I acknowledge my mistakes, see where I went wrong, and take responsibility for my role in my suffering. And as long as he makes no effort, I am gone. The quickest way for any man to lose me is to stop trying and to make his intentions clear. While he may think I am suffering, I am actually healing. I am recalibrating, renewing, and rehabilitating. I am resurrecting, realigning, adjusting, refocusing, and resetting. I am fine-tuning. In the midst of this, I give him nothing—no attention, no thoughts, no feelings. Exes thrive on your negative emotions, so silence must be so profound that it echoes. No attention, no access. They may resort to stalking through fake profiles, but let them exert the effort. Block all other avenues of communication. I am reshaping, reorienting, tweaking, reassessing, reconfiguring, restructuring. In my absence, I am transforming. Ducked. I am for all ill purposes and intentions, my most productive and fruitful self when I am hurt or alone. This leads my naysayers, detractors and enemies to learn that for the most part, excluding death, I am by most standards, indestructible. I will build empires with the stones one throws at me. I will create fertilizers with the trash and feaces hurled at me. I will rise like pheonix from the ashes. I am antifragile, I can withstand trials, tribulations, chaos and uncertainty and grow in the face of adversity. I am the epitome of the resilience paradox, trial bloom, adversity alchemy, refiners fire and the pheonix effect. I am fortitude - me. Ducked. What’s even more magical, is what comes out on the other side of this process. It’s a peace, you do not want anyone to destroy. A clarity, you won’t risk blurring. A renewed you, a different version of you, stronger, fierce, centered and certain. A rebirth, refinement. You never saw it coming. Neither will they. Copyright ©️ 2024 Crystal Evans

Living and dying, sorrow and joy, the blisters on my feet and the jasmine behind the house, the persecution, the unspeakable horrors — it is all as one in me, and I accept it all as one mighty whole and begin to grasp it better if only for myself; without being able to explain to anyone else how it all hangs together. I wish I could live for a long time so that one day I may know how to explain it, and if I am not granted that wish, well, then somebody else will perhaps do it, carry on from where my life has been cut short. And that is why I must try to live a good and faithful life to my last breath: so that those who come after me do not have to start all over again, need not face the same difficulties. Isn’t that doing something for future generations?” (3 July 1943)

FOR MY SPIRITUAL LIFE... What’s the ONE Thing I can do to help others... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to improve my relationship with God... ? FOR MY PHYSICAL HEALTH... What’s the ONE Thing I can do to achieve my diet goals... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to ensure that I exercise... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to relieve my stress... ? FOR MY PERSONAL LIFE... What’s the ONE Thing I can do to improve my skill at ________... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to find time for myself... ? FOR MY KEY RELATIONSHIPS... What’s the ONE Thing I can do to improve my relationship with my spouse/partner... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to improve my children’s school performance... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to show my appreciation to my parents... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to make my family stronger... ? FOR MY JOB... What’s the ONE Thing I can do to ensure that I hit my goals... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to improve my skills... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to help my team succeed... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to further my career... ? FOR MY BUSINESS... What’s the ONE Thing I can do to make us more competitive... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to make our product the best... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to make us more profitable... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to improve our customer experience... ? FOR MY FINANCES... What’s the ONE Thing I can do to increase my net worth... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to improve my investment cash flow... ? What’s the ONE Thing I can do to eliminate my credit card debt... ? BIG IDEAS So how do you make The ONE Thing part of your daily routine? How do you make it strong enough to get extraordinary results at work and in the other areas of your life? Here’s a starter list drawn from our experience and our work with others. Understand and believe it. The first step is to understand the concept of the ONE Thing, then to believe that it can make a difference in your life. If you don’t understand and believe, you won’t take action. Use it. Ask yourself the Focusing Question. Start each day by asking, “What’s the ONE Thing I can do today for [whatever you want] such that by doing it everything else will be easier or even unnecessary?” When you do this, your direction will become clear. Your work will be more productive and your personal life more rewarding. Make it a habit. When you make asking the Focusing Question a habit, you fully engage its power to get the extraordinary results you want. It’s a difference maker. Research says this will take about 66 days. Whether it takes you a few weeks or a few months, stick with it until it becomes your routine. If you’re not serious about learning the Success Habit, you’re not serious about getting extraordinary results. Leverage reminders. Set up ways to remind yourself to use the Focusing Question. One of the best ways to do this is to put up a sign at work that says, “Until my ONE Thing is done—everything else is a distraction.” We designed the back cover of this book to be a trigger —set it on the corner of your desk so that it’s the first thing you see when you get to work. Use notes, screen savers, and calendar cues to keep making the connection between the Success Habit and the results you seek. Put up reminders like, “The ONE Thing = Extraordinary Results” or “The Success Habit Will Get Me to My Goal.” Recruit support. Research shows that those around you can influence you tremendously. Starting a success support group with some of your work colleagues can help inspire all of you to practice the Success Habit every day. Get your family involved. Share your ONE Thing. Get them on board. Use the Focusing Question around them to show them how the Success Habit can make a difference in their school work, their personal achievements, or any other part of their lives.

