Updating Myself Quotes

I blame the Internet. Its inconsiderate inclusion of everything.Success is transparent and accessible, hanging down where it can tease but not touch us. We talk into these scratchy microphones and take extra photographs but I still feel like there are just SO MANY PEOPLE. Every day, 1,035.6 books are published; sixty-six million people update their status each morning. At night, aimlessly scrolling, I remind myself of elementary school murals. One person can make a difference! But the people asking me what I want to be when I grow up don't want me to make a poster anymore. They want me to fill out forms and hand them rectangular cards that say HELLO THIS IS WHAT I DO.

Sometimes I don't think I'm ready for the responsibility--I mean, I think my phone is asking too much of me when it wants me to install an update, and I find myself yelling: 'You're suffocating me.' You can't shout that at a child. And children have to be updated all the time, because they can kill themselves just crossing the street or eating a peanut! I've mislaid my phone three times already today, I don't know if I'm ready for a human being.

So I won’t trap myself into quantifying which matters more, race, or gender, or class. Race, gender, and class are basic elements of one’s living. Basic as utensils and clothing; always in use; always needing repairs and updates. Basic as body and breath, justice and reason, passion and imagination. So the question isn’t “Which matters most?,” it’s “How does each matter?” Gender, race, class; class, race, gender—your three in one and one in three.

I sense a hint of bitterness in this letter of yours and in a previous one. Excellent: we are living in a dark period, there is absolutely nothing going right, and the only consolation we have is to think about the brevity of life. I have to say that in this situation I am absolutely fine, and I am giving myself up finally to total misanthropy, which I now discover corresponds fully to my true nature. But you seem to be still anxious about something or other. Ha, ha! Don’t worry, it will just get worse and worse.

I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again. God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then, and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us."[21] — Donald Miller

Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straight-forward pathway had been lost.

I paid extra for a phone with regressions instead of updates. It prompts me to return to myself as of this morning, last week, 1986

If I were asked under what sky the human mind…has most deeply pondered over the greatest problems of life, and has found solutions to some of them which well deserve the attention even of those who have studied Plato and Kant—I should point to India. And if I were to ask myself from what literature we who have been nurtured almost exclusively on the thoughts of Greeks and Romans, and of one Semitic race, the Jewish, may draw the corrective which is most wanted in order to make our inner life more perfect, more comprehensive, more universal, in fact more truly human a life…again I should point to India. Max Müller

Whether or not the tithe is still the minimal measure of those firstfruits, I ask myself, Does God expect His New Covenant children to give less or more? Jesus raised the spiritual bar; He never lowered it (Matthew 5:27–28).

I didn’t say anything on social media, though relatives tried to tag me in supportive status updates, which I did my best to untag myself from. I didn’t want to be a part of their mourning. I didn’t want to be involved in someone else’s grief when I knew so little about how to deal with my own.

Many a morning I found myself waking up in America and being surprised to find myself in a bed. I had been having nightmares all night long, and I didn’t know where I was. It would take me awhile to adjust, because I couldn’t believe I was in a bed. What was I doing in a bed? After the war I never slept more than three or four hours a night. In

Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straight-forward pathway had been lost

If I were asked under what sky the human mind…has most deeply pondered over the greatest problems of life, and has found solutions to some of them which well deserve the attention even of those who have studied Plato and Kant—I should point to India. And if I were to ask myself from what literature we who have been nurtured almost exclusively on the thoughts of Greeks and Romans, and of one Semitic race, the Jewish, may draw the corrective which is most wanted in order to make our inner life more perfect, more comprehensive, more universal, in fact more truly human a life…again I should point to India. Max Müller On

My phone dings and before I can pick it up, it dings several more times. I catch sly grins and snickers in my direction from my 'friends' and I just know that this can not be good. I check my phone to find that there's several updates on Facebook. Oh, no. [Bradley Patrick is marrier to Colleen Frasier Patrick)] [Bradely Patrick likes Colleen Frasier Patrick's status] My eyes grown wide and I see that all of my 'friends' like my status. But I haven't been on Facebook since we left Boston. What the fuck? And why has my name changed! [Colleen Frasier Patrick is having lunch with 'the hubs' Bradley Patrick] Who hacked my Facebook account? I glare around at each of them. I can't tell who did it. They all look guilty. I try to log into my account, but the password has been changed. Who changed my password? I know I'm screaming but I can't stop myself. They all burst out laughing.

I feel as if I don’t have time To do anything. So I do nothing Other than remind myself Of what I should be doing, And admonish myself for not doing it. I tell myself to be patient. But I don’t have time for patience anymore. I don’t have time for time.

Everything I do for my private wellbeing adds another layer to my ego, and in thickening it insulates me more from God. Conversely, every act done without thought for myself diminishes my self-centeredness until finally no barrier remains to separate me from the Divine. The

Success is transparent and accessible, hanging down where it can tease but not touch us. We talk into these scratchy microphones and take extra photographs but I still feel like there are just SO MANY PEOPLE. Every day, 1,035.6 books are published; sixty-six million people update their status each morning. At night, aimlessly scrolling, I remind myself of elementary school murals. One person can make a difference! But the people asking me what I want to be when I grow up don’t want me to make a poster anymore. They want me to fill out forms and hand them rectangular cards that say HELLO THIS IS WHAT I DO.

If I burst into a house and yell to all assembled, “Put on the kettle!” I have uttered an imperative English sentence, but some will probably infer that I would like to have a cup of tea or other hot beverage, while another may further surmise that I feel myself at home here, and may in fact be the occupant of this house. Yet another person present, a monoglot Hungarian, may infer only that I speak English, and so does whomever I am addressing (well, it sounds like English to her), while somebody really in the know will be instantly informed that I have decided after all to steam open that sealed envelope and surreptitiously read the letter inside in spite of the fact that it isn’t addressed to me; a crime is about to be committed. What semantic information can be gleaned from the event depends on what information the gleaner already has accumulated. Learning that somebody speaks English can be a valuable update to your world knowledge, a design improvement that may someday pay big dividends.

I’ve certainly scolded myself for an hour or more blown on a flow of dog videos, family updates, shallow political expressions, and pleas for funds. Every one of those items has some value to me, just as each potato chip delivers some pleasure, some flavor. I savor them. But I lose count. And upon reflection I feel just horrible. But the thing is, snack foods are explicitly designed to make us behave this way. Food producers have studied, mastered, and tinkered with the ratios of salt, sugar, and fat to keep us coming back, even when the taste of much of the food is unremarkable. Facebook is designed to be habit-forming in just the same way.

Many a morning I found myself waking up in America and being surprised to find myself in a bed. I had been having nightmares all night long, and I didn’t know where I was. It would take me awhile to adjust, because I couldn’t believe I was in a bed. What was I doing in a bed? After the war I never slept more than three or four hours a night. In those days you didn’t talk about stuff like that. There was no such thing as war syndrome, but you knew something was different. You tried not to remember anything from over there, but things came back to you. You had done every damn thing overseas, from killing in cold blood to destroying property to stealing whatever you wanted and to drinking as much wine and having as many women as you wanted. You lived every minute of every day in danger of your own life and limb. You couldn’t take chances. Many times you had a split second to decide to be judge, jury, and executioner. You had just two rules you had to obey. You had to be back in your outfit when you went back on the line. You had to obey a direct order in combat. Break one of those rules and you could be executed yourself, right on the spot even. Otherwise, you flaunted authority. You lost the moral skill you had built up in civilian life, and you replaced it with your own rules. You developed a hard covering, like being encased in lead. You were scared more than you’d ever been in your life. You did certain things, maybe against your will sometimes, but you did them, and if you stayed over there long enough you didn’t even think about them anymore. You did them like you might scratch your head if it itched. You

Instead I spent the summer touring and doing stand-up, and I decided that whatever happened with Update, I wanted to get better as a performer. I didn’t know how, exactly, outside of getting onstage every night, so I started meeting with an acting coach. This was something I hesitated about doing for a long time because I was embarrassed. Isn’t that dumb? I was embarrassed about getting help. And I was embarrassed about trying. I was scared to put myself out there and commit to getting better, because if I committed and failed then I would have no one to blame but myself. (This probably described my approach to all my relationships up to that point, too.) What I realized was: I might never have this chance again. In fact, I almost certainly would never have this chance again. Did I really want to look back and think: I could have done more, but I was afraid people would think I was lame for trying too hard? I decided to try really hard.

