Reboot Quotes

I think people immediately assumed I was yours so they stayed far away.' He met my eyes and smiled. 'I was. I am.' He leaned forward and brushed his lips to mine. 'Yours.

Do that thing where you look blank, like you have no feelings at all. I think that's just my face.

When you die, every single muscle in your body hurts. Your body has closed down because it thinks it's done, and when it gets rebooted, every inch of you hurts. Plus I'd had the shit beaten out of me with a baseball bat.

He turned to me. His expression was serious, but I liked how it softened slightly when he looked at me. Like the way he looked at me was different from how he looked at everyone else.

After all, computers crash, people die, relationships fall apart. The best we can do is breathe and reboot.

Are we going to do my leg next?" he asked. "Can I get some warning next time? A quick 'Hey I'm going to snap your bone with my bare hands right now. Brace yourself.

I love when I can reboot people when they are being mean to others...

He had been willing to die because he refused to take a life. But me, I contemplated shooting everyone.

It was true that all Reboots were attractive, in a way. After death, when the virus took hold and the body Rebooted, the skin cleared, the body sharpened, the eyes glowed. It was like pretty with a hint of deranged. Although my hint was more like a generous serving.

Want to dance? We have music this time. And I don't have to punch you when we finish.

I need to backtrack. I need to reboot. Do not save changes

Want to dance?" He scooped me into his arms before I could reply. "We have music this time. And I don't have to punch you when we finish." "You don't have to. But if I step on your feet too many times you can feel free.

Humans had a brightness to them, a glow that only death extinguished.

Life can be frustrating sometimes. Take a nap, exercise, meditate or do whatever it takes to 'reboot' your thinking. Happiness is just a thought away!

People that hold onto hate for so long do so because they want to avoid dealing with their pain. They falsely believe if they forgive they are letting their enemy believe they are a doormat. What they don’t understand is hatred can’t be isolated or turned off. It manifests in their health, choices and belief systems. Their values and religious beliefs make adjustments to justify their negative emotions. Not unlike malware infesting a hard drive, their spirit slowly becomes corrupted and they make choices that don’t make logical sense to others. Hatred left unaddressed will crash a person’s spirit. The only thing he or she can do is to reboot, by fixing him or herself, not others. This might require installing a firewall of boundaries or parental controls on their emotions. Regardless of the approach, we are all connected on this "network of life" and each of us is responsible for cleaning up our spiritual registry.

I need you to be better," I said. "You're really not concerned about him eating me?" he asked, holding his arm out again. "It'll grow back in a minute." "That's totally not the point. I'm traumatized.

Don’t make me punch you anymore, okay?” he whispered. I nodded, opening my eyes. “You have to punch other people, though.

When you travel, you're forced to have new thoughts. "Is this alley safe?" "Is this the right bus?" "Was this meat ever a house pet?" It doesn't even matter what the new thoughts are, it feels so good to just have some variety. And it's a reboot for your brain. I can feel the neurons making new connections again with new problems to solve, clawing their way back to their nimbler, younger days.

I still have the scars from when they captured me and beat me in the middle of the street." "You don't get scars." "Emotional scars then.

I sometimes wish I could “reboot”,’ said Sal. ‘Empty my head and start over.

Hey, nice landing!" Addie called, and I turned to see her standing next to her shuttle, grinning. I laughed and shrugged my shoulders. "They're all still alive!" "Sort of a low bar you set for yourself, huh?" Beth asked, playfully punching my shoulder as I helped her out of the shuttle.

Try not to scream when I break your bones. It bothers me. You can cry if you want; that's fine." He burst out laughing. I didn't realize that was a funny statement. "Got it," he said, trying unsuccessful to cover his grin. "Screaming, no. Crying, yes

Maybe you need to take a look at who I am, instead of who you wish I were.

There they are. Lieutenant Jack Loveday and Lieutenant Alex Wakeman. I’ve only seen their photos so far and the pictures that are in Demos’s head, but the truth is Demos did not do them justice. In fact, Demos’s head needs a tune up or a reboot or an entirely new operating system altogether.

How long will the patch take?” Venkat asked. “Should be pretty much instant,” Jack answered. “Watney entered the hack earlier today, and we confirmed it worked. We updated Pathfinder’s OS without any problems. We sent the rover patch, which Pathfinder rebroadcast. Once Watney executes the patch and reboots the rover, we should get a connection.” “Jesus, what a complicated process,” Venkat said. “Try updating a Linux server sometime,” Jack said.

You could've at least let me know you weren't dead by the way. I was actually kind of sad about that." "That's a pretty incredible sentiment, coming from you.

Sex and love went together. Not here. The teenage hormones were still here, but the feelings were gone.

Why do I have all these thoughts if the job I’m doing is mainly technical? Why do I have these thoughts if the reason I’m here is primarily to increase production? From what perspective are these thoughts productive? Was there an error in the update? If there was, I’d like to be rebooted.

I stayed awake and kept watch. Plus you look all cute and nonlethal when you sleep.

We are all glorified motion sensors. Some things only become visible to us when they undergo change. We take for granted all the constant, fixed things, and eventually stop paying any attention to them. At the same time we observe and obsess over small, fast-moving, ephemeral things of little value. The trick to rediscovering constants is to stop and focus on the greater panorama around us. While everything else flits abut, the important things remain in place. Their stillness appears as reverse motion to our perspective, as relativity resets our motion sensors. It reboots us, allowing us once again to perceive. And now that we do see, suddenly we realize that those still things are not so motionless after all. They are simply gliding with slow individualistic grace against the backdrop of the immense universe. And it takes a more sensitive motion instrument to track this.

HS is supposedly a story that is also a game. In games, the characters die all the time. How many times did you let Mario fall in the pit before he saved the princess? Who weeps for these Marios. In games your characters die, but you keep trying and trying and rebooting and resetting until finally they make it. When you play a game this process is all very impersonal. Once you finally win, when all is said and done those deaths didn’t “count”, only the linear path of the final victorious version of the character is considered “real”. Mario never actually died, did he? Except the omniscient player knows better. HS seems to combine all the meaningless deaths of a trial-and-error game journey with the way death is treated dramatically in other media, where unlike our oblivious Mario, the characters are aware and afraid of the many deaths they must experience before finally winning the game.

I sort of liked the sound of bones breaking. It was like home.

A human would lie on the ground sobbing. A Reboot didn’t acknowledge pain.

Thank you,” he said when he released me. “For coming with me. For not giving me shit about wanting to see my parents.” “I have most definitely given you shit.” “Then thank you for giving me minimal shit.

Good. I didn’t hear the four a.m. rooster alarm.” “I did,” Taylor said. “It went on for like ten minutes before I rebooted it.” “You rebooted a rooster?” “I think so. It stopped mid-crow.

And this ‘rebooting’ business? Give it a good kicking, do you?” “Oh, no, of course, we…that is…well, yes, in fact,” said Ponder. “Adrian goes round the back and…er…prods it with his foot. But in a technical way,” he added.

Fine,” I said, holding my gun out. I didn’t need it anyway. With the way the guy was shaking, I could take his gun, break his neck, and dance on the body in two seconds flat.

Why is everyone hugging you? I asked. I don't know. I'm likeable?

Do that thing where you look blank, like you have no feelings at all.” “I think that’s just my face.

Some of the Reboots were gazing at her with such awe and excitement that I wanted to slap them and tell them to stop being weird.

Her smile faded to a more serious expression. "Is everything okay? With Callum?" "Fine," I said, taking a bite of meat and avoiding her eyes. "He's crazy about you, you know," she said softly, like I hadn't just told her things were fine. "I see other girls looking at him sometimes, and he doesn't even notice. He only sees you.

I plan, you do the punching people in the face part.

