"If you want creative workers, give them enough time to play."
John Cleese
Monday, October 31, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Ezine: Are You Taking Things Too Personally?
| Dear Friend, Almost five years ago, Carol and I interviewed a fascinating neuropsychologist named Rick Hanson for our book, Happy for No Reason. Rick brilliantly explained how a “happy brain” works. He shared with us the great analogy that our brains are like Velcro for the negative, but Teflon for the positive – the negatives stick to us while the positives tend to slide right off. More importantly, he shared simple ways we can reverse that negativity bias. I’ve continued to be a huge fan of Rick and his work—we even began a book together. I avidly read Rick’s “just one thing” articles, which are wonderful short pieces about easy, powerful practices that can make a big difference in our happiness and well-being levels. In today’s ezine, I’d love to share one of my favorite “just one thing” ideas that I think you’ll find really helpful. Here are Rick’s wise words about “Don’t Take It Personally” (excerpted from his wonderful new book called Just One Thing): Here’s an updated parable from the ancient Taoist teacher Chuang-Tzu: Imagine that you are floating in a canoe on a slow-moving river, having a Sunday picnic with a friend. Suddenly there is a loud thump on the side of the canoe, and it rolls over. You come up sputtering, and what do you see? Somebody has snuck up on your canoe, flipped it over for a joke, and is laughing at you. How do you feel? Okay. Now imagine the exact same situation again: the picnic in a canoe, loud thump, dumped into the river, coming up sputtering, and what do you see? A large submerged log has drifted downstream and bumped into your canoe. This time, how do you feel? The facts are the same in each case: cold and wet, picnic ruined. But when you think you’ve been targeted personally, you probably feel worse. The thing is, most of what bumps into us in life—including emotional reactions from others, traffic jams, illness, or mistreatment at work—is like an impersonal log put in motion by ten thousand causes upstream. Say a friend is surprisingly critical toward you. It hurts, for sure, and you’ll want to address the situation, from talking about it with the friend to disengaging from the relationship. But also consider what may have caused that person to bump into you, such as misinterpretations of your actions; health problems, pain, worries or anger about things unrelated to you; temperament, personality, childhood experiences; the effects of culture, economy, or world events; and causes back upstream in time, like how his or her parents were raised. Recognize the humbling yet wonderful truth: most of the time, we are bit players in other people’s dramas. When you look at things this way, you naturally get calmer, put situations in context, and don’t get so caught up in me-myself-and-I. Then you feel better, plus more clearheaded about what to do. How? To begin with, have compassion for yourself. Getting smacked by a log is a drag. Also take appropriate action. Keep an eye out for logs heading your way, try to reduce their impact, and repair your “boat”—relationship, health, finances, career—as best you can. And maybe think about finding a new river! Additionally: 1. Notice when you start to take something personally. Be mindful of what that feels like—and also what it feels like to relax the sense of being personally targeted. 2. Be careful about making assumptions about the intentions of others. Maybe they didn’t do it “on purpose.” Or maybe there was one not-so-good purpose aimed at you that was mixed up with a dozen other purposes. 3. Reflect on some of the ten thousand causes upstream. Ask yourself: What else could be in play here? What’s going on inside the other person’s mind and life? What’s the bigger picture? 4. Beware getting caught up in your “case” about other people, driven by an inner prosecutor that keeps pounding on all the ways they’re wrong, spoke badly, acted unfairly, picked on you, really really harmed you, made you suffer, etc., etc. It’s good to see others clearly, and there’s a place for moral judgment—but case-making is a kind of obsessing that makes you feel worse and more likely to overreact and create an even bigger problem. 5. Try to have compassion for the other people. They’re probably not all that happy, either. Having compassion for them will not weaken you or let them off the moral hook; actually, it will make you feel better. And—really soak up the sense of strength and peacefulness that comes from taking life less personally. As a recovering “personalizer,” I love this reminder from Rick. Try applying these ideas over the next days and see how you relax and enjoy your life more. With Love for every reason, Marci Shimoff |
Friday, October 21, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Love and Loss
I was lucky. I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation - the Macintosh - a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started?
Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.
I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down - that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me - I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.
I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.
During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT.
I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.
I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple.It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers.
Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking.
Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.
Steve Jobs
1955-2011
Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.
I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down - that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me - I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.
I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.
During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT.
I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.
I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple.It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers.
Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking.
Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.
Steve Jobs
1955-2011
Something of Value
I recently returned from presenting a workshop in Cincinnati, and when I pulled up to the parking attendant's booth at the airport, I handed him my ticket and he flashed me a huge grin and said, "Hello! That'll be $30.50."
"$30.50?" I echoed, incredulous. "I was only here for 24 hours. I just want to pay for parking-I don't want to buy the place!"
He laughed and said, "Yep, it's $30.50 for 24 hours' parking. So how was your trip? Did you have a good time?"
I was still in a bit of shock at the price, but he was being so friendly that any temptation I had to become frustrated started to fade away. I chatted with him a little about my trip, asked him about his day, and paid my bill, feeling a lot better than I probably would have if he hadn't been so nice.
Now, some people might say that this gentleman had a right to be unhappy and cranky, after all, his job probably isn't always very pleasant. He has to deal with grouchy people who resent paying $30.50 for 24 hours' parking, he has to work in a closed space without much opportunity to move around or get visual stimulation, and he probably doesn't make all that much money. Yet this fellow was giving value unconditionally, without an obvious or immediate payback for doing so.
What he understood, which I try to help others understand, is that the more value you offer unconditionally, the more abundance you'll enjoy. Giving with strings attached creates feelings of fear (What if I don't get a return on what I give?) and lack (I don't have enough to justify giving to others without a clear benefit to me). Giving unconditionally creates feelings of abundance.
People who feel wealthy and blessed and who bring value to their jobs regardless of their pay let the Universe know that they're ready to receive even more wealth. They may get a raise or an unexpected windfall, or they could attract the attention of someone who wants to hire them for a better job. As I drove away from that parking garage, I thought about how much value and enthusiasm that gentleman brings to his work if he is able to deal with grumpy customers all day long and by early evening still have joy to share with others. I thought, I would like to hire that fellow! I wouldn't be at all surprised if he gets a promotion, a raise, or a more lucrative position somewhere, and I imagine that he leads a rich and abundant life outside of his job.
When you give value unconditionally, you'll receive it in return-and the more you give, the more value and abundance you'll receive. People, who offer the minimal amount at their job, always rushing out the door at exactly 5 p.m. and never showing any initiative, are missing the opportunity to create abundance or value and reap the benefits.
There are many ways to offer value. My husband, son, and I live next to a golf course. At the end of the week, Michel will gather up all of the balls in our yard, put them in egg cartons, and sell them to golfers at a fraction of the cost of new ones. When he approaches a potential customer, he'll give them a free ball. Whether or not they decide to buy a dozen from him, this ball is theirs to keep. The golfers feel positive about him and are more inspired to buy a box from him, if not today, then sometime in the future.
You can offer value through creative ideas, suggestions for how to make your company work more efficiently, enthusiasm that inspires others, hard work, diligence and attention to detail, and going the extra mile in a crisis.
If you're thinking of finding different work, or you've been considering making a change for a long time but feel paralyzed and unsure of what to do next, start by creating positive feelings so that you can access your passion and creativity. You'll get clarity about what you want to do next and avoid making the kind of mistakes we commit when we operate from negative feelings such as fear and lack. You won't jump from one unrewarding job to the next; instead, you'll find new, better opportunities opening up for you in response to the feelings of abundance, enthusiasm, and worthiness you've created. You'll recognize your beneficial purpose, value it, and attract more resources and wealth by giving unconditionally, letting your abundance flow into the Universe, and opening yourself to receive.
Peggy McColl
"$30.50?" I echoed, incredulous. "I was only here for 24 hours. I just want to pay for parking-I don't want to buy the place!"
He laughed and said, "Yep, it's $30.50 for 24 hours' parking. So how was your trip? Did you have a good time?"