Here are my 12 Rules for Living: I go to bed and get up at the same time seven days per week (8 p.m. and 4 a.m., respectively). I stick to my diet, avoid caffeine after 1 p.m., and avoid alcohol within three hours of bedtime. I write for at least sixty minutes first thing every morning. I do not check email before noon and I do not talk on the phone unless it is a scheduled interview or conference call. I act polite and courteous, and I do not swear. I create a to-do list at the start & end of every workday and update my daily gratitude & achievement journal. I do not engage in confrontations with anyone, in-person or online. This is a waste of time and energy. If I have caused harm, I apologize and fix the situation. And then I take a deep breath, relax, breathe out, and re-focus my efforts back on my work and goals. I am guided by these two phrases: “Nothing matters.” – I can only work towards my big goals and my vision of helping others, while the opinions of others do not matter. “It will all be over soon.” – Everything, both good and bad, comes to an end. I must enjoy the good while it lasts, and persevere through the bad until I have beaten it. Everything that happens to me—good and bad—is my personal responsibility. I blame no one but myself. These are the choices I’ve made—this is the life I’m living. I accept the consequences of my actions. I will help ten million men and women transform their lives. I will not be the person I don’t want to be. I will not be petty, jealous, or envious, or give in to any other of those lazy emotions. I will not gossip or speak badly of others, no matter who I am with or what environment I am in. I will not be negative when it is easier to be positive. I will not hurt others when it is possible to help. I will know the temptations, situations and environments in life that I must avoid, and I will, in fact, avoid them, even if it means loosening relationships with others who “live” in those environments. It’s my life and that matters more than what other people think of me. “I will always keep the child within me alive.” – Frank McKinney. I will make time to laugh and play every day. “I will write with honesty and feeling.” – Ted Nicholas. The opinion of others does not matter. What matters is the number of people that I can help by sharing advice and encouragement in my writing. My 12 Rules have made me much happier

I also discovered that the same principle works in a hundred different little personal ways. For example, I used to worry and fume about having to go to the dentist, and other unpleasant tasks. Then I said to myself, “This is silly. You know the unpleasantness involved before you make the decision to go. If the unpleasantness is all that important to cause so much concern, and not worth the worry involved, you can simply decide not to go. But, if the decision is that the trip is worth a little unpleasantness, and a definite decision is made to go—then forget about it. Consider the risk before the wheel starts turning.” I used to worry the night before I had to make a speech at a board meeting. Then I said to myself, “I’m either going to make the speech or I’m not. If the decision is to make it, then there’s no need in considering not making it—or trying to mentally run away from it.” I have discovered that much nervousness and anxiety is caused by mentally trying to escape or run away from something that you have decided to go through with physically. If the decision is made to go through with it—not to run away physically—why mentally keep considering or hoping for escape? I used to detest social gatherings and go along only to please my wife, or for business reasons. I went, but mentally I resisted it, and was usually pretty grumpy and uncommunicative. Then I decided that if the decision was to go along physically, I might as well go along mentally—and dismiss all thoughts of resistance. Last night I not only went to what I would formerly have called a stupid social gathering, but I was surprised to find myself thoroughly enjoying it.

The blinking message light on the phone screamed at us when we walked into the bedroom of our suite. Marlboro Man audibly exhaled, clearly wishing the world--and his brother and the grain markets and the uncertainties of agriculture--would leave us alone already. I wish they’d leave us alone, too. In light of the recent developments, though, Marlboro Man picked up the phone and dialed Tim to get an update. I excused myself to the bathroom to freshen up and put on a champagne satin negligee in an effort to thwart the external forces that were trying to rob me of my husband’s attention. I brushed my teeth and spritzed myself with Jil Sander perfume before opening the door to the bedroom, where I would seduce my Marlboro Man away from his worries. I knew I could win if only I applied myself. He was just getting off the phone when I entered the room. “Dammit,” I heard him mumble as he plopped down onto the enormous king-size bed. Oh no. Jil Sander had her work cut out for her. I climbed on the bed and lay beside him, resting my head on his arm. He draped his arm across my waist. I draped my leg around his. He sighed. “The markets are totally in the shitter.” I didn’t know the details, but I did know the shitter wasn’t a good place. I wanted to throw out the usual platitudes. Don’t worry about it, try not to think about it, we’ll figure it out, everything will be okay. But I didn’t know enough about it. I knew he and his brother owned a lot of land. I knew they worked hard to pay for it. I knew they weren’t lawyers or physicians by profession and didn’t have a whole separate income to supplement their ranching operation. As full-time ranchers, their livelihoods were completely reliant on so many things outside of their control--weather, market fluctuations, supply, demand, luck. I knew they weren’t home free in terms of finances--Marlboro Man and I had talked about it. But I didn’t understand enough about the ramifications of this current wrinkle to reassure him that everything would be okay, businesswise. And he probably didn’t want me to. So I did the only thing I could think of to do. I assured my new husband everything would be okay between us by leaning over, turning off the lamp, and letting the love between us--which had zero to do with markets or grains--take over.

It's funny, you know. We're free. We make choices. We weigh things in our minds, consider everything carefully, use all the tools of logic and education. And in the end, what we mostly do is what we have no choice but to do. Makes you think, why bother? But you bother because you do, that's why. Because you're a DNA-brand computer running Childhood 1.0 software. They update the software but the changes are always just around the edges. You have the brain you have, the intelligence, the talents, the strengths and weaknesses you have, from the moment they take you out of the box and throw away the Styrofoam padding. But you have the fears you picked up along the way. The terrors of age four or six or eight are never suspended, just layered over. The dread I'd felt so recently, a dread that should be so much greater because the facts had been so much more horrible, still could not diminish the impact of memories that had been laid down long years before. It's that way all through life, I guess. I have a relative who says she still gets depressed every September because in the back of her mind it's time for school to start again. She's my great-aunt. The woman is sixty-seven and still bumming over the first day of school five-plus decades ago. It's sad in a way because the pleasures of life get old and dated fast. The teenage me doesn't get the jolt the six-year-old me got from a package of Pop Rocks. The me I've become doesn't rush at the memories of the day I skated down a parking ramp however many years ago. Pleasure fades, gets old, gets thrown out with last year's fad. Fear, guilt, all that stuff stays fresh. Maybe that's why people get so enraged when someone does something to a kid. Hurt a kid and he hurts forever. Maybe an adult can shake it off. Maybe. But with a kid, you hurt them and it turns them, shapes them, becomes part of the deep, underlying software of their lives. No delete. I don't know. I don't know much. I feel like I know less all the time. Rate I'm going, by the time I'm twenty-one I won't know a damned thing. But still I was me. Had no choice, I guess. I don't know, maybe that's bull and I was just feeling sorry for myself. But, bottom line, I dried my eyes, and I pushed my dirty, greasy hair back off my face, and I started off down the road again because whatever I was, whoever I was, however messed up I might be, I wasn't leaving April behind. Maybe it was all an act programmed into me from the get-go, or maybe it grew up out of some deep-buried fear, I mean maybe at some level I was really just as pathetic as Senna thought I was. Maybe I was a fake. Whatever. Didn't matter. I was going back to the damned dragon, and then I was getting April out, and everything and everyone else could go screw themselves. One good thing: For now at least, I was done being scared.