Your brain needs plenty of rest to function at it's optimal level. Go to sleep!

I think people immediately assumed I was yours so they stayed far away.” He met my eyes and smiled. “I was. I am.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips to mine. “Yours.

I felt Leo's hand on my face, cool and smooth and utterly inhuman. He stroked back my hair, and his voice was curiously gentle when he said, "I would have been most . . . discommoded had you died." "Yeah. That's why I stay alive," I said, my native snark coming back online, as if I had rebooted that file, "to keep you from being 'discommoded'." I'd have to look that one up.

There was an extraordinary amount to process, and my brain was now functioning normally, or at least int the manner that I was accustomed to. The meltdown was perhaps the psychological equivalent of a reboot following an overload.

Lists make magic, the rhythm of itemised words: you do not list ten techniques, numbered and chantable, in austere prose appropriate for some early-millennium rebooted Book of Thoth, and not know that you have written an incantation.

Only for a minute. I'll be right back." He plopped the baby in her lap and hopped to his feet. Wren held her at arm's length and frowned. She did not appreciate that, because she immediately began wailing. "Here," Wren said, thrusting her in my direction. "Take the mutant baby.

hadn’t been expecting a thank-you. I wasn’t even sure why I’d done it. I supposed he was my favorite HARC officer, but that was a bit like having a favorite vegetable. They were all pretty uninteresting.

THEY FOUND LEO AT THE TOP of the city fortifications. He was sitting at an open-air café, overlooking the sea, drinking a cup of coffee and dressed in…wow. Time warp. Leo’s outfit was identical to the one he’d worn the day they first arrived at Camp Half-Blood—jeans, a white shirt, and an old army jacket. Except that jacket had burned up months ago. Piper nearly knocked him out of his chair with a hug. “Leo! Gods, where have you been?” “Valdez!” Coach Hedge grinned. Then he seemed to remember he had a reputation to protect and he forced a scowl. “You ever disappear like that again, you little punk, I’ll knock you into next month!” Frank patted Leo on the back so hard it made him wince. Even Nico shook his hand. Hazel kissed Leo on the cheek. “We thought you were dead!” Leo mustered a faint smile. “Hey, guys. Nah, nah, I’m good.” Jason could tell he wasn’t good. Leo wouldn’t meet their eyes. His hands were perfectly still on the table. Leo’s hands were never still. All the nervous energy had drained right out of him, replaced by a kind of wistful sadness. Jason wondered why his expression seemed familiar. Then he realized Nico di Angelo had looked the same way after facing Cupid in the ruins of Salona. Leo was heartsick. As the others grabbed chairs from the nearby tables, Jason leaned in and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, man,” he said, “what happened?” Leo’s eyes swept around the group. The message was clear: Not here. Not in front of everyone. “I got marooned,” Leo said. “Long story. How about you guys? What happened with Khione?” Coach Hedge snorted. “What happened? Piper happened! I’m telling you, this girl has skills!” “Coach…” Piper protested. Hedge began retelling the story, but in his version Piper was a kung fu assassin and there were a lot more Boreads. As the coach talked, Jason studied Leo with concern. This café had a perfect view of the harbor. Leo must have seen the Argo II sail in. Yet he sat here drinking coffee—which he didn’t even like—waiting for them to find him. That wasn’t like Leo at all. The ship was the most important thing in his life. When he saw it coming to rescue him, Leo should have run down to the docks, whooping at the top of his lungs. Coach Hedge was just describing how Piper had defeated Khione with a roundhouse kick when Piper interrupted. “Coach!” she said. “It didn’t happen like that at all. I couldn’t have done anything without Festus.” Leo raised his eyebrows. “But Festus was deactivated.” “Um, about that,” Piper said. “I sort of woke him up.” Piper explained her version of events—how she’d rebooted the metal dragon with charmspeak.

Clearly he’s decided that I’m after the Smith trust funds, like some skank from the Dynasty reboot.

By the time Rosie came back, I had performed a brain reboot, an exercise requiring a considerable effort of will. But I was now configured for adaptability.

Careers increasingly come with a reboot button, and companies that realize this early possess a competitive talent advantage

It’s literally a reboot of the system—a biological control-alt-delete. Psychedelics

Sometimes you just have to do nothing for a day or two. Reboot. We’re human beings, not human doings,

Countries, like people, don't reboot to zero with a good shock; they just break and keep on breaking.

I'm like a computer with its hard drive wiped clean. You can reboot it and the operating system works fine. But when you look for a document or file to open, nothing's there.

Of course I know what she means. To make art in fandom is to follow your passion at the risk of never being taken seriously. I've written dozens of fics-put them together and you'd have several novels-but who knows what a college admissions officer will think of that as a pastime. Where does 12,000 Tumbler followers rate in relation to a spot in the National Honor Society in their minds? Every week I get anonymous messages in my inbox telling me I should write a real book. Well, haven't I already? What makes what I do different from "real writing"? Is it that I don't use original characters? I guess that makes every Hardy Boys edition, every Star Wars book, every spinoff, sequel, fairy-tale re-telling, historical romance, comic book reboot, and the music Hamilton "not real writing". Or is it that a real book is something printed, that you can hold in your hand, not something you write on the internet? Or is "real writing" something you sell in a store, not give away for free? No, I know it's none of these things. It's merely this: "real writing" is done by serious people, whereas fanfiction is written by weirdos, teenagers, degenerates, and women.

And when I am in a new place, because I see everything, it is like when a computer is doing too many things at the same time and the central processor unit is blocked up and there isn't any space left to think about other things. And when I am in a new place and there are lots of people there it is even harder because people are not like cows and flowers and grass and they can talk to you and do things that you don't expect, so you have to notice everything that is in the place, and also you have to notice things that might happen as well. And sometimes when I am in a new place and there are lots of people there it is like a computer crashing and I have to close my eyes and put my hands over my ears and groan, which is like pressing CTRL + ALT + DEL and shutting down programs and turning the computer off and rebooting so that I can remember what I am doing and where I am meant to be going.

The man thinks of multiverses, of splits, of the momentous moments when there is a new reality created. He wonders about retroactive continuity and reboots, the opportunity, in comic books, to start with clean slates, to write fresh, to correct the mistakes that were made. He feels now, looking at the new Shopwise, that it cannot offer the same kind of happiness as Fiesta Carnival, that the rifts and tears in his reality are things he must accept, and that he is happy with the girl, in another multiverse.

MIND TELLING US WHAT THE REALITY IS LIKE ROUND HERE?” The pen wrote: +++ On A Scale Of One To Ten—Query +++ “FINE,” Ridcully shouted. +++ Divide By Cucumber Error. Please Reinstall Universe And Reboot +++

What is this to you? What are we doing? What do you want?” Garrett smiles that easy smile that makes me want to lick every single inch of his skin. “This is you and me. The reboot. We’ll talk and laugh and fuck until we can’t move, and probably fight at some point, too. And we’ll… be.” I reach for him. He releases my arms and rolls us to the side, my hands around his neck, my leg draped across his hip. “As for what I want. I want you, Callie. For as long as you’re here. For as long as you’ll let me have you. I want all of you.

Feeling entitled is the opposite of feeling grateful. Gratitude opens the heart, entitlement closes it.

It never ceased to amaze me just how fast one could lose everything.

I probably love you,” she said. I let out a surprised laugh. “Probably?” She laced our fingers together and tugged me toward the shuttle, glancing over her shoulder. “Probably. It’s hard to tell with me, you know?” I laughed again. “I probably love you, too.

When you travel you’re forced to have new thoughts. “Is this alley safe?” “Is this the right bus?” “Was this meat ever a house pet?” It doesn’t even matter what the new thoughts are, it feels so good to just have some variety. And it’s a reboot for your brain. I can feel the neurons making new connections again with new problems to solve, clawing their way back to their nimbler, younger days.

