Think of Prosperity

A good friend sent this to me today, to pass on to others.  I did not know who Anna Quindlen was until today - I now have the desire to read her books and learn from her.

This is taken from her commencement address to Villanova University, Friday 23 June 2000.  It struck a chord.  It rings so true to my journey of personal development and it should to you also.  Take some time, read and ponder.  Enjoy the journey, do not consume yourself always with the destination.

It’s a great honor for me to be the third member of my family to receive an honorary doctorate from this great university. It’s an honor to follow my great-uncle Jim, who was a gifted physician, and my Uncle Jack, who is a remarkable businessman. Both of them could have told you something important about their professions, about medicine or commerce.

I have no specialized field of interest or expertise, which puts me at a disadvantage, talking to you today. I’m a novelist. My work is human nature. Real life is all I know. Don’t ever confuse the two, your life and your work. The second is only part of the first.

Don’t ever forget what a friend once wrote Senator Paul Tsongas when the senator decided not to run for reelection because he’d been diagnosed with cancer: “No man ever said on his deathbed I wish I had spent more time in the office.” Don’t ever forget the words my father sent me on a postcard last year: “If you win the rat race, you’re still a rat.” Or what John Lennon wrote before he was gunned down in the driveway of the Dakota: “Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans.”

You walk out of here this afternoon with only one thing that no one else has. There will be hundreds of people out there with your same degree; there will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you will be the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your life on a bus, or in a car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your minds, but the life of your heart. Not just your bank account, but your soul.

People don’t talk about the soul very much anymore. It’s so much easier to write a resume than to craft a spirit. But a resume is a cold comfort on a winter night, or when you’re sad, or broke, or lonely, or when you’ve gotten back the test results and they’re not so good.

Here is my resume: I am a good mother to three children. I have tried never to let my profession stand in the way of being a good parent. I no longer consider myself the center of the universe. I show up. I listen, I try to laugh. I am a good friend to my husband. I have tried to make marriage vows mean what they say. I show up. I listen. I try to laugh. I am a good friend to my friends, and they to me. Without them, there would be nothing to say to you today, because I would be a cardboard cutout. But call them on the phone, and I meet them for lunch. I show up. I listen. I try to laugh.

I would be rotten, or at best mediocre at my job, if those other things were not true. You cannot be really first rate at your work if your work is all you are.

So here is what I wanted to tell you today:

Get a life. A real life, not a manic pursuit of the next promotion, the bigger paycheck, the larger house. Do you think you’d care so very much about those things if you blew an aneurysm one afternoon, or found a lump in your breast? Get a life in which you notice the smell of salt water pushing itself on a breeze over Seaside Heights, a life in which you stop and watch how a red-tailed hawk circles over the water gap or the way a baby scowls with concentration when she tries to pick up a cheerio with her thumb and first finger.

Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love, and who love you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Each time you look at your diploma, remember that you are still a student, still learning how to best treasure your connection to others. Pick up the phone. Send an e-mail. Write a letter. Kiss your Mom. Hug your Dad. Get a life in which you are generous.

Look around at the azaleas in the suburban neighborhood where you grew up; look at a full moon hanging silver in a black, black sky on a cold night.

And realize that life is the best thing ever, and that you have no business taking it for granted. Care so deeply about its goodness that you want to spread it around. Once in a while take money you would have spent on beers and give it to charity. Work in a soup kitchen. Be a big brother or sister.

All of you want to do well. But if you do not do good, too, then doing well will never be enough. It is so easy to waste our lives: our days, our hours, our minutes. It is so easy to take for granted the color of the azaleas, the sheen of the limestone on Fifth Avenue, the color of our kid’s eyes, the way the melody in a symphony rises and falls and disappears and rises again. It is so easy to exist instead of live. I learned to live many years ago.

Something really, really bad happened to me, something that changed my life in ways that, if I had my druthers, it would never have been changed at all. And what I learned from it is what, today, seems to be the hardest lesson of all. I learned to love the journey, not the destination. I learned that it is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is the only guarantee you get. I learned to look at all the good in the world and to try to give some of it back because I believed in it completely and utterly. And I tried to do that, in part, by telling others what I had learned. By telling them this:

Consider the lilies of the field. Look at the fuzz on a baby’s ear. Read in the backyard with the sun on your face. Learn to be happy. And think of life as a terminal illness because if you do you will live it with joy and passion, as it ought to be lived.

Well, you can learn all those things, out there, if you get a life, a full life, a professional life, yes, but another life, too, a life of love and laughs and a connection to other human beings. Just keep your eyes and ears open. Here you could learn in the classroom. There the classroom is everywhere. The exam comes at the very end. No man ever said on his deathbed I wish I had spent more time at the office. I found one of my best teachers on the boardwalk at Coney Island maybe 15 years ago. It was December, and I was doing a story about how the homeless survive in the winter months.