Bailey,” I say, my voice carrying easily across the marble floor. “Wait.” She turns back and rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed to see me coming her way. She quickly wipes at her cheeks then holds up her hand to wave me off. “I’m off the clock. I don’t want to talk to you right now. If you want to chew me out for what happened back there, you’ll have to do it on Monday. I’m going home.” “How?” Her pretty brown eyes, full of tears, narrow up at me in confusion. “How what?” “How are you getting home? Did you park on the street or something?” Her brows relax as she realizes I’m not about to scold her. “Oh.” She turns to the window. “I’m going to catch the bus.” The bus? “The stop is just down the street a little bit.” “Don’t you have a car?” She steels her spine. “No. I don’t.” I’ll have to look into what we’re paying her—surely she should have no problem affording a car to get her to and from work. “Okay, well then what about an Uber or something?” Her tone doesn’t lighten as she replies, “I usually take the bus. It’s fine.” I look for an umbrella and frown when I see her hands are empty. “You’re going to get drenched and it’s freezing out there.” She laughs and starts to step back. “It’s not your concern. Don’t worry about me.” Yes, well unfortunately, I do worry about her. For the last three weeks, all I’ve done is worry about her. Cooper is to blame. He fuels my annoyance on a daily basis, updating me about their texts and bragging to me about how their relationship is developing. Relationship—I find that laughable. They haven’t gone on a date. They haven’t even spoken on the phone. If the metric for a “relationship” lies solely in the number of text messages exchanged then as of this week, I’m in a relationship with my tailor, my UberEats delivery guy, and my housekeeper. I’ve got my hands fucking full. “Well I’m not going to let you wait out at the bus stop in this weather. C’mon, I’ll drive you.” Her soft feminine laugh echoes around the lobby. “Thank you, but I’d rather walk.” What she really means is, Thank you, but I’d rather die. “It’s really not a request. You’re no good to me if you have to call in sick on Monday because you caught pneumonia.” Her gaze sheens with a new layer of hatred. “You of all people know you don’t catch pneumonia just from being cold and wet.” She tries to step around me, but I catch her backpack and tug it off her shoulder. I can’t put it on because she has the shoulder straps set to fit a toddler, so I hold it in my hand and start walking. She can either follow me or not. I tell myself I don’t care either way. “Dr. Russell—” she says behind me, her feet lightly tap-tap-tapping on the marble as she hurries to keep up. “You’re clocked out, aren’t you? Call me Matt.” “Doctor,” she says pointedly. “Please give me my backpack before I call security.” I laugh because really, she’s hilarious. No one has ever threatened to call security on me before. “It’s Matt, and if you’re going to call security, make sure you ask for Tommy. He’s younger and stands a decent chance of catching me before I hightail it out of here with your pink JanSport backpack. What do you have in here anyway?” It weighs nothing. “My lunchbox. A water bottle. Some empty Tupperware.” Tupperware. I glance behind me to check on her. She’s fast-walking as she trails behind me. Am I really that much taller than her? “Did you bring more banana bread?” She nods and nearly breaks out in a jog. “Patricia didn’t get any last time and I felt bad.” “I didn’t get any last time either,” I point out. She snorts. “Yeah well, I don’t feel bad about that.” I face forward again so she can’t see my smile.

flicker?" He points to the screen and pauses the vid. "That's when they switched the footage." I stare at the screen. "How do I know you're not the ones lying?" "You saw it yourself on the street," Meyer says. I glance up from the pad and lock eyes with Meyer. "What else are they lying about?" Jayson chuckles. "Well… that's going to take longer than we have." "Here's one," Meyer says. "Remember that last viral outbreak that killed a bunch of Level Ones?" "3005B?" My heart races. That's the virus that ultimately killed Ben thirteen years ago. "That's it. The one they use in all the broadcasts to remind citizens how important it is to get your MedVac updates? It wasn't an accident." We were always told a virus swept through Level One because they hadn't gotten their updated VacTech yet. Hundreds of people died in the day it took to get everyone up to date. "My brother died because of that." Everything I've found out over the last week suddenly grips me with fear. This can't be real. My breath shortens, and suddenly my head starts slowly spinning. Everything goes blurry. Then black. ~~~ "It's all right, kid," a distant voice, which must be Jayson's, echoes in the back of my mind. The room swirls around me. Their faces blur in and out of focus. "Meyer, get her." Blinking a couple of times, I try to sit up. I guess I fell. Meyer's warm hands rest on the back of my neck, my head in his lap. "Don't stand. You could pass out again," he says. He helps me sit up. "Are you okay?" "No, I'm not okay," I mumble. "This is too much." I feel like I should be crying, but I'm not. The reality is that the anger I feel is so much greater than any sadness. Neither Meyer nor Jayson speak, and let me mull over what I've just heard. "Why did they do that?" I eventually ask. "Two reasons, kid," Jayson says. "To cull the Level Ones, and to scare Elore into taking the VacTech. If viral outbreaks are still a threat, no one questions it, and continues believing inside the perimeter is the safest place for them." "I'm sorry about your brother," Meyer says as he stands, offering me his hand. His words are genuine, filled with the emotions of someone who has also experienced loss. "I hate to end this," Jayson interrupts, "but it's time to go." Meyer eyes Jayson, and then me. "I understand if you're not ready, but you need to choose soon. Within the next few days." I take his hand and pull myself to my feet. Words catch somewhere between my heart and throat. The old me wants to tell them to get lost and to never bother me again. It's so risky. Then again, I can't stand by while Manning and Direction kill people to keep us in the dark. Joining is the right thing to do. Feelings I've never experienced before well inside my chest, and I long to shout, When do we start? Instead, I stuff them down and stare at the ground. Subtle pressure squeezes my hand, bringing me back to the present. I never let go of Meyer's hand. How long have we been like that? He releases my hand as he mutters and steps back. The heat from his touch still flickers on my skin. You didn't have to go. I clear my throat and turn toward Meyer. Our eyes lock. "I've already decided," I tell him. "I'll do it. For Ben. Direction caused his death, and there's no way I'm standing by and letting them do this to more people." I barely recognize my own voice as I ask, "What do I do?" A slap hits my back and I choke. Jayson. "Atta girl. Meyer and I knew you had it in you." "Jayson, you have to give Avlyn some time." Meyer steps toward me and holds his handheld in the air toward Jayson. "I'll bring her up to speed." "Sure thing." Jayson throws his hands in the air and walks to the other side of the room. "Sorry," Meyer murmurs. "Jayson is pretty… overwhelming. At least until you know him. Even then…" "Oh, it's fine." A white lie. "He's a nice guy. Now, why don't you tell me the instructions

I am weak, stammering, and have much to learn, but I know my God is using me, for I have given myself into His hands, and I am willing to be anything for Him. I do not mind whatever He has for me to do; though my work is feeble and I sometimes feel ashamed of it, I have put myself into God’s hands as an instrument for Him to use.