Willingness to take risks and reactions to failure differ dramatically around the world. In some cultures the downside for failure is so high that individuals are allergic to taking any risks at all. These cultures associate shame with any type of failure, and from a young age people are taught to follow a prescribed path with a well-defined chance of success, as opposed to trying anything that might lead to disappointment. In some places, such as Thailand, someone who has failed repeatedly might even choose to take on a brand-new name in an attempt to reboot his or her entire life. In fact, in the 2008 Olympics, a Thai weight lifter attributed her victory to changing her name before the games.

Cutting the power was necessary to reboot security and other systems, they said. Power will resume momentarily. Be ready to move when it does. Enjoy this music until then! The tablet began playing soothing instrumental versions of modern popular hits. Kiva didn’t know whether to shit or hum along.

Now I was only confused as to why a person would want to kiss anyone but Callum. When he lifted his head from mine I

Honesty is always Victorious, give it some time.

It’s not that great ideas got killed by clients… it’s that agencies killed their own great ideas by not presenting them well.

How do you take care of yourself?'' The reality is, for a long time, I didn't. But now I do.

He made disgusted noises every time I touched him, so I fell entirely against him. He yelled and I ended up on the floor. It was not my most well-thought-out plan.

one of the hallmarks of mental health is the ability to hold conflicting feelings.

the way to guide is to ask and not to tell.

maybe I have a smaller shirt you can wear", Callum said , hopping off the bed and striding across the room to his closet . "something from when I was four or so

you can sleep on me anytime you want

I prefer to thin of it as rebooting my ovarian operating system.

Rebooting our enthusiasm is like deciding to become our own best coach, rather than our own worst enemy.

Loneliness isn’t a punishment; it’s a system reboot. Death is the same, just on a deeper level.

Watney entered the hack earlier today, and we confirmed it worked. We updated Pathfinder’s OS without any problems. We sent the rover patch, which Pathfinder rebroadcast. Once Watney executes the patch and reboots the rover, we should get a connection.” “Jesus, what a complicated process,” Venkat said. “Try updating a Linux server sometime,” Jack said. After a moment of silence, Tim said, “You know he was telling a joke, right? That was supposed to be funny.” “Oh,” said Venkat. “I’m a physics guy, not a computer guy.” “He’s not funny to computer guys, either.

He could never go back to what he'd been, before. Never. And neither could anyone else, because even if the war was ended tomorrow... the world was not a computer, and it could not be rebooted.

where’s andrew?” “he just dosed up, so he’s out cold somewhere. he’s going to crash and reboot into crazy mode.” “you don’t think he’s crazy now?” “crazy, nah. soulless, perhaps.” - neil & nicky

I don’t think a reboot could realistically lead to other opportunities because, if the performer in the reboot hasn’t done significant work in between, the reboot just serves as a reminder of that.

I looked out over a sleepy, twinkling Manhattan as I plummeted into the night. It was wonderful and visceral, like my mind and body were violently wiped clean and rebooted to take in the majesty of the experience.

I've got a 486 downstairs with over five years of uptime. It's going to break my heart to reboot it." "What the everlasting shit do you use a 486 for?" "Nothing. But who shuts down a machine with five years uptime?

Should we type, text, call, email, swipe, pin, tweet, Skype, FaceTime, Zoom, Message, or yell at our digital assistant to get it done, whatever it is? And in what order should all of that happen? (Oh, and before we can get started, we’ll have to upgrade, update, reboot, log in, authenticate, reset our password, clear cookies, empty our cache, and sacrifice our firstborn before we can get where we’re going . . . where was that again?)

Just a maintenance tech here, folks, heading home after a long night of rebooting routers. That’s all. I am definitely not an indent making a daring escape with ten zettabytes of stolen company data in his pocket. Nosiree.

no one should ever underestimate the appeal of an opiate high. Far as I can tell, it’s a beautiful thing. The way they talk about it, it’s the best thing ever. For some folks it hits the spot so hard it reboots their lives.

I’m going to tell you something, there’s country poor, and there’s city poor. As much of my life as I’d spent in front of a TV thinking Oh, man, city’s where the money trees grow, I was seeing more to the picture now. I mean yes, that is where they all grow, but plenty of people are sitting in that shade with nothing falling on them. Chartrain was always discussing “hustle,” and it took me awhile to understand he grew up hungry for money like it was food. Because for him, they’re one and the same. Not to run the man down, but he wouldn’t know a cow from a steer, or which of them gave milk. No desperate men Chartrain ever knew went out and shot venison if they were hungry. They shot liquor store cashiers. Living in the big woods made of steel and cement, without cash, is a hungrier life than I knew how to think about. I made my peace with the place, but never went a day without feeling around for things that weren’t there, the way your tongue pushes into the holes where you’ve lost teeth. I don’t just mean cows, or apple trees, it runs deeper. Weather, for instance. Air, the way it smells from having live things breathing into it, grass and trees and I don’t know what, creatures of the soil. Sounds, I missed most of all. There was noise, but nothing behind it. I couldn’t get used to the blankness where there should have been bird gossip morning and evening, crickets at night, the buzz saw of cicadas in August. A rooster always sounding off somewhere, even dead in the middle of Jonesville. It’s like the movie background music. Notice it or don’t, but if the volume goes out, the movie has no heart. I’d oftentimes have to stop and ask myself what season it was. I never realized what was holding me to my place on the planet of earth: that soundtrack. That, and leaf colors and what’s blooming in the roadside ditches this week, wild sweet peas or purple ironweed or goldenrod. And stars. A sky as dark as sleep, not this hazy pinkish business, I’m saying blind man’s black. For a lot of us, that’s medicine. Required for the daily reboot.

The pretext needed to ban me turned out to be the all-female reboot of Ghostbusters, a remarkably bad film that flopped at the box office and contributed to Sony’s decision to take a near $1 billion write-down on its movie business.

Charisma and people’s prior beliefs about their powers are key: if you’re told that someone is renowned the world over for their abilities as a hypnotist or spiritual healer, your brain will be more likely to surrender executive control to them.

Lately I wake in the night and a few panicked seconds pass in which I can't locate myself. I could tell you my name, certainly, but not which version of me I'm dealing with... Mostly I am nobody when I wake up, just a consciousness in the darkness trying to piece it all together. It is a strange, free-floating moment, an anchoring of the self. It is an interlude, like held breath. Eventually it releases, the lungs fill, the world floods in. A reassuring upload of facts. A reboot. I am back.

A billionaire plutocrat is now sitting in the White House. Democracy has been overthrown. A right wing coup d’état has taken place. The Confederacy has defeated the Union. Racist Nazis are now running America, calling themselves “patriots”. They are the enemies of the People, the enemies of America, and the enemies of the world. The time has come to get rid of the global elite and their brainwashed right wing puppets. The time has come for the people to take control of their own destiny. We need to reboot the world.

Enlightenment triggering data needs to be processed by all systems for successful integration. This will cause a period of significant growing pains, which some cultures call “being eaten by the snake.” A rebirth must involve a complete reboot. There is no picking and choosing. - Tyler

It’s ironic that the Tea Party populists, most of whom believe that they are furthering the American ideal of “rugged individualism,” are supporting mega-corporate-friendly policies like Reaganomics and Clintonomics and are making it very difficult for individuals to be anything other than drones in a giant corporate-run economic machine. And, on the flipside, those countries that call themselves “democratic socialist” in their organization—Finland, Germany, Japan, the Netherlands, Sweden—actually provide a deep and fertile soil into which entrepreneurs may plant new businesses.

