Nurse Motivational Quotes

I've learned that the universe doesn't care what our motives are, only our actions. So we should do things that will bring about good, even if there is an element of selfishness involved. Like the kids at my school might join the Key Club or Future Buisness Leaders of America, because it's a social thing and looks good on their record, not because they really want to volunteer at the nursing home. But the people at the nursing home still benefit from it, so it's better that the kids do it than not do it. And if they never did it, then they wouldn't find out that they actually liked it.

But, gee," the other nurse says, "what on earth would MAKE a man want to do something like disrupt the ward for, Miss Ratched? What possible motive...?" "You seem to forget, MISS Flinn, that this is an institution for the insane.

I don’t understand hospital chaplains that try to rob my patients of their anger. Sometimes anger is a key motivator that gets people to take action. Anger can push a cancer patient to jump out of his hospital bed, walk down to the nurses station and scream, “I am getting the hell out of here!”. There is a misconception that God is simply sweet and passive. Actually, God can be quite cunning, manipulative and relentless with his children. What we consider as negative traits are actually helpful in molding us. He will use a negative emotion if needed to push people to do things that will change them for the better. He will allow people or situations to derail us if there is a chance that those interactions will push us forward. Personally, I don’t want a God that is going to send some church member to my deathbed with a plate of cookies and tell me to have faith. Actually, I rather have a God that screams, “Get the hell off your ass, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Walk down the hall with that Physical Therapist so you can get on with your life!" A little anger in a person can push them to do amazing things.

My sister was wonderful to watch, kindly and gently discussing and explaining everything as she carried out the simple, necessary nursing. We have both seen many people die, after all, and I had worked as a geriatric nurse many years ago too. It felt quite easy and natural for us both, I think, despite our intense emotions. It’s not that we felt anxious – the three of us knew she was dying – I suppose what we felt was simply intense love, a love quite without ulterior motive, quite without the vanity and self-interest of which love is so often the expression.

Anger becomes righteous when you use it to defend the rights of another, without nursing any selfish motive.

Nursing is a profession that requires great intelligence, motivation, and determination.

In all of this she was only partially successful, for although Nurse knew that once Miss Venetia had made up her mind she was powerless to prevent her doing whatever she liked, and was obliged to admit some faint resemblance in Damerel to the Good Samaritan, she persisted in referring to him as The Ungodly, and in ascribing his charitable behaviour to some obscure but evil motive.

I have noticed over the past three years that most African Christians depend on their pastor or preachers for directions in life than their lecturers, politicians and nurses. That tells why most people refuse certain medical priorities with regards to their pastor's messages. I think if every pastor should have entrepreneurial knowledge coupled with spiritual integrity, Africa will shake!

Make a decision or life will make it for you!

The more time you waste when you're young, the sadder you'll be in your nursing home

Your dreams can change the environment which was not conducive for it at first! However it is a good initiative for the dreams that would change one society to be nursed in another environment, before being transplanted to strive in its original environment for the change process to begin!

She was convinced that men didn’t give a damn about other people’s feelings and that they got away with whatever they wanted. Women couldn’t be trusted either. They were too weak to stand up for themselves, and they’d sell their bodies to get men to take care of them. If you were in trouble, they wouldn’t lift a finger to help you. This worldview manifested itself in the way Marilyn approached her colleagues at work: She was suspicious of the motives of anyone who was kind to her and called them on the slightest deviation from the nursing regulations. As for herself: She was a bad seed, a fundamentally toxic person who made bad things happen to those around her.

We are starting to slide when we start to judge our brother’s motives by whether or not he experiences the same gut response of reactive compassion to the outrage we are assigned to deal with. But a Christian nurse in Romania who has dedicated herself to caring for abandoned orphans with birth defects may never have heard of Roe v. Wade. She doesn’t need to.