MY BRILLIANT NON-CAREER I often tell myself that I could have done anything I applied myself to. When, out of all the things I could have Applied myself to, I applied myself to doing nothing. And found that I couldn't even do that. The notion that I should have been doing something Kept getting in the way. And now, of course, it is too late To do anything: It has always been too late.

BENEATH MYSELF Anything that requires perseverance Has a wilting effect upon me. When opportunity calls, Apathy is the natural response. I cannot even call myself a failure. I have never tried hard enough At anything To earn even that accolade.

REMAINS I lie awake on grainy mornings, Gently killing the hours Of causeless hope, dozing Without reason and numbing myself To the numbness of what will be left Of this new day, by the time I finally rise And the crooked struggle begins To remain awake.

Why not? You’ve already interrupted my work.” “Sorry about that, but here’s the deal. I want to talk to the players in the case, but I have no cover story and no bargaining power. I can hardly pass myself off as a reporter.” “Sure you can,” she said. “People are more interested in talking than you’d think. I see it all the time when I’m trolling for interviews. Here’s the trick. Imply you have the information and you’re looking for confirmation. Better yet, tell ’em you’d like to hear their version of events before you go to press. Say your editor wants an update and he suggested you talk to them.” “I wouldn’t need press credentials?” “Only if you’re crashing a rock concert. People assume you’re who you say you are.” “What about Sloan’s mother? Do you think she’d agree to meet with me?” “God, you sound so tentative. I thought you had balls. Trust me, she’ll talk. All she does is talk about Sloan’s death. People who know her say she’s obsessed. For years now, she’s left Sloan’s room as it was. Closed the door and locked it.” “Someone else mentioned that,” I said. “Sounds like she’s still sensitive about the

Conversely, every act done without thought for myself diminishes my self-centeredness until finally no barrier remains to separate me from the Divine.

Goals update:  Don’t get arrested  Don’t make a fool out of myself in public--FAILED  Get my picture taken at the colosseum  Find random souvenir for Morgan  Get a makeover  See Pompeii  Swim in the Mediterranean Sea  Have a conversation with someone in only Italian--FAILED  Eat a whole pizza in one sitting  Fall in love with an Italian--FAILED

Goals update:  Don’t get arrested  Don’t make a fool out of myself in public--FAILED  Get my picture taken at the colosseum  Find random souvenir for Morgan  Get a makeover  See Pompeii  Swim in the Mediterranean Sea  Have a conversation with someone in only Italian--FAILED  Eat a whole pizza in one sitting  Fall in love with an Italian--FAILED

I know that heroin will do absolutely nothing for me and that I neither need nor want it, and I don’t have to keep telling myself that.

Pie-splitting didn’t require the substantial expense, time and risk of developing a new medicine, getting approval from the US Food and Drug Administration and marketing it. And it was entirely lawful. As Shkreli brazenly declared, ‘Everything we’ve done is legal’ and ‘I liken myself to the robber barons’8 – late-19th-century American businessmen who used similarly unscrupulous, yet legal, strategies to get rich.

I had so many money hustles going but I wasn’t doing any of them well and I wasn’t running our home or raising my family in a stellar way. I was spreading myself thin. Greg McKeown talks of having many priorities and our energy going all over the place but not making much progress. If we choose one or two priorities our energy is concentrated in a small space, and we thrive.

do not mind whatever He has for me to do; though my work is feeble and I sometimes feel ashamed of it, I have put myself into God’s hands as an instrument for Him to use.

After dinner I went off by myself, opened my engagement book, and thought over all the interviews, discussions, and meetings that had taken place during the week. I asked myself: “ ‘What mistakes did I make that time?’ “ ‘What did I do that was right—and in what way could I have improved my performance?’ “ ‘What lessons can I learn from that experience?’ “I often found that this weekly review made me very unhappy. I was frequently astonished at my own blunders. Of course, as the years passed, these blunders became less frequent. Sometimes I was inclined to pat myself on the back a little after one of these sessions. This system of self-analysis and self-education, which continued year after year, did more for me than any other one thing I have ever attempted.

I ignored my wounds and pressed forward, never allowing myself to heal.

I haven’t been drained that low in a long time. I shouldn’t have tried to take so much all at once,” I muttered, wanting to apologise but not quite finding the right words beyond that statement. “Well feel free to just steal all of mine then,” Darcy spat icily, clutching her neck tighter. I had the urge to heal her, but knew if I tried to touch her again, she’d only recoil. The ambulance pulled away and I glanced around, double checking Darius wasn’t here and I was glad to find he’d listened to me for once. That was something anyway. “Come on, I can drive you girls back in my car,” I offered. I’d left my Faerrari parked at the Acrux Hotel when I’d last visited Tucana, opting to stardust home because I’d been too drunk to drive. But I hadn’t had any magical drinks tonight, so I’d healed myself of the effects of the whiskey I’d consumed before coming to get Darius from the nightclub. Tory’s lip curled back as she glared at me with poison in her gaze. “We’re not going anywhere alone with you,” Darcy said bitterly, distrust in her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped, stepping forward to get hold of her. I’d protect her tonight whether she liked it or not. Tory moved to intercept me and Caleb joined her too like a prime asshole. “You don’t fucking touch her again,” Tory growled. I narrowed my eyes at her, about to object, but as my gaze slid to Darcy over her shoulder and I saw the wall in her eyes that told me to get fucked, I knew I wasn’t going to win this fight. “Bastard,” Darcy hissed at me, looking woozy. Shit, I needed to heal her. And I could get her a blood replenishing potion back at the academy. “Come on, girls. The bus is gonna leave soon,” Caleb said, tugging Tory after him but she dug her heels in, waiting for Darcy. I opened my mouth to try and find the words that would convince Blue to stay with me, but she walked straight past me with her cheek turned and Tory threw me one more filthy look before they all headed down the street to the bus stop where mountains of students were gathering. Professors were among them and I knew they were safe enough in numbers, but my feet were still rooted to the pavement as I watched Darcy leave. You drank way too much. You have to get a grip. How are you going to keep feeding from her if you act like a monster every time your teeth are in her? I’d never had this problem before. The only thing I could compare it to was when my magic had been Awakened and my Order had Emerged. That first feed had made me feel like a ravenous beast with a bottomless stomach, and yet it still didn’t have a pinch on what it was like to feed from Blue. Caleb led Tory and Darcy past the queue straight onto the bus and my hackles rose as they joined Max and Seth on the back seats. And as Seth pulled Darcy close to him and nuzzled against her cheek, that feral animal in me awoke once more. I took out my Atlas and shot an update to Francesca, anxiously scoring my fingers through my hair. Just as the bus pulled away and rounded a corner, the FIB appeared on the street and I was immediately surrounded by three agents with dark frowns on their faces. “Lance Orion, you need to come down to the station and make a statement,” Captain Hoskins said and I sighed, knowing it was going to be a long ass night. I agreed and as I was stardusted away to the precinct, my heart was tugged in another direction, nearly forcing the stars to guide me elsewhere. But the captain ensured I made it to where he wanted to take me and I made a silent prayer to the stars that Darcy wouldn’t end up in Seth Capella’s bed tonight. Because I wasn’t sure I could control the demon in me who’d want his head for that. (ORION POV)

I just can’t seem to keep a promise I make to myself.