She closed her eyes again, and tried to reboot. Human brains, she knew, could be like computers, especially in the time that hung between sleep and wakefulness. Sometimes you said strange things, did even stranger things, and once in a while you couldn’t figure out exactly how you got where you got.

ADVICE ON SLEEPING “Many people will tell you that they can’t nap. The one thing I learned from a single yoga class I took many years ago was to slow down my breathing. I just keep breathing slowly in and out and don’t think I must fall asleep. Instead, I think things like, Sleepytime! and just focus on my breathing. I also make sure it’s dark in the room, or I cover my eyes with one of those airplane sleep masks. Also, I set my phone alarm for twenty-one minutes because turning a short power nap into a longer sleep can leave you groggy. This amount of time gives me what’s basically a cognitive reboot.” —Amy Alkon, syndicated columnist and catnap queen

Some people try something new on their Reboot Break only to return to what they had been doing before. That doesn't mean the time was wasted. The opportunity to explore a passion can go a long way toward reducing the stress of feeling as though you've missed an opportunity or that you really should be doing something else. Linda,

Change is the part of the very definition of life. The world changes, and flourishing demands constant growth and life-long learning.

Common hatred can bond uncommon individuals.

using playful cleverness to achieve a goal.” Hacking away at something in small chunks or reprogramming bits and pieces of the media is what will define the future of media.

It’s not going to happen if you wait for the boss to tell you to make it happen.

Worry less about how many people you are connected to, and worry a whole lot more about who you are connected to – who they are and what you are doing to value and honor them.

Stop thinking about content as the endgame and consider that the true value is the stories you tell.

People like sharing things that not only sound cool, but make them look smart.

If you want privacy on any digital channel (and this includes your own email!), don’t be a part of an online social network.

Life’s a pitch. Deal with it.

Both the fear of failure and the fear of rejection can be canceled by saying the words I like myself.

I think my wearing a paper-bag dress will actually attract more stares " he said dryly

it felt like someone was standing on my chest

the idea was so ridiculous I almost laughed

I had to admire his ability to keep that smile on his face, even when things sucked

the quality of your thinking determines the quality of your life.

I forgot to breathe for a moment when our eyes met and his lips curved up

you're so short " he said , I looked up to see a smile twitching at his lips. It was an obvious statement, but I smiled anyway . "I've noticed

I was reminded of Joseph Campbell’s thought that the pursuit of purpose and meaning is really a pursuit of aliveness, of rapture.

I don't have the heart to leave shattered pieces where they lay.

Staying safe might be the best option, especially if he contacted you in the midst of danger. Because of that, you either mean a whole lot to him or nothing at all.

You never want to try and change someone to fit your expectations because they won't change for long...

I remember thinking there is no threshold of discomfort for a woman that a man will not cross for his own convenience.

We survivors of atrocities that began before we could tie our shoes need our stories to be heard.

It is harder to talk about and comprehend what sexual abuse does to how we see ourselves than to re-tell and relive the actual events.

Patients who do not prove themselves during the initial intake hold no shot at becoming their therapist’s star pupil.

I think people immediately assumed I was yours, so they stayed far away.' He met my eyes and smiled. 'I was. I am.' He leaned forward and brushed his lips to mine. 'Yours.

That’s the problem of today’s generation. You want all the things quickly. You all hate to struggle. You see the life into two extremes, either success or failure, either rich or broke, either victory or defeat. You see the life in all black and white, but there are various shades of gray in-between two extremes of black and white and life happens to be there.

You make a world out of the things you buy. Everything you pick up is a potential gateway, a tiny, cosmetic change that might blossom into an entirely new you. A bold shirt around which you base a new personality, an angular coffee table that might reboot your whole environment, that one enormous novel that all the fashionable English majors carry around. You buy things to communicate affiliation to a small tribe, hopeful you'll encounter the only other person in line buying the same obscure thing as you. Maybe I, too, will become the kind of person who has books like 'Infinite Jest' casually strewn on his cool, angular coffee table. Maybe I'll become the kind of person who seems as if he should have that book but chooses not to.

There is a world of difference between stress that comes from the things you want to do and the stress that comes when you feel like you’re not working on the stuff that matters most to you.

As David Zucker watched the casket of his late wife being lowered into the ground, he thought the worst must surely be over and it was time to start the slow healing process to begin life anew.

Will you do whatever is necessary to remain attentive to creating a different money mindset, or will you be content to let time get away from you, along with your dreams of financial independence?

True utility happens in the moment of need. Not the brand’s moment of need, but the consumer’s moment of need. If you can meet that need when the customer needs it met, you are on to something big.

The most adaptive path for you to find your success in these times of purgatory will be in your ability to forget about the notion of work/life balance and find the blend in your work, personal, and community life.

It was as if whatever individual politics I’d developed had crashed—the anti-institutional hacker ethos instilled in me online, and the apolitical patriotism I’d inherited from my parents, both wiped from my system—and I’d been rebooted as a willing vehicle of vengeance. The sharpest part of the humiliation comes from acknowledging how easy this transformation was, and how readily I welcomed it. I wanted, I think, to be part of something.

If you could give up the need for measurable progress, if you give up the pursuit of purpose and meaning,” I continued, adding, quietly to myself—“and the need to build an exhaustible supply of lemon drops’’—“and then focused on doing what is right and true each day, it feels to me that you’d live in congruency with your truest self, where the meaning of your life was a function of the meaning of each day. And each day, an expression of your life.

He eased the door open, scanned right and left, then slid into the corridor and into the room across it. Machines beeped and hummed, monitoring whatever poor bastard lay in the bed. Staying out of the range of the camera, he slithered against the wall until he could aim the jammer he carried. Even as the alarm sounded he was out and into the next room before the ICU team came running. He repeated the process, grinning as the medicals ran by. He hit a third for good measure, then made the dash to 8-C. By the time they determined it was an electronic glitch, rebooted, did whatever they did for the poor bastards in beds, he’d have done what he’d come to do and be gone. He moved into 8-C. They kept the lights dim, he noted. Rest and quiet was the order of the day. Well, she’d get plenty of both where he was sending her. He moved to the bed, pulled out the vial in his pocket. “Should’ve kept your nose out of our business, stupid bitch.

Every time you experience such an inflow of siddhic high frequency light, you move through an intense period of mutation in which any glitches in your genetic code are erased. This translates into experience as deep unconscious fears rising up to the surface of your awareness through the medium of your body. After such periods, your whole system must literally be rebooted. These times in your life can be very challenging and you may well experience some disorientation

I'm glad you're here" he said sleepily in my ear . "where else would I be ?" I asked with a laugh. He placed his palm flat against my back , sending shivers down my spine "Nowhere, I just thought you should know, I'm always happy you're here

It’s painfully simple but also challenging to execute because it requires a rewrite, a re-rendering, a reboot, and a reframe. And the best part is that it requires nothing from your partner—this is entirely within your control. It is the most unromantic piece of advice you will ever receive: Manage your expectations. Let go of the rescue fantasy. If you don’t, and you decide to stay, it will only destroy you, bit by bit. So now that you know the beast is never going to turn into a prince.

Making energy creates waste, like exhaust from a car. That’s the byproduct of running the engine. Your cells work the same way, but this biological exhaust comes in the form of what are called free radicals, which are chemicals that can damage your cells.