One final note here: you’ve probably noticed that whenever I mention serial killers, I always refer to them as “he.” This isn’t just a matter of form or syntactical convenience. For reasons we only partially understand, virtually all multiple killers are male. There’s been a lot of research and speculation into it. Part of it is probably as simple as the fact that people with higher levels of testosterone (i.e., men) tend to be more aggressive than people with lower levels (i.e., women). On a psychological level, our research seems to show that while men from abusive backgrounds often come out of the experience hostile and abusive to others, women from similar backgrounds tend to direct the rage and abusiveness inward and punish themselves rather than others. While a man might kill, hurt, or rape others as a way of dealing with his rage, a woman is more likely to channel it into something that would hurt primarily herself, such as drug or alcohol abuse, prostitution, or suicide attempts. I can’t think of a single case of a woman acting out a sexualized murder on her own. The one exception to this generality, the one place we do occasionally see women involved in multiple murders, is in a hospital or nursing home situation. A woman is unlikely to kill repeatedly with a gun or knife. It does happen with something “clean” like drugs. These often fall into the category of either “mercy homicide,” in which the killer believes he or she is relieving great suffering, or the “hero homicide,” in which the death is the unintentional result of causing the victim distress so he can be revived by the offender, who is then declared a hero. And, of course, we’ve all been horrified by the cases of mothers, such as the highly publicized Susan Smith case in South Carolina, killing their own children. There is generally a particular set of motivations for this most unnatural of all crimes, which we’ll get into later on. But for the most part, the profile of the serial killer or repeat violent offender begins with “male.” Without that designation, my colleagues and I would all be happily out of a job.

You have to imagine what it was like to be on the receiving end of vicious antagonism: sneering, contempt, ridicule, slights about one’s intelligence, integrity and motives. In those days, women even ran the risk of dismissal for their opinions. And this treatment came from other women, as well as men. In fact, “in-fighting” between various schools of nurses who had some sort of training in midwifery was particularly nasty. One eminent lady – the matron of St Bartholomew’s Hospital – branded the aspiring midwives as “anachronisms, who would in the future be regarded as historical curiosities”. The medical opposition seems to have arisen mainly from the fact that “women are striving to interfere too much in every department of life”.* Obstetricians also doubted the female intellectual capacity to grasp the anatomy and physiology of childbirth, and suggested that they could not therefore be trained. But the root fear was – guess what? – you’ve got it, but no prizes for quickness: money. Most doctors charged a routine one guinea for a delivery. The word got around that trained midwives would undercut them by delivering babies for half a guinea! The knives were out.

Chiropractic: There are obviously a lot of different niches you could serve in this industry. But, let’s say for a moment that you serve the elderly demographic. You might think that they just want to be able to play a little more golf or keep up with their grandkids. Those things might be true and they’ll certainly admit to them. But if you go deeper, you’ll find that they want to be the envy of all of their friends who are falling apart. That’s the secret ego motivation that inspires them to find you. And further, they do NOT want to be put into a nursing home. That’s the secret fear that has them searching for you. Sell them abilities their friends don’t have and you’ll have them eating out of your hand.

Well brought up folks no longer believe in the devil, but as their ideas are no more rational than those of our nurses, they do but disguise devil and angel under a pedantic wordiness honored with the name of philosophy. They do not say "devil" nowadays, but "the flesh," or "the passions." The"angel" is replaced by the words "conscience" or "soul," by "reflection of the thought of a divine creator" or "the Great Architect," as the Free- Masons say. But man's action is still represented as the result of a struggle between two hostile elements. And a man is always considered virtuous just in the degree to which one of these two elements --the soul or conscience-- is victorious over the other --the flesh or passions. It is easy to understand the astonishment of our great-grandfathers when the English philosophers, and later the Encyclopedists, began to affirm in opposition to these primitive ideas that the devil and the angel had nothing to do with human action, but that all acts of man, good or bad, useful or baneful, arise from a single motive: the lust for pleasure.