In a 1974 meeting of physicists and parapsychologists in Geneva, Switzerland, the French physicist Olivier Costa de Beauregard—the one who first proposed that quantum entanglement might be explained retrocausally—described the train of thought that led to his own ultimate acceptance of the probable existence of something like precognition: My starting point … occurred in 1951 when I suddenly said to myself: If you truly believe in Minkowski’s space-time—and you know you have to—then you must think of the relationship between mind and matter not at one universal or Newtonian instant but in space-time. If, by the very necessity of relativistic covariance, matter is time extended as it is space extended, then, again by necessity, awareness in a broad sense must also be time extended.69 It is very much like an updated version of Charles Howard Hinton’s reasoning about the brain’s capacity for four-dimensional thought: Our brains are four-dimensional, so our awareness must be as well.

But the whole idea of reading as a pastime has somehow dropped off my life menu, and the time I used to spend in fictional worlds is now spent incessantly refreshing the news. I sometimes still try to kid myself into believing that this pointless consuming of current affair is important for my understanding of reality and even for my survival. But deep inside, I know that the momentous piece of news—the one that will supposedly pull me and the entire Middle East out of the deep pit we’ve fallen into—will never come, and all my endless refreshing and scrolling is just another stage in outsourcing my emotional world. After all, it’s a lot easier to wait for updates from a dismaying reality than to listen, feel, and submit to someone else’s imagination and hopes.

I made it a rule,” wrote Franklin, “to forbear all direct contradiction to the sentiment of others, and all positive assertion of my own. I even forbade myself the use of every word or expression in the language that imported a fix’d opinion, such as ‘certainly,’ ‘undoubtedly,’ etc., and I adopted, instead of them, ‘I conceive,’ ‘I apprehend,’ or ‘I imagine’ a thing to be so or so, or ‘it so appears to me at present.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). The key to balance is seeking God’s will for me in this season, and not spending time on assignments meant for other people. Overcommitting myself is always a temptation. But with God’s wisdom and an updated list of all my commitments, I get ongoing reality checks that help me make wise decisions. And although I’m not really good at math, I know that a cup and a half of something will never fit in a one-cup container.

SELF-CONFIDENCE FORMULA     First. I know that I have the ability to achieve the object of my Definite Purpose in life, therefore, I DEMAND of myself persistent, continuous action toward its attainment, and I here and now promise to render such action.   Second. I realize the dominating thoughts of my mind will eventually reproduce themselves in outward, physical action, and gradually transform themselves into physical reality, therefore, I will concentrate my thoughts for thirty minutes daily, upon the task of thinking of the person I intend to become, thereby creating in my mind a clear mental picture of that person.   Third. I know through the principle of auto-suggestion, any desire that I persistently hold in my mind will eventually seek expression through some practical means of attaining the object back of it, therefore, I will devote ten minutes daily to demanding of myself the development of SELF-CONFIDENCE.   Fourth. I have clearly written down a description of my DEFINITE CHIEF AIM in life, and I will never stop trying, until I shall have developed sufficient self-confidence for its attainment.   Fifth. I fully realize that no wealth or position can long endure, unless built upon truth and justice, therefore, I will engage in no transaction which does not benefit all whom it affects. I will succeed by attracting to myself the forces I wish to use, and the cooperation of other people. I will induce others to serve me, because of my willingness to serve others. I will eliminate hatred, envy, jealousy, selfishness, and cynicism, by developing love for all humanity, because I know that a negative attitude toward others can never bring me success. I will cause others to believe in me, because I will believe in them, and in myself.   I will sign my name to this formula, commit it to memory, and repeat it aloud once a day, with full FAITH that it will gradually influence my THOUGHTS and ACTIONS so that I will become a self-reliant, and successful person.

emphatically, that I was. After that I decided not to feel sorry for myself or

This lesson was only one of many I received on learning to be a part of the world rather than trying to dominate it - on learning to see rather than merely to look, to feel rather than touch, to hear rather than listen: to learn, in short, about the world by being still and opening myself to experiencing it. If I realize that I am an organic part of all that is, and learn to adopt a receptive, connected stance, then I need not take an active, dominant role to understand; the universe will, in essence, include me in understanding. This realization has proved invaluable as I, an educational researcher, pursue learning about the world.

His last word — to live with,’ she insisted. ‘Don’t you understand I loved him — I loved him — I loved him!’ “I pulled myself together and spoke slowly. “‘The last word he pronounced was — your name.

Lord God, I have given myself to be led by Your Spirit. You have accepted me and blessed me, and the Holy Spirit now leads me.” Let us recognize that with God helping us, we can leave the carnal side and begin life on the spiritual side.

So, after I had shot the imps, I got in pretty nigh to the lodges without further commotion. Then what should luck do in my favor, but lead me to the very spot where one of the most famous conjurers of the tribe was dressing himself, as I well knew, for some great battle with Satan — though why should I call that luck, which it now seems was an especial ordering of Providence! So a judgmatical rap over the head stiffened the lying impostor for a time, and leaving him a bit of walnut for his supper, to prevent an uproar, and stringing him up atween two sapplings, I made free with his finery, and took the part of the bear on myself, in order that the operations might proceed.

They say misery is the closest of all ties; our common suffering in your behalf left but little to be explained between your father and myself.

Most people wildly overestimate what they can accomplish in a day, and woefully underestimate what they can accomplish in a year, let alone a decade.

pulled myself up through sheer will, found myself an apartment, and started painting. I slept. I updated my blog. I did yoga. I decorated my apartment and did things I loved—and I chose happiness. There was a certain dullness to it, though. My “happiness” wasn’t always the real thing. Most of the time it was a fabricated, forced version that cracked around the edges if examined closely enough. But it was the choice that was the accomplishment. I’d finally found the me I’d lost before. I was strong—heartbroken, but stronger than I’d ever given myself credit for. Especially under the circumstances.

Kristen was right. I’d chosen this life. And I’d had enough. I was going to make a concerted effort to get out of this in-between I was trapped in. I was going to actively pursue joy. I’d cook. I’d maybe start updating my blog again. I had too many paying commissions to be able to dedicate time to painting any of my own stuff, but maybe eventually I’d even get back to that too. And I was going to start now. Not for Jason. Not because he was here to reap the benefits. For myself. I should have done it a long time ago.

Say, rather, I would have watched, but my treacherous eyes betrayed me; twice have I proved myself unfit for the trust I bear.” “Nay, Duncan, deny it not,” interrupted the smiling Alice, issuing from the shadows of the building into the light of the moon, in all the loveliness of her freshened beauty;

The implications of these features of quantum mechanics for our picture of reality are a subject of ongoing research. Many scientists, myself included, view them as part of a radical quantum updating of the meaning and properties of space.

Casebooks are now rarely adopted in freshman English courses; age and infirmity have taken their toll on my mental agilities; and, to be candid, I have been no less mystified by "Post-Colonialism" and "De-struction" and "Queer Chicana Studies" than have other academics trained in the once innovative principles of the New Criticism. I might have been a likelier candidate for studying someone else's updated Perplex than for compiling one myself!

Wish I could pull out my cell phone and text a status update to my Facebook. It'd say: Bored as all hell. So bored in fact, I may just drop dead. A voice catches me off-guard. “You should learn to take a hint.” It's a male voice, coming from the neighbor's backyard. I freeze in the beanbag chair, not wanting to move and give myself away. A shadow comes into view just to my right. I turn my head and squint in the dark to see him. He's a younger guy, definitely not a grown man but probably older than high school. He's wearing dark jeans and no shirt, holding a cell phone to his ear. I guess some phones can get reception out here. “I don't care what you feel,” he says, running a hand through his short hair. It looks green from the reflection of his porch light, but it's probably brown. “You should have thought about that before you screwed that dude.” I gasp and turn away, feeling guilty for eavesdropping on such a private conversation. I'm glad he doesn't know I'm here. “Stop calling me,” he says, his voice weary. “I don't want to hear from you again, or I swear I'll break this phone in half.” I let out a deep breath. Break his phone in half? He has no idea what life is like without a phone.