He and I sat on the edge of the wooden supports, dangling our feet over the side, and he told me about his schedule; panhandling the boulevard when the summer crowds were gone, sleeping in a church when the temperature went below freezing, hiding from the police amidst the Tilt a Whirl and the Cyclone and some of the other seasonal rides. But he told me that most of the time he stayed on the boardwalk, facing the water, just the way we were sitting now even when it got cold and he had to wear his newspapers after he read them.

And I asked him why. Why didn’t he go to one of the shelters? Why didn’t he check himself into the hospital for detox? And he just stared out at the ocean and said, “Look at the view, young lady. Look at the view.”

And every day, in some little way, I try to do what he said. I try to look at the view. And that’s the last thing I have to tell you today, words of wisdom from a man with not a dime in his pocket, no place to go, nowhere to be. Look at the view. You’ll never be disappointed.

I found this today on MySpace. It fits perfectly with my own journey of personal development and wanted to share with you in the hope that it can and will assist you on your own journey.

We sometimes walk around with our head in the sky or even blind folded and miss the possibility of a new opportunity to change for the better. It is my determination to open my mind to the endless possibilities that unfold in front of me every moment of every day. And to take that to the next step and take action. The capability of taking these possibilities and expanding is in us all. It is our choice whether we choose to take action.

When you read these short lines think back on the day and the possibilities that presented themselves to you and how you reacted. It may be an eye opener, the jolt you need to move forward to take action and accept change with the new possibility!

• Possibility has no colour, form or shape.
• You could walk right past possibility everyday and not notice.
• Once you see possibility, it is really impossible to ignore.
• Possibility has no voice, yet it can move you to act on it’s behalf.
• Possibility has no weight, yet can achieve momentum that is impossible to stop.
• Possibility has no direct value of it’s own, yet is in the heart of everything of worth.
• Possibility motivates your actions and changes your thinking when you see it.
• Possibility is difficult to deny once you know and understand it.
• With your active help and involvement, possibility will bring things you only imagined.
• Do you see POSSIBILITY?
• It is yours when you do.

Until next time ……… don’t forget to open your mind ………..

I am a great fan of Robin Sharma and I constantly open his book The Greatness Guide at any chapter to read for inspiration.

These past few days over the Canadian Thanksgiving (happy belated thanksgiving from Canada!!), change has been on my mind a great deal and how it will effect me. My life is definitely changing. I have taken on new responsibility and have wondered if I am “ready”. One cannot fully prepare themselves for change I have realized, no matter how hard we try. Just be sure that the changes you are making in your life are for the better - why else would you do it?

Robin in his short clips of inspiration brought it together for me.
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A little while back, I wrote how a smile can change your day. I have quoted Andy Andrews, Michael Losier and others when they discuss you are what you attract. David Pollay’s story below tells the same story a different way. In essence don’t let others dump their garbage on you - then you have to get rid of it! Remember, you are in control.

LAW OF THE GARBAGE TRUCK - Let the garbage go by. By David J. Pollay

How often do you let other people’s nonsense change your mood? Do you let a bad driver, rude waiter, curt boss, or an insensitive employee ruin your day? Unless you’re the Terminator, for an instant you’re probably set back on your heels.

However, the mark of a successful person is how quickly she can get back her focus on what’s important.

Sixteen years ago I learned this lesson. I learned it in the back of a New York City taxi cab. Here’s what happened.

I hopped in a taxi, and we took off for Grand Central Station. We were driving in the right lane when all of a sudden, and I mean without warning, a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his brakes, skidded and missed the other car’s back end by just inches.

Here’s what happened next. The driver of the other car, the guy who almost caused a big accident, whipped his head around and he started yelling bad words at us. How do I know? Ask any New Yorker, some words in New York come with a special face.

Now, here’s what blew me away. My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean, he was friendly. So, I said, “Why did you just do that? This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!” And this is when my taxi driver told me what I now call, “The Law of the Garbage Truck.”

Many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it. And if you let them, they’ll dump it on you.

When someone wants to dump on you, don’t take it personally. You just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. You’ll be happy you did. I guarantee it.

So this was it: The “Law of the Garbage Truck.” I started thinking, how often do I let Garbage Trucks run right over me? And how often do I take their garbage and spread it to other people: at work, at home, on the streets? It was that day I said, “I’m not going to do it anymore.”

Well now “I see Garbage Trucks.” I see the load they’re carrying. I see them coming to drop it off.
And like my Taxi Driver, I don’t make it a personal thing; I just smile, wave, wish them well, and I move on.

One of my favorite Football players of all time, Walter Payton, did this every day on the football field. He would jump up as quickly as he hit the ground after being tackled. He never dwelled on a hit. Payton was ready to make the next play his best. Good leaders know they have to be ready for their next meeting. Good parents know that they have to welcome their children home from school with hugs and kisses.