Deprived of my universe, evicted from my room, with my very tenancy of my body jeopardized by the enemies about me, infiltrated to the bone by fever, I was alone and wished I could die. It was then that my grandmother entered the room and, as my shriveled heart expanded, broad vistas of hope opened to me. She was in a tea gown of cotton cambric which she always wore about the house if one of us was ill (because she felt more at home in it, or so she said, always alleging selfish motives for what she did), and which was her nun’s habit, the handmaid’s and night nurse’s tunic in which she would care for us and watch over us. But, unlike the attentions of nuns, handmaids, and night nurses, the kindness they exercise, the excellence we admire in them, and the gratitude we owe them, which have the effect of increasing both our impression of being a stranger to them and the feeling of aloneness that makes us keep to ourselves the unshared burden of our thoughts and our desire to live, I knew with my grandmother that, however overpowering any cause of my sorrow might be, its expression would be met by a sympathy that was even greater, that whatever was in me, my cares, my wishes, would rouse within my grandmother a desire, even stronger than my own, for the protection and betterment of my life; and my thoughts became hers without alteration, passing from my mind to hers without changing medium or person.

A school bus is many things. A school bus is a substitute for a limousine. More class. A school bus is a classroom with a substitute teacher. A school bus is the students' version of a teachers' lounge. A school bus is the principal's desk. A school bus is the nurse's cot. A school bus is an office with all the phones ringing. A school bus is a command center. A school bus is a pillow fort that rolls. A school bus is a tank reshaped- hot dogs and baloney are the same meat. A school bus is a science lab- hot dogs and baloney are the same meat. A school bus is a safe zone. A school bus is a war zone. A school bus is a concert hall. A school bus is a food court. A school bus is a court of law, all judges, all jury. A school bus is a magic show full of disappearing acts. Saw someone in half. Pick a card, any card. Pass it on to the person next to you. He like you. She like you. K-i-s-s-i . . . s-s-i-p-p-i is only funny on a school bus. A school bus is a stage. A school bus is a stage play. A school bus is a spelling bee. A speaking bee. A get your hand out of my face bee. A your breath smell like sour turnips bee. A you don't even know what a turnip bee is. A maybe not, but I know what a turn up is and your breath smell all the way turnt up bee. A school bus is a bumblebee, buzzing around with a bunch of stingers on the inside of it. Windows for wings that flutter up and down like the windows inside Chinese restaurants and post offices in neighborhoods where school bus is a book of stamps. Passing mail through windows. Notes in the form of candy wrappers telling the street something sweet came by. Notes in the form of sneaky middle fingers. Notes in the form of fingers pointing at the world zooming by. A school bus is a paintbrush painting the world a blurry brushstroke. A school bus is also wet paint. Good for adding an extra coat, but it will dirty you if you lean against it, if you get too comfortable. A school bus is a reclining chair. In the kitchen. Nothing cool about it but makes perfect sense. A school bus is a dirty fridge. A school bus is cheese. A school bus is a ketchup packet with a tiny hole in it. Left on the seat. A plastic fork-knife-spoon. A paper tube around a straw. That straw will puncture the lid on things, make the world drink something with some fizz and fight. Something delightful and uncomfortable. Something that will stain. And cause gas. A school bus is a fast food joint with extra value and no food. Order taken. Take a number. Send a text to the person sitting next to you. There is so much trouble to get into. Have you ever thought about opening the back door? My mother not home till five thirty. I can't. I got dance practice at four. A school bus is a talent show. I got dance practice right now. On this bus. A school bus is a microphone. A beat machine. A recording booth. A school bus is a horn section. A rhythm section. An orchestra pit. A balcony to shot paper ball three-pointers from. A school bus is a basketball court. A football stadium. A soccer field. Sometimes a boxing ring. A school bus is a movie set. Actors, directors, producers, script. Scenes. Settings. Motivations. Action! Cut. Your fake tears look real. These are real tears. But I thought we were making a comedy. A school bus is a misunderstanding. A school bus is a masterpiece that everyone pretends to understand. A school bus is the mountain range behind Mona Lisa. The Sphinx's nose. An unknown wonder of the world. An unknown wonder to Canton Post, who heard bus riders talk about their journeys to and from school. But to Canton, a school bus is also a cannonball. A thing that almost destroyed him. Almost made him motherless.