No matter how hard I tried, whether it was to help Anthony, to threaten him, to sympathize with him, to ignore him, to throw him out of my house, it was impossible to move on. This man was going to ruin me, and now he was going to jeopardize HRC's chances of winning the presidency, which would leave our country in the hands of someone dangerously unfit for the office. On the plane after the event, Jen came over to update HRC. The letter Comey had sent to Congress was out. It confirmed what the reporters had heard. The Comey investigation was officially reopened. It turned out that the Southern District, which was prosecuting Anthony's case involving the teenager, had found emails of mine on his laptop and to this day I do not know where or how because I never knew they were there. They called the FBI's New York office, who then called the DC office, which meant the laptop had ended up with Comey. They didn't alert Anthony's attorneys or mine. I watched HRC's face as she processed it. The moment she made eye contact with me, I just broke down. I had held it together for months—through the night of the shocking photo, all the meetings with Children's Services, the paparazzi on the street, becoming a single parent overnight, the daily hate messages, and even, until just a few minutes ago, the news about Comey's announcement to Congress. But now that I knew the investigation somehow involved my own email, tears flowed out of me. HRC stood up from her seat, came over to hug me, and then walked with me to the bathroom so I could compose myself. On a plane full of colleagues, Secret Service agents, reporters, photographers—everyone with eyes simultaneously averted and questioning—she did that.

as because I perceived that the fools are more numerous than the wise; and, though it is better to be praised by the wise few than applauded by the foolish many, I have no mind to submit myself to the stupid judgment of the silly public,

The 7 Habits are an Inside-Out Approach, you see. We have to win the Private Victory (Habits 1, 2, and 3) before we can win the Public Victory (Habits 4, 5, and 6). If, for example, you have a bad relationship with your boss, instead of trying to Think Win-Win with her, you first need to examine yourself and identify what you may be doing wrong. Maybe you have bad motives or a hidden agenda. Anytime I have a relationship problem, my experience is that four out of five times, it’s me, not them, and the key to fixing the problem is getting myself right first. It’s inside out. Private Victories always precede Public Victories.

Interdependence is a far more mature, more advanced concept. If I am physically interdependent, I am self-reliant and capable, but I also realize that you and I working together can accomplish far more than, even at my best, I could accomplish alone. If I am emotionally interdependent, I derive a great sense of worth within myself, but I also recognize the need for love, for giving, and for receiving love from others. If I am intellectually interdependent, I realize that I need the best thinking of other people to join with my own. As an interdependent person, I have the opportunity to share myself deeply, meaningfully, with others, and I have access to the vast resources and potential of other human beings.

I could see reminders of why I had cast aside my phone in the first place. I sat in Café Heaven, a lovely little place in the West End of Provincetown, and ate an eggs Benedict. Next to me there were two men in, I guess, their mid-twenties. I shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation while pretending to read David Copperfield. It was clear they had met on an app, and this was the first time they had seen each other in person. Something about their conversation seemed odd to me, and I couldn’t place it at first. Then I realized they weren’t, in fact, having a conversation at all. What would happen is the first one, who was blond, would talk about himself for ten minutes or so. Then the second one, who was dark-haired, would talk about himself for ten minutes. And they alternated in this way, interrupting each other. I sat next to them for two hours, and at no point did either of them ask the other person a question. At one point, the dark-haired man mentioned that his brother had died a month before. The blond didn’t even offer a cursory “I’m so sorry to hear that”; he simply went back to talking about himself. I realized that if they had met up simply to read out their own Facebook status updates to each other in turn, there would have been absolutely no difference. I felt like everywhere I went, I was surrounded by people who were broadcasting but not receiving. Narcissism, it occurred to me, is a corruption of attention—it’s where your attention becomes turned in only on yourself and your own ego. I don’t say this with any sense of superiority. I am embarrassed to describe what I realized in that week that I missed most about the web. Every day in my normal life—sometimes several times a day—I would look at Twitter and Instagram to see how many followers I had. I didn’t look at the feed, the news, the buzz—just my own stats. If the figure had gone up, I felt glad—like a money-obsessed miser checking the state of his personal stocks and finding he was slightly richer than yesterday. It was as if I was saying to myself, See? More people are following you. You matter. I didn’t miss the content of what they said. I just missed the raw numbers, and the sense that they were growing.

I’m stronger than him, and have more endurance, but sometimes he’ll get an idea that means we can do our job in less than the designated time. He’s got an incredible knack for streamlining, from which I gladly learn. I’ve become a lot better myself at seeing how a workflow can be adjusted so that the task at hand can be completed more efficiently. This has surprised me rather a lot, because I’ve never known such improvements in my performance without an update being involved.

Was I happy? Yes, I had nothing to mourn or regret, I had no complicated desires. Therefore, I was happy. I remembered that since my childhood I had had spiritual illuminations, mystical emotions, a morbid fondness for shutting myself up face to face with my past. I had attributed exceptional importance to myself and had come to think that I was more than other people. But this had gradually become submerged in the positive nothingness of every day.

In 2013, on the auspicious date of April 1, I received an email from Tetlock inviting me to join what he described as “a major new research program funded in part by Intelligence Advanced Research Projects Activity, an agency within the U.S. intelligence community.” The core of the program, which had been running since 2011, was a collection of quantifiable forecasts much like Tetlock’s long-running study. The forecasts would be of economic and geopolitical events, “real and pressing matters of the sort that concern the intelligence community—whether Greece will default, whether there will be a military strike on Iran, etc.” These forecasts took the form of a tournament with thousands of contestants; the tournament ran for four annual seasons. “You would simply log on to a website,” Tetlock’s email continued, “give your best judgment about matters you may be following anyway, and update that judgment if and when you feel it should be. When time passes and forecasts are judged, you could compare your results with those of others.” I did not participate. I told myself I was too busy; perhaps I was too much of a coward as well. But the truth is that I did not participate because, largely thanks to Tetlock’s work, I had concluded that the forecasting task was impossible. Still, more than 20,000 people embraced the idea. Some could reasonably be described as having some professional standing, with experience in intelligence analysis, think tanks, or academia. Others were pure amateurs. Tetlock and two other psychologists, Barbara Mellers (Mellers and Tetlock are married) and Don Moore, ran experiments with the cooperation of this army of volunteers. Some were given training in some basic statistical techniques (more on this in a moment); some were assembled into teams; some were given information about other forecasts; and others operated in isolation. The entire exercise was given the name Good Judgment Project, and the aim was to find better ways to see into the future. This vast project has produced a number of insights, but the most striking is that there was a select group of people whose forecasts, while they were by no means perfect, were vastly better than the dart-throwing-chimp standard reached by the typical prognosticator. What is more, they got better over time rather than fading away as their luck changed. Tetlock, with an uncharacteristic touch of hyperbole, called this group “superforecasters.” The cynics were too hasty: it is possible to see into the future after all. What makes a superforecaster? Not subject-matter expertise: professors were no better than well-informed amateurs. Nor was it a matter of intelligence; otherwise Irving Fisher would have been just fine. But there were a few common traits among the better forecasters.