One of the best things about owning a brain is how you often seem to phase out of normalcy and briefly see your culture with a weirdly objective frame of mind. At some point every child realizes money is made up of slips of paper with no intrinsic value, and wonders why aloud. So, too, will children ask adults what’s up with shaking hands, or putting your fork on one side of the plate, or saying “Bless you” after a sneeze. Parents apply the glue that holds a culture together when explaining to a child that his socks must match, or that punctuality is paramount, or that picking his nose in public is a terrible habit. When a parent tells a boy he shouldn’t play with dolls, or a girl to wait for a boy to ask her to the prom, they are enforcing norms. When a kid asks, “But, why?” she is rightfully bringing to the attention of the adult world that all this stuff is just made up and mostly arbitrary nonsense often clung to for some long-forgotten reason. That feeling you sometimes get when you snap out of your culture for a moment, when the operating system crashes and slowly reboots, has been the subject of literature and drama for thousands of years.

I hate this screaming. There screaming was my screaming. The first thing I remembered after waking up as a reboot was a shrill yell bouncing off the walls and ringing in my ears. I had thought, what idiot is making that noise? It was me. Me, shrieking like a crack addict two days out from a fix. Rather embarrassing. I'd always prided myself on being the quiet stoic one in every situation. That one standing there calmly while the adults lost it. But at the age of twelve, when I woke up in the Dead Room of the hospital 178 minutes after taking three bowls to the chest, I screamed.

We cannot experience greater financial prosperity while telling ourselves how hard it is to pay the bills or to make ends meet. This situation may be the current state of your reality but if you want it to be different you have to be different and that all starts with your inner conversations.

Strong back and open heart. This is warrior stance, I tell him. The strong back of fiscal discipline. The strong back of clarity and vision, of drive and direction. The strong back of delegating responsibility and holding people accountable. The strong back of knowing right from wrong. But it’s also the open heart. It’s giving a shit about people, purpose, meaning. It’s working toward something greater than merely boosting your ego, greater than just soothing your worries and chasing your demons away. It’s leading from within, drawing on the core of your being, on all that has shaped you.

It’s all about great stories. It’s a tall order, but if you’re looking to create a true mark and to get people to remark about everything that you’re doing, you only have one major mission when it comes to marketing yourself and the business that you represent: Go out there and create some great stories.

One of the prostitutes, an Asian who can’t be over twenty, with boobs that can’t be real, with a sudden interest in him that can’t be sincere, approaches him as he walks back into the penthouse and slides the door shut. “Wie lautet dein name?” she asks. What is your name? He smiles. She is just flirting, playing a part. She doesn’t care what he tells her. But there are people who would pay anything, or do anything, to know the answer to her question. And just once, he’d like to let down his guard and answer the question truthfully. I am Suliman Cindoruk, he’d like to say. And I’m about to reboot the world.

Aton poured a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. “Do you know how I was able to grow my empire so quickly, so efficiently?” The General rolled the khaki sleeve up his right arm and punched a series of alphanumeric symbols into the keypad embedded in his powerful forearm. “Service, alpha, nine, kilo, four, five, delta, security protocol, voice print, command, shut down all non-essential systems, routine maintenance. Reboot and activate all systems upon further command.” The General’s ocular implants powered down, and his sullen, muddy-brown eyes twitched to life, fixing upon Aton. “The carrot and the stick, sir.

My co-founder, Ali Schultz, taught me the wisdom of horses. Horses, with their supernatural ability to use their limbic nervous systems to discern truth and congruency, do not base their choice of the leader of their herd on strength or intellectual wisdom. Nor is their choice based on which member might keep the herd safe from a predator wolf. They choose the one who feels the group best and who cares the most. They choose the horse—usually a mare—who is most capable of holding that care in a way that calms the whole group. They’re marked by the attunement to the inner and outer needs of those they have the honor to serve and lead.

Looking back, I see all those subway rides, all that motion, as an attempt to gather lemon drops. My twisted logic went like this: I didn’t have any lemon drops, and therefore felt exhausted and depleted and constantly battled migraines, because I wasn’t doing enough. The answer, therefore, was simple: Do more, faster.

January 17th REBOOT THE REAL WORK “I am your teacher and you are learning in my school. My aim is to bring you to completion, unhindered, free from compulsive behavior, unrestrained, without shame, free, flourishing, and happy, looking to God in things great and small—your aim is to learn and diligently practice all these things. Why then don’t you complete the work, if you have the right aim and I have both the right aim and right preparation? What is missing? . . . The work is quite feasible, and is the only thing in our power. . . . Let go of the past. We must only begin. Believe me and you will see.” —EPICTETUS, DISCOURSES, 2.19.29–34

A friend of ours encountered this problem with his home-built computer long ago. He wrote a BIOS that used a magic value in a particular memory location to determine whether a reset was a cold reboot or a warm reboot. After a while the machine refused to boot after power-up because the memory had learned the magic value, and the boot process therefore treated every reset as a warm reboot. As this did not initialize the proper variables, the boot process failed. The solution in his case was to swap some memory chips around, scrambling the magic value that the SRAM had learned. For us, it was a lesson to remember: memory retains more data than you think.

Turning the pursuit of purpose, mission, and leadership into the means to discover the adult lurking within us requires that we show up with radical authenticity. That “we” includes me. To live up to the belief that the pursuit of leadership requires a pursuit of growing up, we must be willing to work with that which arises in the pursuit.

First, we put ourself in a resourceful state: calm, positive, clear. Then we ‘anchor’ that state through a specific, replicable physical action – something out of the ordinary, like scrunching up our toes, stamping our foot, staring into the distance, throwing water over our face. Repeat, and repeat, and repeat – until it’s automatic. Then, when we recognize the symptoms of pressure – when our focus closes down, our vision narrows, our heart rate lifts, our anxiety increases, our self-consciousness rises – we can use the anchor to reboot. And return to our centre. Like a doctor using paddles on a cardiac arrest, the ‘jolt of recognition’ reactivates our more resourceful state and returns us to the moment.

Your body tries to remove free radicals via antioxidants, which try to bind the free radicals up (as if they were in handcuffs) and haul them out of your cells and then out of your body. That’s one of the reasons blueberries and exercise are so good for you—they are two very powerful ways to increase your in-cell antioxidants. Regularly drinking black coffee is another.

Here’s the truth: You won’t find your voice over time. I don’t believe that writers arrive at this strange destination called “their voice.” I think a strong voice evolves over time. But none of that happens without writing. You’re not writing for writing’s sake. You’re writing to exercise your critical thinking skills. When you do that often enough, great writing will start to flow.

Social Networking Reality Check: After you’ve met, reunited, scheduled, confirmed, celebrated and reminisced, re-boot and remind yourself that your closest friends are probably not even on FaceBook. Life’s most intimate personal details, insecurities, conflicts and “drama” should not play out on a public website. Your discretion, dignity and self respect should not log off when you log on.

GHOSTBUSTERS I always wanted the reboot of Ghostbusters to be four girl-ghostbusters. Like, four normal, plucky women living in New York City searching for Mr. Right and trying to find jobs—but who also bust ghosts. I’m not an idiot, though. I know the demographic for Ghostbusters is teenage boys, and I know they would kill themselves if two ghostbusters had a makeover at Sephora. I just have always wanted to see a cool girl having her first kiss with a guy she’s had a crush on, and then have to excuse herself to go trap the pissed-off ghosts of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire or something. In my imagination, I am, of course, one of the ghostbusters, with the likes of say, Emily Blunt, Taraji Henson, and Natalie Portman. Even if I’m not the ringleader, I’m definitely the one who gets to say “I ain’t afraid a no ghost.” At least the first time.

Time and again I’ve watched hearts break open, so that true and authentic leaders can emerge. But that process depends on a brave first step: facing the reality of what is and not being deluded by the powerful, seductive dreams of what can be. Of course, this doesn’t mean there’s no role for dreams. We need dreams. But willfully ignoring what is true is not the same as dreaming. It’s delusion; and delusion leads to terrible decisions and, even worse, the destruction of trust. The first act of becoming a leader is to recognize this being so. From that place, we get to recognize what skills we need to develop and who we really are (and are not) as leaders, and to share our truth in a way that creates authentic, powerful relationships—with our peers, colleagues, and families. Grant us leaders who can do this and we just may create institutions that are less violent to the self, our communities, and our planet.