The choices that are most powerful in generating motivation, in other words, are decisions that do two things: They convince us we’re in control and they endow our actions with larger meaning. Choosing to climb a mountain can become an articulation of love for a daughter. Deciding to stage a nursing home insurrection can become proof that you’re still alive. An internal locus of control emerges when we develop a mental habit of transforming chores into meaningful choices, when we assert that we have authority over our lives.

No man or woman likes to be a fool, but here's the thing my mother taught me long ago, and it is a lesson that stuck. You can spend hours speculating on a man's motivations, trying to pinpoint what clue you missed, what missteps you made, when the relationship turned, or why he didn't like you as much as you thought he did. And you could sit around like a fool letting someone else hold court in your mind when you were hardly a blip on his radar. Or you can just let it go and look at the person in the rearview mirror and keep driving. To be honest, my mother never had to have this talk with me. I was too private to share my youthful heartbreak publicly. But I remember once as a teenager watching my mother nurse Aunt Martie after a particularly brutal breakup. [...] My mother, finally, at her wits' end, grabbed Aunt Martie by the shoulders, shook her violently, and said, "The sexual revolution didn't happen so you could sit by the phone sobbing like some stupid little girl. Enough. Fucking pull yourself together. He's just one guy." Maybe that was the part that always stuck. I never wanted my mother to look at me with such horrified disrespect.

To begin, look over the chapters by glancing at the content on the pages. Set aside about 30 minutes every four to five hours or three times a day and look at the bold words, pictures, and highlighted sentences. Nursing exams generally test on multiple chapters so it is important you start this process as soon as you can. Ideally, begin immediately after you have taken your last exam so you can get a head start on new material. This step helps you recognize the words and familiarizes you with the content. After several times of looking at a word read the definition. As you read the definition notice how you are able to focus on what the word means. Doing this simple step can eliminate reading without understanding. We must see a word several times before our brain flags it as important. That is why after the third or fourth time you look over information you finally say to yourself, “Okay, I have heard and seen this several times and I must know more about it!” Once you have reached that point you will find yourself directing all of your attention to the word’s definition. And that motivation is because you have seen it so many times. There is still a problem though, because in nursing school there are thousands upon thousands of words. By just reading you rely on vision to get you through and retain all of this knowledge. Although this is possible, and has probably worked in the past, this is not an ideal way to study for nursing classes. After you look at the words and read the definitions a few times, go back and underline each word and definition. This helps you engage the body by adding movement. Then say the words and definitions out loud. Doing so engages the three senses of sight, touch, and sound. You are also using all three learning styles, which are visual, auditory, and kinesthetic. No matter what type of learner you are predominately, if you constantly use all three styles it helps to lock the information into your brain. I have also noticed that these steps train you to have a photographic memory. This is especially important when there is a long chart you need to memorize. For example, in pediatric nursing you need to know a very extensive growth and development chart, and if you do not have kids yet it can be extremely foreign. At first, incorporating this new study method may be challenging. But once you start using it and see your exam results rise, you will never turn back. After

Have you noticed that none of the things that I’ve suggested to keep you motivated in nursing school are directly linked to nursing school? It is really easy to let nursing school dominate your life, but it is also important you take the time to do things for yourself that bring you fulfillment. Remember who you are and why you are pursuing this incredibly challenging degree or license. Then when you feel like you are eating, breathing, and bathing in nursing school, take a deep breath and realize it is time to do something you enjoy. You deserve it!

Ladies, if your self-belief, self-worth, and self-confidence are so easily shaken up by what others have to say about you, then I hate to burst your bubble, but you never had those things to begin with. True self-belief, self-worth, and self-confidence come from what you think and believe about yourself, regardless of what others have to say. They're unshakable, undeniable, unwavering. No one can take away something that is inherently yours to hold.