Leaders and parents know that they have to be fully present, and at their best for the people they care about.

The bottom line is that successful people do not let Garbage Trucks take over their day. What about you? What would happen in your life, starting today, if you let more garbage trucks pass you by?

And my taxi driver was right. I am happier.

My guess? You will be happier! Try it - it works.

I receive many emails during the course of the day and the one I open and read first is a message from Bob Proctor called “Insight of the Day”. They vary from a few words of wisdom to short stories gathered from around the world. Today, I and countless others received a short story that puts together all the Seven Decisions from Andy Andrews discussed in my previous posts and the belief in oneself that one day you will obtain your goal.

The story touched my heart. We often get sidetracked as I have done this week. I let circumstances around me control my journey and purpose. The story put me on track again and restored by belief. Once again I was reminded that I control my future through my determined effort and belief. I share this story with you in the hope that it will also touch your heart and you will move forward in your journey with as much determined effort as David.

Record Faith

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard! Hands cupped around his mouth so his words wouldn’t travel to the ears of eavesdroppers, and flipping his head from shoulder to shoulder to ensure no one would be privy to his divulgence, David repeated his whispered announcement, “I have $500 saved.”

This wouldn’t be such a shock if it weren’t for the fact that David is a mentally challenged adult. Where on earth did he get that kind of money? He pulled me aside and answered my unspoken question, so excited that his words tumbled pell mell of his lips, faster and faster until I could barely keep up with his stream of consciousness. Eventually I got the gist of his monologue.

When he was a little boy he had made weekly trips with his mother to a local department store. He was mesmerized by the window displays and eagerly stood with his nose pressed against the glass until his breath clouded his view. Then came the display which would change his and many other lives 30 years later. It was a Victor Five Victrola, the kind that needed to be wound by hand before placing the needle on the record, the machine which bore the symbol of a black and white dog, ear cocked to its side. Not missing a beat, he expounded on a history lesson about Columbia Records and their music machines, information gleaned from his trips to the library. There was nothing he didn’t know about that golden age of music.

His mother died, and he eventually was able to live independently, supervised by an agency. It was through the agency that he obtained work, cleaning toilets of public facilities five nights a week. Every week he squirreled away his paycheck, never forgetting the Victrola. He was on a mission to find and buy a phonograph like the one he had once admired through plate glass.

Visibly exhausted from revealing his secret, David paused long enough to pull out a tattered Polaroid photo from his back pocket. He lovingly waved it in front of my eyes and proclaimed, “There it is! Victor Five!” He had found the object of his desire exhibited at a museum and had been faithfully visiting it every chance he could get. The colored piece of paper was a constant reminder of his goal.

I tucked away his confession into the back of my mind, only to dust it off when I wandered into one of my favorite antique shops a few months later. In the back of the shop, tacked in the corner of a bulletin board over the owner’s desk, was a Polaroid picture just like the one David had shown me. I hastily inquired as to why it was there and unknowingly opened the door to a personal witnessing of the triumph of the human spirit.

David had gone to every antique shop in the city and had left a picture of his beloved Victrola with each of the shopkeepers. If any one of them was to come across a Victor Five, he wanted to buy it. Rain or shine, the owner at Century Antiques counted on David to stop at his Waterbury store at least twice a month to check on the success of his quest. He hadn’t put any effort into looking because he honestly didn’t think David had the money for such an expensive piece. After all, David was, well, not “like us.” Didn’t he know that it was next to impossible to find that particular antique? But, being a kindhearted soul, the dealer had taken a liking to David and posted his Polaroid.

I commanded him to take the mission seriously. If David was short the required amount for the purchase, I knew it wouldn’t be impossible to find enough people to chip in to make up the difference. There was a core group of people in our church who were fond of him and would dig into their pockets to help him reach his goal.

It took some time, but the antique shop came through with flying colors. For months, the owner’s son, Chip, had made phone call after phone call in the tri-state area and eventually struck it rich. A Victor Five had been found! He personally drove to the source, brought the machine back to his shop, and called me with the news. “I can’t believe it. It’s a miracle that I found one in such beautiful shape, or that I found one at all!”

The cost to David? Not a nickel more than what it had cost the dealer.

The profit for the dealer? The pure joy of seeing David when he flung open the door to the shop, stopping speechless in front of the phonograph, clapping his hands together in prayer, and looking up to heaven and saying, “Thank you, thank you for my Victor Five.”

So, if you drive down the street past David’s apartment, you will most probably hear music. David will be playing his Victrola, and the world will be a little nicer.

Irene Budzynski

Irene Budzynski is a registered nurse in New England whose writing reflects the impact of special people in her personal and professional life. Her goal is to share the beauty of the quiet heroes among us whose names never appear in newspaper headlines. Irene can be contacted at: irene_budd@yahoo.com