Lately I wake in the night, and a few panicked seconds pass in which I can't locate myself. I could tell you my name, certainly, but not which version of me I'm dealing with. Once, I was sure I was back in my teenage bed. I could almost hear the creak of its metal frame as I ticked over my timetable in my head (...). Unstable reality that it was, the illusion dissipated, and for a few floundering moments I was no one at all, just someone who remembered being that girl. Then I was me again, the me that exists now, in our blue upholstered bed with sea air surging through the window. That was unusual. Mostly I am nobody when I wake up, just a consciousness in the darkness trying to piece it all together. It is a strange, free-floating moment, an unanchoring of the self. It is an interlude, like held breath. Eventually it releases, the lungs fill, the world floods in. A reassuring upload of facts. A reboot. I am back.

Here’s how I’ve always pictured mitigated free will: There’s the brain—neurons, synapses, neurotransmitters, receptors, brainspecific transcription factors, epigenetic effects, gene transpositions during neurogenesis. Aspects of brain function can be influenced by someone’s prenatal environment, genes, and hormones, whether their parents were authoritative or their culture egalitarian, whether they witnessed violence in childhood, when they had breakfast. It’s the whole shebang, all of this book. And then, separate from that, in a concrete bunker tucked away in the brain, sits a little man (or woman, or agendered individual), a homunculus at a control panel. The homunculus is made of a mixture of nanochips, old vacuum tubes, crinkly ancient parchment, stalactites of your mother’s admonishing voice, streaks of brimstone, rivets made out of gumption. In other words, not squishy biological brain yuck. And the homunculus sits there controlling behavior. There are some things outside its purview—seizures blow the homunculus’s fuses, requiring it to reboot the system and check for damaged files. Same with alcohol, Alzheimer’s disease, a severed spinal cord, hypoglycemic shock. There are domains where the homunculus and that brain biology stuff have worked out a détente—for example, biology is usually automatically regulating your respiration, unless you must take a deep breath before singing an aria, in which case the homunculus briefly overrides the automatic pilot. But other than that, the homunculus makes decisions. Sure, it takes careful note of all the inputs and information from the brain, checks your hormone levels, skims the neurobiology journals, takes it all under advisement, and then, after reflecting and deliberating, decides what you do. A homunculus in your brain, but not of it, operating independently of the material rules of the universe that constitute modern science. That’s what mitigated free will is about. I see incredibly smart people recoil from this and attempt to argue against the extremity of this picture rather than accept its basic validity: “You’re setting up a straw homunculus, suggesting that I think that other than the likes of seizures or brain injuries, we are making all our decisions freely. No, no, my free will is much softer and lurks around the edges of biology, like when I freely decide which socks to wear.” But the frequency or significance with which free will exerts itself doesn’t matter. Even if 99.99 percent of your actions are biologically determined (in the broadest sense of this book), and it is only once a decade that you claim to have chosen out of “free will” to floss your teeth from left to right instead of the reverse, you’ve tacitly invoked a homunculus operating outside the rules of science. This is how most people accommodate the supposed coexistence of free will and biological influences on behavior. For them, nearly all discussions come down to figuring what our putative homunculus should and shouldn’t be expected to be capable of.

If too little glucose is available in your blood, which is what happens when you follow a low - carbohydrate diet, then your liver hoards glucose so that your brain, which needs glucose to function, doesn't starve. While your body will start to break down fat to use as fuel, your brain can't run that way for long, and it will send out the Bat-Signal for more calories. That's the reason why when you skip a meal or go too long between meals, you find yourself running to the nearest donut or bag of chips.

As the Model S fever gripped Silicon Valley, I visited Ford’s small research and development lab in Palo Alto. The head of the lab at the time was a ponytailed, sandal-wearing engineer named T. J. Giuli, who felt very jealous of Tesla. Inside of every Ford were dozens of computing systems made by different companies that all had to speak to each other and work as one. It was a mess of complexity that had evolved over time, and simplifying the situation would prove near impossible at this point, especially for a company like Ford, which needed to pump out hundreds of thousands of cars per year and could not afford to stop and reboot. Tesla, by contrast, got to start from scratch and make its own software the focus of the Model S. Giuli would have loved the same opportunity. “Software is in many ways the heart of the new vehicle experience,” he said. “From the powertrain to the warning chimes in the car, you’re using software to create an expressive and pleasing environment. The level of integration that the software has into the rest of the Model S is really impressive. Tesla is a benchmark for what we do here.” Not long after this chat, Giuli left Ford to become an engineer at a stealth start-up. There

[…] if sophistication is the ability to put a smile on one's existential desperation, then the fear of a glossy sheen is actually the fear that surface equals depth. *** […] we wake up, we do something—anything—we go to sleep, and we repeat it about 22,000 more times, and then we die. *** Part of our new boredom is that our brain doesn't have any downtime. Even the smallest amount of time not being engaged creates a spooky sensatino that maybe you're on the wrong track. Reboot your computer and sit there waiting for it to do its thing, and within seventeen seconds you experience a small existential implosion when you remember that fifteen years ago life was nothing but this kind of moment. Gosh, mabe I'll read a book. Or go for a walk. Sorry. Probably not going to happen. Hey, is that the new trailer for Ex Machina? *** In the 1990s there was that expression, "Get a life!" You used to say it to people who were overly fixating on some sort of minutia or detail or thought thread, and by saying, "Get a life," you were trying to snap them out of their obsession and get them to join the rest of us who are still out in the world, taking walks and contemplating trees and birds. The expression made sense at the time, but it's been years since I've heard anyone use it anywhere. What did it mean then, "getting a life"? Did we all get one? Or maybe we've all not got lives anymore, and calling attention to one person without a life would put the spotlight on all of humanity and our now full-time pursuit of minutia, details and tangential idea threads. *** I don't buy lottery tickets because they spook me. If you buy a one-in-fifty-million chance to win a cash jackpoint, you're simultaneously tempting fate and adding all sorts of other bonus probabilities to your plance of existence: car crashes, random shootings, being struck by a meteorite. Why open a door that didn't need opening? *** I read something last week and it made sense to me: people want other people to do well in life but not too well. I've never won a raffle or prize or lottery draw, and I can't help but wonder how it must feel. One moment you're just plain old you, and then whaam, you're a winner and now everyone hates you and wants your money. It must be bittersweet. You hear all those stories about how big lottery winners' lives are ruined by winning, but that's not an urban legend. It's pretty much the norm. Be careful what you wish for and, while you're doing so, be sure to use the numbers between thirty-two and forty-nine.

LEADING LESSONS Rejection is an illusion. It’s all in your head. It was never about Rachael; it was always about me. So maybe I didn’t fit her picture of the perfect dance partner. We were no longer a match--so what? At the time, the rejection hurt like hell and I threw myself a big ol’ pity party. But here’s the thing: No one can reject you. No one can dump you. It’s just a decision, and maybe you don’t like it. I was the one believing I was a victim instead of realizing how blessed my life was. If you’re feeling rejected, you’re looking at things all wrong. Just because someone says no, just because someone chooses another person over you, doesn’t mean you’re not good enough. There isn’t one successful person out there who hasn’t racked up his or her share of rejection. That said, no one likes hearing no. But what are you going to do with that no? Are you going to let it destroy your self-esteem? Or are you going to keep pushing forward, following your passion? Dancers deal with a lot of rejection--I know this now, and I see the rejections as part of my journey. Keep doing what you’re doing and do it well--don’t worry about pleasing anyone but yourself. Sometimes that no can be a wake-up call, a chance for you to reassess, refocus, reboot. I’m grateful Rachael and her family gave me my walking papers. That rejection opened me up to so much more.