Think about spirit even when you are not beset by adversity. Engage in activities that inspire you and aim to maintain high motivation for life. In addition to enhancing your life presently, these skills can be a well-developed resource to draw upon when challenges arise.

time to nurse an idea is at the time of its birth. Every

      The whole commerce between master and slave is a perpetual exercise of the most boisterous passions, the most unremitting despotism on the one part, and degrading submissions on the other. Our children see this, and learn to imitate it; for man is an imitative animal. This quality is the germ of all education in him. From his cradle to his grave he is learning to do what he sees others do. If a parent could find no motive either in his philanthropy or his self-love, for restraining the intemperance of passion toward his slave, it should always be a sufficient one that his child is present. But generally it is not sufficient. The parent storms, the child looks on, catches the lineaments of wrath, puts on the same airs in the circle of smaller slaves, gives a loose to his worst of passions, and thus nursed, educated, and daily exercised in tyranny, cannot but be stamped by it with odious peculiarities. The man must be a prodigy who can retain his manners and morals undepraved by such circumstances.

Did you hear Dr. Jenkins was caught roller-skating half-naked in the middle of the night on Prospect Road?” Don’t act shocked. It’ll just motivate her to stay and gossip longer. It’s no big deal whatsoever that your doctor is a freak. Roger shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a little exercise.” Maggie did a double take. “Without clothes?” “Smart man—less to wash. I hate doing laundry.” Maggie blew out a desperate breath. “He was wearing his nurse’s bra!” Note to self: find a new doctor.  “You can never have too much support,” said Roger. “The guy’s got some serious man-boobs.

Many people are hurt in Life. But the problem is not the hurt. They Curse, Nurse, and Rehearse their hurt instead of Reversing it, and Live miserably.

Back in Portland, Oregon, Diehl realized that another fundamental problem involved communication. Engineer Mendenhall had spotted the fuel problem. He had given a number of hints to the captain and, as the situation became serious, made direct references to the dwindling reserves. Diehl, listening back to the voice recorder, noted alterations in the intonation of the engineer. As the dangers spiraled he became ever more desperate to alert McBroom, but he couldn’t bring himself to challenge his boss directly. This is now a well-studied aspect of psychology. Social hierarchies inhibit assertiveness. We talk to those in authority in what is called “mitigated language.” You wouldn’t say to your boss: “It’s imperative we have a meeting on Monday morning.” But you might say: “Don’t worry if you’re busy, but it might be helpful if you could spare half an hour on Monday.”5 This deference makes sense in many situations, but it can be fatal when a 90-ton airplane is running out of fuel above a major city. The same hierarchy gradient also exists in operating theaters. Jane, the nurse, could see the solution. She had fetched the tracheotomy kit. Should she have spoken up more loudly? Didn’t she care enough? That is precisely the wrong way to think about failure in safety-critical situations. Remember that Engineer Mendenhall paid for his reticence with his life. The problem was not a lack of diligence or motivation, but a system insensitive to the limitations of human psychology.

In Berridge and Robinson’s view, pleasure is divided into “wanting” (hunt) and “liking” (feast). As we’ll see, the distinction is especially important in addiction because each type has a different influence on learning. Like many discoveries in science, this one was made when the researchers were trying to understand why an experiment didn’t work out as they’d predicted. They’d used a chemical that selectively destroys dopamine cells in the nucleus accumbens of rats to eliminate their “pleasure centers.” Not surprisingly, after these key dopamine cells were eliminated, the rodents became so amotivated that if the researchers hadn’t manually fed them, they would have starved to death. “They wouldn’t want to eat. They wouldn’t want to drink,” Berridge says. “We’d have to artificially nurse them and artificially feed them, the way you would in a hospital intensive care ward.” The rats behaved as though they had extremely severe Parkinson’s, which they essentially did. Destroying their dopamine cells had taken away their motivation, leaving them with no desire or will to do anything at all, even what was necessary for survival.