I was still in a bit of shock at the price, but he was being so friendly that any temptation I had to become frustrated started to fade away. I chatted with him a little about my trip, asked him about his day, and paid my bill, feeling a lot better than I probably would have if he hadn't been so nice.
Now, some people might say that this gentleman had a right to be unhappy and cranky, after all, his job probably isn't always very pleasant. He has to deal with grouchy people who resent paying $30.50 for 24 hours' parking, he has to work in a closed space without much opportunity to move around or get visual stimulation, and he probably doesn't make all that much money. Yet this fellow was giving value unconditionally, without an obvious or immediate payback for doing so.
What he understood, which I try to help others understand, is that the more value you offer unconditionally, the more abundance you'll enjoy. Giving with strings attached creates feelings of fear (What if I don't get a return on what I give?) and lack (I don't have enough to justify giving to others without a clear benefit to me). Giving unconditionally creates feelings of abundance.
People who feel wealthy and blessed and who bring value to their jobs regardless of their pay let the Universe know that they're ready to receive even more wealth. They may get a raise or an unexpected windfall, or they could attract the attention of someone who wants to hire them for a better job. As I drove away from that parking garage, I thought about how much value and enthusiasm that gentleman brings to his work if he is able to deal with grumpy customers all day long and by early evening still have joy to share with others. I thought, I would like to hire that fellow! I wouldn't be at all surprised if he gets a promotion, a raise, or a more lucrative position somewhere, and I imagine that he leads a rich and abundant life outside of his job.
When you give value unconditionally, you'll receive it in return-and the more you give, the more value and abundance you'll receive. People, who offer the minimal amount at their job, always rushing out the door at exactly 5 p.m. and never showing any initiative, are missing the opportunity to create abundance or value and reap the benefits.
There are many ways to offer value. My husband, son, and I live next to a golf course. At the end of the week, Michel will gather up all of the balls in our yard, put them in egg cartons, and sell them to golfers at a fraction of the cost of new ones. When he approaches a potential customer, he'll give them a free ball. Whether or not they decide to buy a dozen from him, this ball is theirs to keep. The golfers feel positive about him and are more inspired to buy a box from him, if not today, then sometime in the future.
You can offer value through creative ideas, suggestions for how to make your company work more efficiently, enthusiasm that inspires others, hard work, diligence and attention to detail, and going the extra mile in a crisis.
If you're thinking of finding different work, or you've been considering making a change for a long time but feel paralyzed and unsure of what to do next, start by creating positive feelings so that you can access your passion and creativity. You'll get clarity about what you want to do next and avoid making the kind of mistakes we commit when we operate from negative feelings such as fear and lack. You won't jump from one unrewarding job to the next; instead, you'll find new, better opportunities opening up for you in response to the feelings of abundance, enthusiasm, and worthiness you've created. You'll recognize your beneficial purpose, value it, and attract more resources and wealth by giving unconditionally, letting your abundance flow into the Universe, and opening yourself to receive.
Peggy McColl
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Do We Fight or Do We Listen?
The train clanked and rattled through the suburbs of Tokyo on a
drowsy spring afternoon. Our car was comparatively empty - a few housewives with
their kids in tow, some old folks going shopping. I gazed absently at the drab
houses and dusty hedgerows.
At one station the doors opened, and suddenly the afternoon quiet was shattered by a man bellowing violent, incomprehensible curses. The man staggered into our car. He wore laborer's clothing, and he was big, drunk, and dirty. Screaming, he swung at a woman holding a baby. The blow sent her spinning into the laps of an elderly couple. It was a miracle that she was unharmed.
Terrified, the couple jumped up and scrambled toward the other end of the car. The laborer aimed a kick at the retreating back of the old woman but missed as she scuttled to safety. This so enraged the drunk that he grabbed the metal pole in the center of the car and tried to wrench it out of its stanchion. I could see that one o f his hands was cut and bleeding. The train lurched ahead, the passengers frozen with fear. I stood up.
I was young then, some 20 years ago, and in pretty good shape. I'd been putting in a solid eight hours of aikido training nearly every day for the past three years. I like to throw and grapple. I thought I was tough. Trouble was, my martial skill was untested in actual combat. As students of aikido, we were not allowed to fight.