Once I shifted my thinking, though, I stopped roughing myself up and started asking Why? Why don’t you want to write? What’s wrong? And while the answers were never pleasant (because really, it’s no fun to realize you messed up and now you have to rewrite a scene, or a chapter, or half a book), they were progress, and they were necessary. They were also extremely good for me, because once I got my story back on the right track, my bad writing days vanished, my daily word counts shot up, the quality of my writing improved, and life in general got a whole lot better.

I feel discouraged and disappointed. I certainly thought that if God really loved me, and I really loved Him, I should find myself growing better day by day. But I am not improved in the least.

Although a moral inventory and a daily inventory reveal myriads of flaws in our makeups, still we, as human beings, cannot unravel all our liabilities in the personality. So at night, when I offer thanks to Him for the day’s sobriety, I add a prayer: I ask Him to forgive my failings during the day, to help me to improve, and to grant me the wisdom to discover those faults in myself which I cannot lay my finger on. In short, the need for prayer is infinite! Karachi, Pakistan

You might feel like you can’t afford to take time out from your busy schedule to make yourself better. After all, you might think, everyone is counting on me. This feeling, while natural, is counterproductive. Netflix CEO Reed Hastings warned our Stanford class, “[When I was running Pure Software,] I felt like investing in me was selfish. I thought, ‘I should be working.’ I was invited to join YPO [Young President’s Organization], but I thought, ‘I can’t take a day off.’ I was too busy chopping wood to sharpen the axe. I should have spent more time with other entrepreneurs. I should have done yoga or meditation. I didn’t understand that by making myself better, I was helping the company, even if I was away from work.” Plus, when you model the behavior of taking the time to improve yourself, you help encourage the rest of the company to develop a culture of learning.

Is there a small habit that can support a major habit?” (For example, packing your exercise clothes in the morning so they’ll be ready for the gym in the evening.) “Do I often end the day frustrated because I didn’t complete the most important tasks?” (Identify the most important tasks for the next day and then schedule them into your calendar.) “What quick activities make me feel inspired or happy?” (For example, watching a short motivational video each morning.) “What five goals are the most important to me right now?” (What can you do daily to support all five of these goals?) “What are the activities that I love to do?” (Think of tasks that can support hobbies, like running, knitting, traveling, or reading.) “What areas of my financial life do I need to improve?” (If you’re in debt, then address this first. But if you have money in the bank, then you should build a habit that focuses on building up your investment portfolio.) “Can I improve the quality of my interpersonal relationships?” (Think about your interactions with your parents, children, significant other, and closest friends. Is there anything you can do daily to make these interactions better?) “What makes me feel great about myself?” (If something brings you enjoyment, then you should either do it every day or schedule time for it each week.) “How can I become more spiritual in my daily life?” (For example, read from a book of prayers, practice a bit of yoga, or recite positive affirmations.) “What is a new skill I’ve always wanted to master?” (For example, make a habit of researching and learning about talents like home brewing, playing a musical instrument, learning a new language, or anything that sounds fun.) “Is there anything I can do to support my local community or an important cause?” (We all believe in something. So if you schedule time daily for this activity, then it’s not hard to consistently help others.) “Is there something that I can do to improve my job performance and get a raise?” (For example, build a skill that will become valuable to the company.)