This book reveals the complexity of nurses’ motivations for joining. It probes how humanitarian nursing within a Quaker-based organization challenged nurses’ perception of their role as purveyors of Western-based knowledge and standards, even as they confronted questions of medical ethics and unfamiliar cultural practices. The Gadabout nurses’ narratives are not solely about what happened to them and how they reacted to the challenges. Rather, they are about how men and women as categories of identity have been constructed within the gendered mainstream historiography, particularly the international relations discipline.1 The China Convoy suggests that nurses’ voices should be taken more seriously, not only within the scholarly literature but also within the contemporary policy formation process. Nurses have been and will remain key to the delivery of humanitarian assistance. It is my hope that this book will open avenues of scholarly inquiry within the history and practice of humanitarian nursing.

Defining the Task in Knowledge Work In knowledge work, the how only comes after the what has been answered. In manual work the task is always given. Wherever there still are domestic servants, the owner of the house tells them what to do. The machine or the assembly line programs the factory worker. But, in knowledge work, what to do becomes the first and decisive question. For knowledge workers are not programmed by the machine. They largely are in control of their own tasks and must be in control of their own tasks. For they, and only they, own and control the most expensive of the means of production—their education—and their most important tool—their knowledge. They do use other tools, of course, whether the nurse’s IV or the engineer’s computer. But their knowledge decides how these tools are being used and for what. They know what steps are most important and what methods need to be used to complete the tasks; and it is their knowledge that tells them what chores are unnecessary and should be eliminated. Work on knowledge-worker productivity therefore begins with asking the knowledge workers themselves: What is your task? What should it be? What should you be expected to contribute? and What hampers you in doing your task and should be eliminated? The how only comes after the what has been answered. ACTION POINT: Define your task as a knowledge worker by asking yourself: “What do I get paid for?” and “What should I get paid for?

I COME BEFORE DAWN Muhammad says, “I come before dawn to chain you and drag you off.” It’s amazing, and funny, that you have to be pulled away from being tortured, pulled out into this Spring garden, but that’s the way it is. Almost everyone must be bound and dragged here. Only a few come on their own. Children have to be made to go to school at first. Then some of them begin to like it. They run to school. They expand with the learning. Later, they receive money because of something they’ve learned at school, and they get really excited. They stay up all night, as watchful and alive as thieves! Remember the rewards you get for being obedient! There are two types on the path. Those who come against their will, the blindly religious people, and those who obey out of love. The former have ulterior motives. They want the midwife near, because she gives them milk. The others love the beauty of the nurse. The former memorize the prooftexts of conformity, and repeat them. The latter disappear into whatever draws them to God. Both are drawn from the source. Any movings from the mover. Any love from the beloved.

While a steadily-nursed religio-political conviction about Khalsa Raj, and a psychological yearning for revenge, motivated the Sikhs, Punjab’s Muslim chiefs, who had accepted the Mughals, possessed no comparable impetus.

I'm a writer who heals. I nurse the wounds of others through my messages. My words are ointments, bandages, and massages. We're going to heal.

Now only 20 percent of Norwegian prisoners are arrested in the two years after their release. In contrast, a recent Bureau of Justice Statistics report found that 44 percent of American state prisoners were arrested at least once in the first year after their release. Høidal attributes the Norwegian turnaround directly to the change in officers’ responsibilities. Each officer is designated as the “contact officer” for three inmates. The officer is assigned responsibility for these three inmates for the duration of their incarceration. “They’re like a coach, motivator, role model,” Høidal says of the contact officers. And “like a nurse when you’re in the hospital,” they are familiar with your case; they’re the person to whom you reach out first when you need something, whether that something is help in beginning a job, or classes in the prison, or finding housing or work in the community for the future.

The Doctor In You. Anyone can attain & maintain excellence in health at any age.