"Aikido," my teacher had said again and again, "is the art of reconciliation. Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with the universe. If you try to dominate people, you are already defeated. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it."
I listened to his words. I tried hard. I even went so far as to cross the street to avoid the chimpira, the pinball punks who lounged around the train stations. My forbearance exalted me. I felt both tough and holy. In my heart, however, I wanted an absolutely legiti mate opportunity whereby I might save the innocent by destroying the guilty.
This is it! I said to myself, getting to my feet. People are in danger and if I don't do something fast, they will probably get hurt. Seeing me stand up, the drunk recognized a chance to focus his rage.
"Aha!" He roared. "A foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!"
I held on lightly to the commuter strap overhead and gave him a slow look of disgust and dismissal. I planned to take this turkey apart, but he had to make the first move. I wanted him mad, so I pursed my lips and blew him an insolent kiss.
"All right! He hollered. "You're gonna get a lesson." He gathered himself for a rush at me.
A split second before he could move, someone shouted "Hey!" It was earsplitting. I remember the strangely joyous, lilting quality of it - as though you and a friend had been searching diligently for something, and he suddenly stumbled upon it.
"Hey!" I wheeled t o my left; the drunk spun to his right. We both stared down at a little old Japanese man. He must have been well into his seventies, this tiny gentleman, sitting there immaculate in his kimono. He took no notice of me, but beamed delightedly at the laborer, as though he had a most important, most welcome secret to share.
"C'mere," the old man said in an easy vernacular, beckoning to the drunk. "C'mere and talk with me."
He waved his hand lightly. The big man followed, as if on a string. He planted his feet belligerently in front of the old gentleman, and roared above the clacking wheels,
"Why the hell should I talk to you?"
The drunk now had his back to me. If his elbow moved so much as a millimeter, I'd drop him in his socks. The old man continued to beam at the laborer.
"What'cha been drinkin'?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with interest.
"I been drinkin' sake," the laborer bellowed back, "and it's none of your business!" Flecks of spittle spattered the old man.
"Ok, that's wonderful," the old man said, "absolutely wonderful! You see, I love sake too. Every night, me and my wife (she's 76, you know), we warm up a little bottle of sake and take it out into the garden, and we sit on an old wooden bench. We watch the sun go down, and we look to see how our persimmon tree is doing."
He looked up at the laborer, eyes twinkling. As he struggled to follow the old man's conversation, the drunk's face began to soften. His fists slowly unclenched.
"Yeah," he said. "I love persimmons too." His voice trailed off.
"Yes," said the old man, smiling, "and I'm sure you have a wonderful wife."
"No," replied the laborer. "My wife died." Very gently, swaying with the motion of the train, the big man began to sob. "I don't got no wife, I don't got no home, I don't got no job. I am so ashamed of myself." Tears rolled down his cheeks; a spasm of despair rippled through his body.
Now it was my turn. Standing there in well-scrubbed youthful innocence, my make-this-world-safe-for-democracy righteousness, I suddenly felt dirtier than he was. Then the train arrived at my stop. As the doors opened, I heard the old man cluck sympathetically.
"My, my," he said, "that is a difficult predicament, indeed. Sit down here and tell me about it."
I turned my head for one last look. The laborer was sprawled on the seat, his head in the old man's lap. The old man was softly stroking the filthy, matted hair.
As the train pulled away, I sat down on a bench. What I had wanted to do with muscle had been accomplished with kind words. I had just seen aikido tried in combat, and the essence of it was love. I would have to practice the art with an entirely different spirit. It would be a long time before I could speak about the resolution of conflict.
Terry Dobson
At one station the doors opened, and suddenly the afternoon quiet was shattered by a man bellowing violent, incomprehensible curses. The man staggered into our car. He wore laborer's clothing, and he was big, drunk, and dirty. Screaming, he swung at a woman holding a baby. The blow sent her spinning into the laps of an elderly couple. It was a miracle that she was unharmed.