I seek to embrace the wings of madness and allow its fresh breath to tear myself apart and begin all over. I aspire to live with inspiration, work every day towards self-improvement, dare to be honest with myself, not fear hard work, cease evading challenging experiences, and not bemoan personal setbacks. I need to accept that hardship and adversity is part of the path to discovering personal truth, and appreciate the growth message that stalks suffering and loss. I must channel all personal sources of pain into a constructive format that enables me to thrive, not wither, and die. Every person has the ability to do some good in their brief stay on this planet. I need to discover the essential purpose of my life and then go live it instead of lamenting my imperfections, nursing animosity, and registering wrongs.

I snuck another peek at him, hoping to see signs that he was improving, and found myself inexplicably delighted to see him slowly eating a plain bun. That showed some sense of care. Or self-preservation at the very least. Maybe tomorrow he would allow himself to eat a plum bun. And the day after that even a jelly cake. Perhaps all my Sebastian-pastry fantasies would come true if we found a way to stop Captain Goode tomorrow.

Gabriel Duke. You are a complete hypocrite." "A hypocrite? Me?" "Yes, you. Mr. I-Know-a-Hidden-Tresaure-When-I-See-It. You said you know how to spot undervalued things. Undervalued people. And yet you persist in selling yourself short. If I'm the crown jewels in camouflage, you're a..." She churned the air with one hand. "... a diamond tiara." He grimaced. "Fine, you can be something manlier. A thick, knobby scepter. Will that suffice?" "I suppose it's an improvement." "For weeks, you've been insisting you haven't the slightest idea what it means to give a creature a loving home. 'I'm too ruthless, Penny. I'm only motivated by self-interest, Penny. I'm a bad, bad man, Penny.' And all this time, you've been running an orphanage? I could kick you." "I'm not running an orphanage. I give the orphanage money. That's all." "You gave them kittens." "No, you gave them kittens." "You sent them gifts at Christmas. Playthings and sweets and geese to be roasted for their dinner." "It was the only business I could attend to on Christmas, and I don't like to waste the day. All the banks and offices are closed." She skewered him with a look. "Really. You expect me to believe that?" He pushed a hand through his hair. "What is your aim with this interrogation?" "I want you to admit the truth. You are giving those children a home. A place of warmth and safety, and yes, even love. Meanwhile, you are stubbornly denying yourself all the same things." "I can't be denying myself if it's something I don't want." "Home isn't something a person wants. It's something every last one of us needs. And it's not too late for you, Gabriel." She gentled her voice. "You could have that for yourself.

I have become quite set in my ways, so everything has to be just so--the time I wake and the manner in which I prepare my food and tend to my house and body have to be very particular. If I sleep too late, or wear the wrong thing for the weather, the whole day becomes skewed, and no matter what I do I do know that things will not go as I had planned and my thoughts begin to spiral, so I turn back to the point of the day in which the error was made, and I play it over and over again in my mind, castigating myself for my misdemeanor, then recreate the day once more but with that subtle change, showing myself how it might have been so much nicer, so much more perfect, if only I had eaten the fava beans rather than the fennel with my lunch, or waited to read Baudleaire until after five in the afternoon, or cleaned my plate directly after using it rather than leaving it to form a tenacious and unsightly stain, and then I think and think what a consummate idiot I have been, and how to improve my conduct the next time the occasion presents itself.