Women have come a long way , since that day on September 7th 1968 , when they burnt myriad symbolic feminine products , including mops and bras , as a mark of protest . The women wanted to call world-wide attention to women's rights and women's liberation ! Today women are making headlines each and every day as the makers and creators of positive change in all walks of life . Be it as doctors , pilots , engineers , artists , writers , musicians, innovators, teachers , astronauts , researchers, managers , private or government employees , designers , scientists , dancers, singers, entrepreneurs , architects , bus-drivers , nurses , chefs , actors, athletes , politicians , or home-makers , women have been and are continuing to prove themselves that they are equal to or better than men in all walks of life ! A big 'Salute ' to all the women in the world !

If people believe the government is giving them AIDS and blowing up levees, and that white-owned companies are trying to sterilize them, they would be lacking in normal human emotions if they did not—to put it bluntly—hate the people they believed responsible. Indeed, vigorous expressions of hatred go back to at least the time of W.E.B. Du Bois, who once wrote, “It takes extraordinary training, gift and opportunity to make the average white man anything but an overbearing hog, but the most ordinary Negro is an instinctive gentleman.” On another occasion he expressed himself in verse: 'I hate them, Oh! I hate them well, I hate them, Christ! As I hate hell! If I were God, I’d sound their knell This day!' Such sentiments are still common. Amiri Baraka, originally known as LeRoi Jones, is one of America’s most famous and well-regarded black poets, but his work is brimming with anti-white vitriol. These lines are from “Black Dada Nihilismus:” 'Come up, black dada nihilismus. Rape the white girls. Rape their fathers. Cut the mothers’ throats.' Here are more of his lines: 'You cant steal nothin from a white man, he’s already stole it he owes you anything you want, even his life. All the stores will open up if you will say the magic words. The magic words are: Up against the wall motherfucker this is a stick up!' In “Leroy” he wrote: “When I die, the consciousness I carry I will to black people. May they pick me apart and take the useful parts, the sweet meat of my feelings. And leave the bitter bullshit rotten white parts alone.” When he was asked by a white woman what white people could do to help the race problem, he replied, “You can help by dying. You are a cancer. You can help the world’s people with your death.” In July, 2002, Mr. Baraka was appointed poet laureate of New Jersey. The celebrated black author James Baldwin once said: “[T]here is, I should think, no Negro living in America who has not felt, briefly or for long periods, . . . simple, naked and unanswerable hatred; who has not wanted to smash any white face he may encounter in a day, to violate, out of motives of the cruelest vengeance, their women, to break the bodies of all white people and bring them low.” Toni Morrison is a highly-regarded black author who has won the Nobel Prize. “With very few exceptions,” she has written, “I feel that White people will betray me; that in the final analysis they’ll give me up.” Author Randall Robinson concluded after years of activism that “in the autumn of my life, I am left regarding white people, before knowing them individually, with irreducible mistrust and dull dislike.” He wrote that it gave him pleasure when his dying father slapped a white nurse, telling her not “to put her white hands on him.” Leonard Jeffries is the chairman of the African-American studies department of the City College of New York and is famous for his hatred of whites. Once in answer to the question, “What kind of world do you want to leave to your children?” he replied, “A world in which there aren’t any white people.

Critical thinking helps us to more clearly understand situations, patients, colleagues, and our agendas, negative emotions, attitudes, motivations, talents, and growing edges. This not only helps us to have a greater grasp of reality but also stops the drain of psychological energy that is necessary to be defensive or to protect our image. Because critical thinking is not natural, although we may think it is for us, it takes discipline, a willingness to face the unpleasant, and a stamina that allows one not to become unduly frustrated when we do not achieve results as quickly as we prefer with respect to our insights and growth.

There are no humans left. I should not be alone. I can’t help but wonder that. There were so many of us living. But time started growing young four years ago. It isn’t four years anymore. It’s a number I wouldn’t even be able to say. It feels like four years. It’s trapped in my tender memory as four years. It’s been an age. Multiple ages. It’s been lifetimes; every single lifetime that used to exist. I remember my mother screaming. I recall the doctors naming me as nurses wiped away her blood and covered her face with white. The end of the play. It’s been so long. Why am I alone?