As author and journalist Leslie Kean told Scientific American magazine, ‘I find it astonishing that there are still some scientists who adapt [sic] the position that it can’t be, therefore it isn’t. I don’t have that choice, because I have witnessed many paranormal phenomena myself, and I know they exist.

Instead I spent the summer touring and doing stand-up, and I decided that whatever happened with Update, I wanted to get better as a performer. I didn’t know how, exactly, outside of getting onstage every night, so I started meeting with an acting coach. This was something I hesitated about doing for a long time because I was embarrassed. Isn’t that dumb? I was embarrassed about getting help. And I was embarrassed about trying. I was scared to put myself out there and commit to getting better, because if I committed and failed then I would have no one to blame but myself. (This probably described my approach to all my relationships up to that point, too.)

Well, I don’t know exactly. It’s more than just mind-to-mind. It’s like, well...”. I was grasping for words. “Well, when they ‘saw’ me, they couldn’t really see me, could they? What, then were they seeing? I’m asking myself this, Axel?” “Yes, go on,” he said. “Well, it’s more like they were...FEELING rather than seeing or picking up on mind vibes. It’s more like it was, yes, sort of a dimensional thing—rather, sort of like a ripple in some kind of cross-dimensionality. Yes! That’s it! They FELT something. Not particularly ME. But SOMETHING.

It is not by what a man has actually put upon his canvas, nor yet by the acts which he has set down, so to speak, upon the canvas of his life that I will judge him, but by what he makes me feel that he felt and aimed at. If he has made me feel that he felt those things to be lovable which I hold lovable myself I ask no more; his grammar may have been imperfect, but still I have understood him; he and I are en rapport;

Work can be a vehicle for self-transcendence in either approach, for according to Hindu doctrine every action performed upon the external world reacts on the doer. If I chop down a tree that blocks my view, each stroke of the ax unsettles the tree; but it leaves its mark on me as well, driving deeper into my being my determination to have my way in the world. Everything I do for my private wellbeing adds another layer to my ego, and in thickening it insulates me more from God. Conversely, every act done without thought for myself diminishes my self-centeredness until finally no barrier remains to separate me from the Divine. The

a kind of “I’m-married-to-myself” fuck-you to the patriarchy. I hated that word now, “patriarchy.” All I could think of were overpriced graphic tees and white liberal mothers on Facebook updating their status to “WE’RE STILL WITH HER” and “PANTSUIT NATION!

Right, first the bad news,” said Rob, when, as promised, he called me with an update. My shoulders sagged as I braced myself for yet more disappointment. “Molly’s very, very demanding. She’s been badly deprived of love and affection. She suffers from terrible separation anxiety. She barks like crazy when she’s frustrated. She steals food from people’s plates and pinches treats from their pocket. And she’s one of the most willful, wayward and stubborn dogs I’ve ever met.” “And the good news?” I replied despondently. “I reckon we’ve found our dog, Colin.

Through the process of natural childbirth, I gained a lot of confidence in myself. I left my comfort zone and the culture I had grown up with. I learned that I can work through scary and painful situations and be strong and present when I need to be.

.” Just say to yourself: “I am going to imagine myself acting this way now

Let us hear what the Bible says: For their sakes I sanctify myself, that they also might be sanctified in the truth (John 17:19). Christ also loved the congregation and gave himself for her, that he might sanctify and cleanse her (Ephesians 5:25-26). Christ gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify unto himself a people of his own, zealous of good works (Titus 2:14). Christ bore our sins in his own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness (1 Peter 2:24). You, that were in another time alienated and enemies in your mind by wicked works, yet now he has reconciled you in the body of his flesh through death, to present you holy and unblameable and unreproveable in his sight (Colossians 1:21-22). Let the meaning of these five texts be carefully considered. If these words mean anything, they teach that Christ undertakes the sanctification of His believing people, just as He undertakes their justification. Both are alike provided for in that everlasting covenant . . . ordered in all things, and it shall be kept (2 Samuel 23:5), of which the Mediator is Christ. In fact, Christ in one place is called he that sanctifies, and His people are called those who are sanctified (Hebrews 2:11).

I tried not to daydream about it, but I couldn’t help myself. Even as I was getting ready for the date, my mind provided Instagram-style status updates of our future together.

Time spent alone, to others unknown: Black and white afternoons, Sallow evenings and discolored nights Spent grasping for distraction; Glancing at moments That could have been savored - That will disappear, unaccounted for, forgotten, Along with everything else, even by myself.

Another day lies squandered behind me. The effluvia of recent useless vacillation Pollutes my abode and suffocates my higher faculties. I seek relief from the nausea of my own society In the outside world. To reward myself with distraction: Not for work well done, or done at al But as relief from tormenting myself over not doing the work.

That advice of William James’s. It didn’t make too much of an impression when you told me, but while I was playing roulette it came back to me. I noticed any number of people who appeared not to worry at all before placing their bets. Apparently odds meant nothing to them. But once the wheel started turning, they froze up, and began to worry whether their number would come up or not. How silly, I thought. If they want to worry, or be concerned, or figure odds, the time to do that is before the decision is made to place a bet. There is something you can do about it then, by thinking about it. You can figure out the best odds possible, or decide not to take the risk at all. But after the bets are placed and the wheel starts turning—you might as well relax and enjoy it—thinking about it is not going to do one bit of good, and is wasted energy. Then I got to thinking that I myself had been doing exactly the same thing in my business and in my personal life. I often made decisions or embarked upon courses of action without adequate preparation, without considering all the risks involved and the best possible alternative. But after I had set the wheels in motion, so to speak, I continually worried over how it would come out, whether I had done the right thing. I made a decision right then that in the future I would do all my worrying, all my forebrain thinking, before a decision was made, and that after making a decision, and setting the wheels in motion, I would “dismiss absolutely all responsibility and care about the outcome.” Believe it or not, it works. I not only feel better, sleep better, and work better, but my business is running much smoother.

In his book The Conquest of Happiness, Bertrand Russell says, “I was not born happy. As a child, my favorite hymn was: ‘Weary of earth and laden with my sin.’ In adolescence, I hated life and was continually on the verge of suicide, from which, however, I was restrained by the desire to know more mathematics. Now, on the contrary, I enjoy life; I might almost say that with every year that passes I enjoy it more. . . . Very largely it is due to a diminishing preoccupation with myself. Like others who had a Puritan education, I had the habit of meditating on my sins, follies, and shortcomings. I seemed to myself—no doubt justly—a miserable specimen. Gradually I learned to be indifferent to myself and my deficiencies; I came to center my attention increasingly upon external objects: the state of the world, various branches of knowledge, individuals for whom I felt affection.

It is the ungodly fear that possessed Adam’s heart when he ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The Lord told him, “For in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.” It was then that he was in such fear of God that he hid himself from the presence of the Lord among the trees of the garden. “I heard,” said Adam, “the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself” (Genesis 3:10). We see that Adam had a fear of God, but it was not a godly fear. It was not a fear that kept him from fleeing from God. A godly fear would have brought him to the Lord again, with a broken, contrite, and submissive spirit. No, this fear, like his other sin, chased him until he fled from his God. It made him keep away from God. Everything in Adam wanted to avoid God. I call it ungodly fear because it gives birth to ungodly misgivings about a person’s Maker. It limited Adam’s conscience to see only God’s justice and this led him to despair.

I don’t see anyone better than me. No player does things that I cannot do myself, but I see things others can’t do. There’s no more complete player than me.