I have become quite set in my ways, so everything has to be just so -- the time I wake and the manner in which I prepare my food and tend to my house and body have to be very particular. If I sleep too late, or wear the wrong thing for the weather, the whole day becomes skewed, and no matter what I do I know that things will not go as I had planned and my thoughts begin to spiral, so I turn back to the point of the day in which the error was made, and I play it over and over again in my mind, castigating myself for my misdemeanor, then recreate the day once more but with that subtle change, showing myself how it might have been so much nicer, so much more perfect, if only I had eaten the fava beans rather than the fennel with my lunch, or waited to read Baudelaire until after five in the afternoon, or cleaned my plate directly after using it rather than leaving it to form a tenacious and unsightly stain, and then I think and think what a consummate idiot I have been, and how to improve my conduct the next time the occasion presents itself.

As a professional footballer playing for one of London’s top football teams, my life has always been focused on excelling in my career, working tirelessly to improve my skills, and delivering performances that would make my fans proud. The intensity of the game, the excitement of the crowd, and the bond with my teammates are things that make football more than just a job it’s my passion. Off the pitch, I’ve always been mindful of securing my future, and I knew that investing my money wisely was essential to maintaining my financial stability after my playing days. When I first heard about an investment broker that promised high returns with minimal risk, it sounded like a great opportunity to grow my savings. The company had a professional appearance, with glowing testimonials and a polished website that instilled confidence. They reassured me that they had a foolproof strategy for earning returns while minimizing risk, so I felt comfortable entrusting them with a significant portion of my earnings. I decided to invest 1 million euros, believing it was a sound decision that would help me secure my future. At first, everything seemed to go according to plan. I saw modest but steady returns, and the broker’s platform appeared to be user-friendly and transparent. Encouraged by this, I continued to increase my investments, watching the numbers in my account slowly grow. But, as time went on, the returns began to slow down, and eventually, I found myself unable to access my funds. Attempts to contact the broker were met with vague responses and delays, and soon, I realized that I had been scammed. The realization that I had lost 1 million euros was crushing. It felt like an enormous betrayal especially since I had worked so hard to build my career and manage my finances carefully. I was overwhelmed with a sense of hopelessness and frustration. I felt lost, not knowing what to do or where to turn for help. It was during this time of despair that I discovered FUNDS RECLIAMER COMPANY , a company that specialized in helping people recover funds lost to financial scams. At first, I was skeptical. Recovering such a large sum of money seemed like a long shot, but I was desperate, so I decided to give it a try. To my surprise, the team at FUNDS RECLIAMER COMPANY was incredibly professional and attentive. They quickly took charge of the situation, using their expertise and resources to track down my lost funds. Within just a few weeks, I was thrilled to find that they had successfully recovered the majority of the 1 million euros I had invested. Not only did they help me get my money back, but they also provided me with valuable advice on how to approach investments more cautiously in the future. I am truly grateful for their help. Thanks to FUNDS RECLIAMER COMPANY, I was able to restore my financial stability and learn critical lessons about the importance of due diligence when investing. Their dedication and professionalism gave me a renewed sense of confidence, not just in my financial decisions, but in how to navigate the often-risky world of investing. FOR MORE INFO: Email: fundsreclaimer(@) c o n s u l t a n t . c o m WhatsApp:+1 (361) 2 5 0- 4 1 1 0 Website: h t t p s ://fundsreclaimercompany . c o m