The ingestion of carbohydrates, especially the refined grains and sugars that are so prominent in the modern diet, causes a spike in blood sugar and a temporary energy boost. Then, because a glucose overdose is toxic in the bloodstream, insulin floods the bloodstream to remove any glucose you don’t burn immediately and stores it as either glycogen (in the liver and muscle tissues) or in the fat cells as triglyceride (the storage form of fat). When insulin removes glucose from your bloodstream and transports it into storage, you experience the familiar sugar crash and a craving for quick-energy carbohydrates. You have plenty of fat energy locked away in storage, but a high-insulin-producing diet prevents you from being able to access it. Instead, you become reliant on your next snack or meal for energy, and you exist in a state of carbohydrate dependency.

The goal of this book was to act on you as a coaching session might. The goal was to give you something more useful than answers: the ability to work with the questions, the uncertainties, and the doubts that spring from the dips in life. To show you that you could arrive at your own answers; answers that would be authentic and true to you. At some point you may find doubts arising. At some point, if you’re at all like the rest of us, you may ask yourself if you’re even able to participate in that true adventure of growth. If so, know that the answer is a resounding yes. But there’s a catch. It’s yes, but only if you’re willing to put your head up to the mouth of the demon. In this case, the demon is the underlying lack of belief in your capacity to lead. The demon’s teeth are powerful questions, the answers to which frighten and startle you, accelerating your growth.

My friend Brad Feld and I sat on his back porch while his golden retrievers vied for our affection. We spoke of big and small things. We reminisced. We recalled stories from two decades of friendship. We caught up on recent stories, present-day stories, of lives unfolding, hearts breaking, and the gravity that comes from becoming more and more ourselves. “I’m working harder than I’d like,” he tells me as we both nod, recognizing the tendency in each of us to do that. We know that neither of us will ever really stop working; for us, working means thinking, talking, connecting, and creating. “The difference now,” he says, referring to his fifty-something self, “the difference from earlier in my life is simple: I’m no longer striving.” Seat taken, he no longer needs to define himself by what he’s doing. Seat taken, he can allow the sadness of everyday heartbreak—his and that of those he loves—to wash over and through him. Seat taken, the gentle, openhearted warrior emerges, and we laugh and speak of our approaching elder-hood. Taking your seat leads to equanimity. Taking your seat means defining your life.

We need to be humble enough to recognize that unforeseen things can and do happen that are nobody’s fault. A good example of this occurred during the making of Toy Story 2. Earlier, when I described the evolution of that movie, I explained that our decision to overhaul the film so late in the game led to a meltdown of our workforce. This meltdown was the big unexpected event, and our response to it became part of our mythology. But about ten months before the reboot was ordered, in the winter of 1998, we’d been hit with a series of three smaller, random events—the first of which would threaten the future of Pixar. To understand this first event, you need to know that we rely on Unix and Linux machines to store the thousands of computer files that comprise all the shots of any given film. And on those machines, there is a command—/bin/rm -r -f *—that removes everything on the file system as fast as it can. Hearing that, you can probably anticipate what’s coming: Somehow, by accident, someone used this command on the drives where the Toy Story 2 files were kept. Not just some of the files, either. All of the data that made up the pictures, from objects to backgrounds, from lighting to shading, was dumped out of the system. First, Woody’s hat disappeared. Then his boots. Then he disappeared entirely. One by one, the other characters began to vanish, too: Buzz, Mr. Potato Head, Hamm, Rex. Whole sequences—poof!—were deleted from the drive. Oren Jacobs, one of the lead technical directors on the movie, remembers watching this occur in real time. At first, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then, he was frantically dialing the phone to reach systems. “Pull out the plug on the Toy Story 2 master machine!” he screamed. When the guy on the other end asked, sensibly, why, Oren screamed louder: “Please, God, just pull it out as fast as you can!” The systems guy moved quickly, but still, two years of work—90 percent of the film—had been erased in a matter of seconds. An hour later, Oren and his boss, Galyn Susman, were in my office, trying to figure out what we would do next. “Don’t worry,” we all reassured each other. “We’ll restore the data from the backup system tonight. We’ll only lose half a day of work.” But then came random event number two: The backup system, we discovered, hadn’t been working correctly. The mechanism we had in place specifically to help us recover from data failures had itself failed. Toy Story 2 was gone and, at this point, the urge to panic was quite real. To reassemble the film would have taken thirty people a solid year. I remember the meeting when, as this devastating reality began to sink in, the company’s leaders gathered in a conference room to discuss our options—of which there seemed to be none. Then, about an hour into our discussion, Galyn Susman, the movie’s supervising technical director, remembered something: “Wait,” she said. “I might have a backup on my home computer.” About six months before, Galyn had had her second baby, which required that she spend more of her time working from home. To make that process more convenient, she’d set up a system that copied the entire film database to her home computer, automatically, once a week. This—our third random event—would be our salvation. Within a minute of her epiphany, Galyn and Oren were in her Volvo, speeding to her home in San Anselmo. They got her computer, wrapped it in blankets, and placed it carefully in the backseat. Then they drove in the slow lane all the way back to the office, where the machine was, as Oren describes it, “carried into Pixar like an Egyptian pharaoh.” Thanks to Galyn’s files, Woody was back—along with the rest of the movie.

New Beginnings – New Moon Spiritually: New moon is representative of a woman’s menstrual cycle and throughout history, women lived away from other people during this time. Don’t think about the new moon as a fresh start but a time to retreat. During this time you can start over and renew your strength. Clean slates, fresh starts, and new beginnings surround the new moon. You need to use this time to “reboot.” Imagine your “battery” getting recharged under the new moon’s energy. Throw all your unwanted junk and thoughts away. In order to do this, you have to unplug yourself and take some time alone. You might begin to feel introverted and anti-social. Watch for these feelings and just embrace them. When the moon turns her dark side toward us, turn away from other people’s draining energy and turn inward. Never feel bad if you have to cancel plans, you don’t want to answer phone calls, or be around other people. Turning off and tuning out is the best way to make it through a new moon. Scientifically: The new moon begins when the moon and sun are both on the exact same side of the Earth. Since the sun isn’t facing the moon, from our view on Earth, it looks as if the moon’s dark side is facing us.

...cultivation of the right mindset and the use of the right mental attitude are the ultimate goals that will deliver to us the life we have only dreamed of thus far...

Dressing: 1 tsp tahini 1 tsp olive oil ground black pepper a squeeze of lemon juice 1. Put the dressing ingredients in a small bowl and mix well together. 2. Put the egg in a bowl and add a splash of water, then whisk gently. 3. Bring a pan of water to the boil and add the asparagus. Cook for 3–6 minutes, until al dente or according to preference, then drain. 4. While the asparagus is cooking, add the egg mixture to a cold pan over a medium–low heat and cook, stirring with a wooden spoon, until scrambled to your preferred consistency. 5. Serve the asparagus drizzled with the dressing, with the egg and the kimchi.

Then all of it — the contempt, the bitter fury, and abhorrence — returned with renewed and revitalized clarity, like a computer in the final stages of its reboot repopulating icons onto the desktop of his mind.

According to the leading theory of how we develop and maintain our cognitive models of the world, known as ‘prediction error processing’, the streamlining that underpins the restorative powers of altered states can only occur after entire levels of the brain’s processing hierarchy have been taken offline.