Carl Erskine, the famous baseball pitcher, said that bad thinking got him into more spots than bad pitching. As quoted in Norman Vincent Peale’s Faith Made Them Champions, he said: “One sermon has helped me overcome pressure better than the advice of any coach. Its substance was that, like a squirrel hoarding chestnuts, we should store up our moments of happiness and triumph so that in a crisis we can draw upon these memories for help and inspiration. As a kid I used to fish at the bend of a little country stream just outside my home town. I can vividly remember this spot in the middle of a big, green pasture surrounded by tall, cool trees. Whenever tension builds up both on or off the ball field now, I concentrate on this relaxing scene, and the knots inside me loosen up.” Gene Tunney told how concentrating on the wrong “facts” almost caused him to lose his first fight with Jack Dempsey. He awoke one night from a nightmare. “The vision was of myself, bleeding, mauled and helpless, sinking to the canvas and being counted out. I couldn’t stop trembling. Right there I had already lost that ring match which meant everything to me—the championship. . . . What could I do about this terror? I could guess the cause. I had been thinking about the fight in the wrong way. I had been reading the newspapers, and all they had said was how Tunney would lose. Through the newspapers I was losing the battle in my own mind. “Part of the solution was obvious. Stop reading the papers. Stop thinking of the Dempsey menace, Jack’s killing punch and ferocity of attack. I simply had to close the doors of my mind to destructive thoughts—and divert my thinking to other things.

Don’t even go there,” he snapped, pushing his foot down on the accelerator. “Too much thought makes Oliver a cranky bastard. Being followed by a possible killer makes Oliver a frightened bastard.” “You talking to me, the victim, or yourself?” Langham asked. “Myself. Nothing unusual. Nothing to fret about.” “Right. Give me an update.

It was a cold, dreary morning when I woke up to the devastating news that I had lost all of my hard-earned ETH in a deceitful online scam. My heart sank as I realized that all of my savings had vanished in an instant, leaving me feeling helpless and betrayed. I frantically searched for a solution online, determined to find a way to recover my lost funds. After hours of research and countless dead ends, I stumbled upon Rapid Digital Recovery, a reputable company that specialized in recovering stolen cryptocurrency. I immediately reached out to Rapid Digital Recovery, desperate for their help in recovering my lost ETH. To my relief, they responded quickly and assured me that they would do everything in their power to help me recover my funds. As the days went by, Rapid Digital Recovery made great strides in their research, and I could feel a spark of optimism growing inside of me. They gave me updates and reassured me that they were making every effort to retrieve my missing money, keeping me updated at every stage. Finally, after weeks of tireless effort and determination, Rapid Digital Recovery delivered the news I had been desperately hoping for – they had successfully recovered the entirety of my stolen ETH. I was overcome with relief and gratitude, knowing that I had finally regained what was rightfully mine. But the journey was far from over. Rapid Digital Recovery continued to support me in securing my accounts and safeguarding my funds from future scams. They provided me with valuable tips and guidance on how to protect myself in the ever-evolving landscape of online fraud and deception. Through this experience, I learned the invaluable lesson of resilience and perseverance in the face of adversity. I realized the importance of seeking help from trusted professionals like Rapid Digital Recovery when faced with challenges that seemed insurmountable. Today, I stand stronger and more resilient than ever before, knowing that I have the support of a trusted partner like Rapid Digital Recovery by my side. I am grateful for the opportunity to share my story and inspire others to seek help and never give up in the face of adversity. In the end, my journey of recovering from deceit had not only led me to reclaim what was rightfully mine but also to discover a newfound sense of empowerment and hope for the future. And for that, I will always be grateful to Rapid Digital Recovery for their invaluable role in helping me turn my misfortune into a story of triumph. You can get more information through: Contact Info: What sapp Info: +1 41 4 80 7 14 85 Email INFO: rap iddi gita lrecov ery @ exe cs. com

How can I learn to love? I cannot, until the Spirit of God fills my heart with God’s love, and I long for God’s love in a very different sense from which I have sought it so selfishly, as a comfort and a joy and a happiness and a pleasure to myself. I cannot learn to love until I learn that God is love and to claim it and receive it as an indwelling power for self-sacrifice. I cannot learn to love until I see that my glory and my blessedness is to be like God and like Christ in giving up everything in myself for my fellow men. May God teach us that! Oh, the divine blessedness of the love with which the Holy Spirit can fill our hearts! The fruit of the Spirit is love.

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Investing in cryptocurrencies can seem like an exciting way to grow wealth, but it comes with its fair share of risks. I learned this the hard way. After diving into the world of crypto trading, I quickly became entangled with a company that promised huge returns, only to find myself swindled. Trying to recover lost funds in the world of crypto can be incredibly frustrating, especially when you're unsure who to trust or where to turn. I had heard about the lucrative opportunities crypto trading offered and got involved with an online platform that seemed legitimate at first. They presented themselves as experts, offering professional trading strategies and helping users navigate the volatile crypto market. However, over time, things started to unravel. The platform began showing signs of suspicious activity, and before I knew it, I had lost a substantial amount of money. I was devastated when I realized that I had been scammed out of over $82,050. The experience was emotionally and financially draining. I spent countless hours trying to reach out to the platform for explanations, but my efforts were futile. I was left with little hope, facing the grim reality that my money might never be recovered. I almost gave up, thinking there was no way to reclaim what was rightfully mine. But fate had other plans. Through some online research and a bit of luck, I came across Rapid Digital Recovery, a company specializing in helping individuals recover funds lost to online scams. At first, I was skeptical after all, I had already been scammed, and the idea of trusting another service felt risky. However, after learning more about their track record and seeing numerous success stories from others who had been in similar situations, I decided to give them a try. From the moment I reached out to Rapid Digital Recovery, What sapp Info: +1 41 4 80 7 14 85.. I knew I was in good hands. The team was professional, empathetic, and knowledgeable. They explained their process clearly, keeping me updated every step of the way. They worked diligently to trace my funds and communicate with the fraudulent company, negotiating on my behalf. To my surprise, they managed to recover 90% of my lost funds, along with some of the profits that had initially lured me into the scam. It was an immense relief to see that, despite the challenges, there are still organizations like Rapid Digital Recovery who genuinely care about helping victims of online fraud. My experience with them was nothing short of life-changing, and I am incredibly grateful for their support. Email INFO: rap iddi gita lrecov ery @ exe cs. com...If you find yourself in a similar situation, I wholeheartedly recommend reaching out to Rapid Digital Recovery. Good work deserves recognition, and I can confidently say that they are the reason I was able to recover a significant portion of what I had lost.

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Personal Development The ultimate goal of my development: To realize that we all are unconditionally and equally loved (accepted and appreciated for who we are) and that our worth and well-being come from within. How I can further my personal development: Paying attention to my own needs and well-being. Using anger/resistance as a signal that I feel discounted and that something inside me matters. Noticing feelings I may be blocking out when I turn from my real priorities to substitutes, such as TV, food, errands, or chores. Noticing when my ruminating keeps me from setting priorities and taking action on them. Accepting discomfort and change as a natural part of life. Practicing loving myself kindly and equally to loving others. What hinders my personal development: Feeling that I don’t count. Feeling that I don’t deserve to pursue my own agenda. Giving everything equal importance and, consequently, missing my real priorities. Avoiding the discomfort and disruption required for change. At the core, believing that to be valued and loved I must blend in and go along to get along. How others can support my development: Encouraging me to express my own position. Asking me what I want and what is good for me, and giving me time to figure out the answer. Supporting me when I act responsibly toward myself. Allowing me to acknowledge my anger. Encouraging me to set and keep my own boundaries, limits, and priorities.