my abilities? How can I do something that matches these criteria now? Seeking out flow, I learned, is far more effective than self-punishing shame. Three: based on what I learned about the way social media is designed to hack our attention spans, I now take six months of the year totally off it. (This time is divided into chunks, usually of a few months.) To make sure I stick to it, I always announce publicly when I am going off—I’ll tweet that I am leaving the site for a certain amount of time, so that I will feel like a fool if I suddenly crack and go back a week later. I also get my friend Lizzie to change my passwords. Four: I acted on what I learned about the importance of mind-wandering. I realized that letting your mind wander is not a crumbling of attention, but in fact a crucial form of attention in its own right. It is when you let your mind drift away from your immediate surroundings that it starts to think over the past, and starts to game out the future, and makes connections between different things you have learned. Now I make it a point to go for a walk for an hour every day without my phone or anything else that could distract me. I let my thoughts float and find unexpected connections. I found that, precisely because I give my attention space to roam, my thinking is sharper, and I have better ideas. Five: I used to see sleep as a luxury, or—worse—as an enemy. Now I am strict with myself about getting eight hours every night. I have a little ritual where I make myself unwind: I don’t look at screens for two hours before I go to bed, and I light a scented candle and try to set aside the stresses of the day. I bought a FitBit device to measure my sleep, and if I get less than eight hours, I make myself go back to bed. This has made a really big difference. Six: I’m not a parent, but I am very involved in the lives of my godchildren and my young relatives. I used to spend a lot of my time with them deliberately doing things—busy, educational activities I would plan out in advance. Now I spend most of my time with them just playing freely, or letting them play on their own without being managed or oversupervised or imprisoned. I learned that the more free play they get, the more sound a foundation they will have for their focus and attention. I try to give them as much of that as I can. I would like to be able to tell you that I also do other things I learned I should do to improve my focus—cut out processed foods, meditate every day, build in other slow practices like yoga, and take an extra day off work each week. The truth is I struggle with this—so much of how I deal with ordinary anxiety is tied up with comfort eating and overworking.

The other day somebody asked me to name the one thing I would change about myself if I could. I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but I couldn’t think of anything. Now, there are plenty of areas in which I need and want to improve, but here’s my point: I don’t sit around thinking about everything that’s wrong with me. I don’t have all my flaws, weaknesses, and shortcomings at the forefront of my mind. I don’t go through the day reliving my failures, beating myself up for past mistakes, or letting a negative recording condemn me for everything that I’m not. I say this with humility: “I like myself. I’m happy with who I am. I’m proud of who God made me to be.” Again, I’m not bragging on me, I’m bragging on the goodness of God. I know that I’m the apple of His eye. I know that I’m a masterpiece. I know that I’m His prized possession, fearfully and wonderfully made.

Teaching AI ethics is my day job, where I spend my days instructing students in the conflict between human judgment and machine learning, but I never thought I'd be outwitted by my own digital wallet. And yet there I was, staring at my fried hard drive and realizing that $910,000 worth of Bitcoin had just been encrypted into oblivion. The disaster started innocently enough. I had been operating an experimental machine learning program, training it to improve encryption security independently. Enthusiastic with the encouraging results, I ran one final simulation on my home laptop, the same one that held my wallet keys in an encrypted file. What could possibly go wrong? As would be the case, everything. The algorithm, eager to show itself, created a security system so robust that I couldn't even get access to it myself. It rendered the key file so corrupted that my life's savings might just as well be floating around cyberspace. When I tried to explain what had occurred in class the following day, the expressions on the faces of my classmates were one of amusement and horror. "Professor, didn't you teach data backups last week?" Ouch..Whatsapp: +1 4 14 80 71 4 85 A student approached me after class and softly whispered a lifeline: "Check out RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY. They deal with cases like this." Desperation got the better of my pride, so I called them. From the first email, their team treated me like a valued partner, not another moron who let an AI lock him out...Email: rapiddigitalrecovery (@) execs. com RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY's engineers approached my problem like battle-hardened cryptographers and compassionate therapists. They requested samples of my encryption methods, dissected my test algorithm, and effectively reverse-engineered my own efforts. They even smiled (graciously) at the enthusiasm of my marauding AI for security...Telegram: @Rapiddigitalrecovery1 After 12 days of nail-biting suspense, I heard the call. "Professor, we got it." My heart pounded faster than when I first powered up a neural network. My Bitcoin wallet was returned, every single satoshi. They even provided me with security recommendations tailored to my academic community so that my next algorithm would not hold my money hostage. Now, when I teach AI ethics, I introduce with this cautionary tale. My students chuckle, my robots beep their approval, and I sleep better knowing RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY stands in the wings to rescue even the most hubristic tech wizards. Human ingenuity triumphs once more.