But the real story is how narrow Duplex was. For all the fantastic resources of Google (and its parent company, Alphabet), the system that they created was so narrow it could handle just three things: restaurant reservations, hair salon appointments, and the opening hours of a few selected businesses. By the time the demo was publicly released, on Android phones, even the hair salon appointments and the opening hour queries were gone. Some of the world’s best minds in AI, using some of the biggest clusters of computers in the world, had produced a special-purpose gadget for making nothing but restaurant reservations. It doesn’t get narrower than that.

To be able to experience wealth, health and the many other things we humans want, we must mentally be in absolute harmony with them.

Your subconscious mind naturally knows how to create the miracle of abundance.

Those who can assume whatever state of mind they choose will soon find themselves well along the path to their freedom from financial concerns.

Believe in the reality of all you can imagine - because the end is where you begin.

From ancient lore to modern science poets are supposed to be the revelators, the prophets and the seers. Poets are supposed to shine the light in the dark corners where there is none or just a mere amount capable of hope through words . But? What if being a poet doesn't mean any of these things in the 21st century? Are we evolving or are we losing our focus ? In great testaments to the art of writing we make grand statements like " Poetry Matters" " Poetry Is Still Alive & Well" But unless we actually push forth these antiquated ideals and reboot them into the new we really are no longer something that humanity needs. Reinvent these old ideals. Write & create in the now. Renew the waters of creation which we thrive in. And for fucks sake. Invoke Alexa if you have to !

The colonel blew out a long breath. “I was here for about an hour before you awoke. And as I was studying your file and gazing upon a beaten, wayward soul with staggering potential, I was struck by the uncanny similarities between you and the young James T. Kirk. From the reboot movie.” Eric made a face. “The psych ward is on another floor, Colonel.” Thomison laughed. “Very good. I deserved that. But let me elaborate. The movie hit theaters in 2009, when you were only five. I take it you’ve never streamed it.” “Good guess.” “Then you missed out. Not only did you remind me of that Kirk when I got here, but I realized I was about to recreate my favorite scene from the movie. So I’ll make you a deal. I’m convinced you can make a mark. One more profound than you can imagine right now. Be a bigger hero even than your father. You were destined for greatness, and that got derailed. But you can still arrive there by a different route. So watch about ten minutes of the movie. The opening scene and then a scene a little later. If you do that, and still want me gone, you’ll never see me again.” “You’re kidding, right? What, will I be hypnotized?” “No. But I think you’ll be moved. It’s a reboot, so the timeline differs from the original, while keeping key elements. In this version, James T. Kirk is about to be born on the starship Kelvin while his father is the first officer. That’s when an unstoppable Romulan ship from the future travels back through time and alters the timeline forever.” The colonel paused. “Watch ten minutes. That’s all I ask.” Eric thought about this for a moment and sighed. “It won’t

Superforecasting: The Art and Science of Prediction,

Everything in Moderation, Including Moderation

Two workouts per week lasting as little as seven and no longer than 30 minutes is plenty to get you really fit and strong—really!

Ozzy asked, tilting his head back and peering at Heather and Tammi-Jo down his long, crooked nose. “Is this a Cagney & Lacey reboot? If

When you travel you’re forced to have new thoughts. “Is this alley safe?” “Is this the right bus?” “Was this meat ever a house pet?” It doesn’t even matter what the new thoughts are, it feels so good to just have some variety. And it’s a reboot for your brain. I can feel the neurons making new connections again with new problems to solve, clawing their way back to their nimbler, younger days. Even the process of learning about Israel, let alone my day in Jerusalem, woke up my thought patterns again better than anywhere I’ve ever been.

Ketones help minimize free radical production in the body, while cancer cells thrive in the presence of reactive oxygen species. Ketones boost antioxidant production in healthy cells surrounding cancerous tumors—something scientists believe may help prevent cancer cells from growing and spreading. Ketones have also been found to help mitigate the effects of traditional radiation and chemotherapy cancer treatments.

Glucose burns quickly and easily, but it also burns dirty via the excessive production of free radicals. Free radicals are the driving force behind inflammation, cancer, and accelerated aging. They are an inevitable by-product of living life—burning calories, breathing air, or absorbing sunlight—so you can’t avoid them, but concerns arise when free radical production is excessive.

unusual. Mostly I am nobody when I wake up, just a consciousness in the darkness trying to piece it all together. It is a strange, free-floating moment, an unanchoring of the self. It is an interlude, like held breath. Eventually it releases, the lungs fill, the world floods in. A reassuring upload of facts. A reboot. I am back.

In Operations, we may deal with this problem with the following rule of thumb: When something goes wrong in production, we just reboot the server. If that doesn’t work, reboot the server next to it. If that doesn’t work, reboot all the servers. If that doesn’t work, blame the developers, they’re always causing outages.

We become what we think about and then we act based on who we’ve become. This is why we don’t get what we want, instead we get who we are.

Money is universal energy at work. Money, health, happiness…all things are made up of energy. And your thoughts and feelings around money or lack thereof have a different set of energetic signatures. The frequency we happen to operate in acts as an amplifier, driving experiences to you that match your energy.

Manage for margin. Replenish together.

Fight for not with your spouse.

Extend the same love, acceptance, and grace that you need and forgive freely.

Begin with the end in mind.

Live intentionally to stay connected.

We will be intentional, be present and seek to understand,

Be a partner, not an opponent. Change your me first to we first.

It could be as straightforward as the notion of a "mental reboot"- Matt Johnson's biological control-alt-delete key- that jolts the brain out of destructive patterns (such as Kessler's "capture"), affording an opportunity for new patterns to take root. It could be that, as Franz Vollenweider has hypothesized, psychedelics enhance neuroplasticity. The myriad new connections that spring up in the brain during the psychedelic experience, as mapped by the neuroimaging done at Imperial College, and the disintegration of well traveled old connections, may serve simply to "shake the snow globe," in Robin Carhart-Harris's phrase, a predicate for establishing new pathways. Mendel Kaelen, a Dutch postdoc in the Imperial lab, proposes a more extended snow metaphor: "Think of the brain as a hill covered in snow, and thoughts as sleds gliding down that hill. As one sled after another goes down the hill, a small number of main trails will appear in the snow. And every time a new sled goes down, it will be drawn into the preexisting trails, almost like a magnet." Those main trails represent the most well-traveled neural connections in your brain, many of them passing through the default mode network. "In time, it become more and more difficult to glide down the hill on any other path or in a different direction. "Think of psychedelics as temporarily flattening the snow. The deeply worn trails disappear, and suddenly the sled can go in other directions, exploring new landscapes and, literally, creating new pathways." When the snow is freshest, the mind is most impressionable, and the slightest nudge-whether from a song or an intention or a therapists's suggestion- can powerfully influence its future course. p384

Overcoming challenges is like upgrading your personal software; install resilience, delete self-doubt, and reboot your life with a stronger version of yourself.

I made my peace with the place, but never went a day without feeling around for things that weren’t there, the way your tongue pushes into the holes where you’ve lost teeth. I don’t just mean cows, or apple trees, it runs deeper. Weather, for instance. Air, the way it smells from having live things breathing into it, grass and trees and I don’t know what, creatures of the soil. Sounds, I missed most of all. There was noise, but nothing behind it. I couldn’t get used to the blankness where there should have been bird gossip morning and evening, crickets at night, the buzz saw of cicadas in August. A rooster always sounding off somewhere, even dead in the middle of Jonesville. It’s like the movie background music. Notice it or don’t, but if the volume goes out, the movie has no heart. I’d oftentimes have to stop and ask myself what season it was. I never realized what was holding me to my place on the planet of earth: that soundtrack. That, and leaf colors and what’s blooming in the roadside ditches this week, wild sweet peas or purple ironweed or goldenrod. And stars. A sky as dark as sleep, not this hazy pinkish business, I’m saying blind man’s black. For a lot of us, that’s medicine. Required for the daily reboot.