Terrified, the couple jumped up and scrambled toward the other end of the car. The laborer aimed a kick at the retreating back of the old woman but missed as she scuttled to safety. This so enraged the drunk that he grabbed the metal pole in the center of the car and tried to wrench it out of its stanchion. I could see that one o f his hands was cut and bleeding. The train lurched ahead, the passengers frozen with fear. I stood up.
I was young then, some 20 years ago, and in pretty good shape. I'd been putting in a solid eight hours of aikido training nearly every day for the past three years. I like to throw and grapple. I thought I was tough. Trouble was, my martial skill was untested in actual combat. As students of aikido, we were not allowed to fight.
"Aikido," my teacher had said again and again, "is the art of reconciliation. Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with the universe. If you try to dominate people, you are already defeated. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it."
I listened to his words. I tried hard. I even went so far as to cross the street to avoid the chimpira, the pinball punks who lounged around the train stations. My forbearance exalted me. I felt both tough and holy. In my heart, however, I wanted an absolutely legiti mate opportunity whereby I might save the innocent by destroying the guilty.
This is it! I said to myself, getting to my feet. People are in danger and if I don't do something fast, they will probably get hurt. Seeing me stand up, the drunk recognized a chance to focus his rage.
"Aha!" He roared. "A foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!"
I held on lightly to the commuter strap overhead and gave him a slow look of disgust and dismissal. I planned to take this turkey apart, but he had to make the first move. I wanted him mad, so I pursed my lips and blew him an insolent kiss.
"All right! He hollered. "You're gonna get a lesson." He gathered himself for a rush at me.
A split second before he could move, someone shouted "Hey!" It was earsplitting. I remember the strangely joyous, lilting quality of it - as though you and a friend had been searching diligently for something, and he suddenly stumbled upon it.
"Hey!" I wheeled t o my left; the drunk spun to his right. We both stared down at a little old Japanese man. He must have been well into his seventies, this tiny gentleman, sitting there immaculate in his kimono. He took no notice of me, but beamed delightedly at the laborer, as though he had a most important, most welcome secret to share.
"C'mere," the old man said in an easy vernacular, beckoning to the drunk. "C'mere and talk with me."
He waved his hand lightly. The big man followed, as if on a string. He planted his feet belligerently in front of the old gentleman, and roared above the clacking wheels,
"Why the hell should I talk to you?"
The drunk now had his back to me. If his elbow moved so much as a millimeter, I'd drop him in his socks. The old man continued to beam at the laborer.
"What'cha been drinkin'?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with interest.
"I been drinkin' sake," the laborer bellowed back, "and it's none of your business!" Flecks of spittle spattered the old man.
"Ok, that's wonderful," the old man said, "absolutely wonderful! You see, I love sake too. Every night, me and my wife (she's 76, you know), we warm up a little bottle of sake and take it out into the garden, and we sit on an old wooden bench. We watch the sun go down, and we look to see how our persimmon tree is doing."
He looked up at the laborer, eyes twinkling. As he struggled to follow the old man's conversation, the drunk's face began to soften. His fists slowly unclenched.
"Yeah," he said. "I love persimmons too." His voice trailed off.
"Yes," said the old man, smiling, "and I'm sure you have a wonderful wife."
"No," replied the laborer. "My wife died." Very gently, swaying with the motion of the train, the big man began to sob. "I don't got no wife, I don't got no home, I don't got no job. I am so ashamed of myself." Tears rolled down his cheeks; a spasm of despair rippled through his body.
Now it was my turn. Standing there in well-scrubbed youthful innocence, my make-this-world-safe-for-democracy righteousness, I suddenly felt dirtier than he was. Then the train arrived at my stop. As the doors opened, I heard the old man cluck sympathetically.
"My, my," he said, "that is a difficult predicament, indeed. Sit down here and tell me about it."
I turned my head for one last look. The laborer was sprawled on the seat, his head in the old man's lap. The old man was softly stroking the filthy, matted hair.
As the train pulled away, I sat down on a bench. What I had wanted to do with muscle had been accomplished with kind words. I had just seen aikido tried in combat, and the essence of it was love. I would have to practice the art with an entirely different spirit. It would be a long time before I could speak about the resolution of conflict.
Terry Dobson
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)