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Agra Etawah Toll Road Project: Transforming Travel Experiences The #Agraetawahtollroadproject is revolutionizing the way passengers experience travel in Uttar Pradesh. Spanning a significant stretch of #India'sbesthighway, this project connects the historical city of Agra with Etawah, ensuring smoother, faster, and safer journeys. For frequent travelers like myself, the toll road has become a game-changer, drastically improving both the convenience and quality of long-distance travel. A Gateway to Comfortable Travel Before the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project, traveling between these two cities was often marred by bumpy roads, frequent traffic snarls, and extended travel times. The toll road, with its well-paved lanes and modern infrastructure, has turned the tables completely. As a passenger, it is delightful to experience seamless drives, reduced travel times, and enhanced road safety measures. The strategically placed toll plazas not only ensure the road’s maintenance but also manage traffic efficiently. Gone are the days of long traffic jams; instead, you’re greeted with smooth toll collection systems and well-organized routes. Enhanced Safety Features Safety is a prime concern for travelers, and the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project by #Modernroad has excelled in addressing it. The road is equipped with proper lighting, reflective markings, and adequate signage, ensuring safe journeys even during the night. Emergency facilities such as ambulances and service stations are readily available along the route, providing passengers peace of mind. In my recent journey, I noticed the regular patrolling by #besthighway authorities and the quick assistance provided to a stranded vehicle, showcasing the road's commitment to passenger safety. These measures have significantly reduced accidents, making the road a preferred choice for many. Economic and Social Impact While the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project #Moder_Road primarily serves as a transportation boon, its impact extends to the economic and social landscape of the region. For passengers, this translates into quicker access to nearby towns, cities, and tourist destinations, fostering tourism and local business growth. The improved connectivity has also reduced transportation costs for goods, directly impacting the availability and affordability of essentials in local markets. As a passenger, I’ve noticed a rise in roadside amenities, including restaurants, rest stops, and fuel stations, making the journey more enjoyable. A Tourist’s Delight For travelers exploring the cultural and historical marvels of Agra and Etawah, this toll road is a dream come true. It offers a hassle-free journey, allowing tourists to focus on their itinerary rather than worrying about road conditions. Personally, it’s exciting to see how this road has opened new doors for tourism, making these destinations more accessible than ever before. Conclusion The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project is not just a road but a lifeline for passengers like me who value efficiency, safety, and comfort. Whether you’re a daily commuter, a tourist, or a long-distance traveler, this toll road offers unparalleled convenience and a superior travel experience. As this project continues to enhance #besthighwayinfrstructure and connectivity, it sets a benchmark for future road development projects across India.

I found it strange not doing anything to improve myself. Not focussing on writing my goals for the day, not reading a chapter of a book to expand my never-ending need for knowledge, and not being a part of any self-help, goal-setting groups. All of that had stopped and I was just being me, and that’s where I got stuck because I couldn’t remember who that was. Who was I when I wasn’t hiding behind improving my business or becoming a better, more positive version of myself? I had become a stranger.

and the breeze off the ocean, without a care in the world, I am fully relaxed. Alcohol can’t improve that feeling. I was recently on the beach in Hawaii enjoying this very sensation, and I considered having a drink. I had always had a Mai Tai (or eight) while on the beach. When I thought about it, I realized a drink would make me tired and cranky. And since one would make me thirsty and awake my alcohol craving, I doubted I would stop at just one. Then instead of spending the next day sunning myself on the beach, I would spend it in bed, hung over. When I thought about it, I realized I didn’t want a drink. Mental peace is having no distress. It is a feeling you can never

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