Posts Tagged ‘Self-Improvement’

Recently I had a long conversation with one of my closest far-away friends and was reminded of an incident a few years ago. We were having coffee with a group of acquaintances and began discussing a medical issue. I’d researched the topic and was confident in the data. She was equally confident in the anecdotal information she’d read. Soon we were in a heated disagreement that finally ended with a mutual decision to drop it!

If our companions were shocked by our passionate head-butting, it didn’t compare to their expressions when she nonchalantly asked, “Where do you want to go for lunch?” and I casually replied, “Oh, anywhere you’d like.” They still looked dumbstruck as we drove off laughing like we’d never exchanged a cross word.

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I’m standing at the counter in the doctor’s office, waiting to schedule my next checkup, when a stranger approaches and makes a snarky crack because I’m wearing a long-sleeve cotton t-shirt in the summer.

Now this woman could be Tommy Boy’s lost twin—not that there’s anything wrong with resembling Chris Farley. But she has a near-platinum rounded hair bob and is wearing solid smiley-face yellow from her collar to the cuff of her Capri pants. Perhaps not the wisest wardrobe choice for a female Farley.

So this giant lemon drop has strolled up to me, completely unsolicited, and—with all the condescension of Miss Piggy at her diva best—announced that I look ridiculous for wearing long sleeves. As we say in the American South, some people just need to be slapped. But that’s an expression, not rational problem-solving advice. Suppressing the urge to comment on being momentarily blinded by her neon presence, I simply say, “I’m comfortable,” and turn to the desk clerk.  

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Ever feel as though you have no control over things that happen in your life?

Bet that’s how many felt on a December morning in 1892 when fog, ferryboats, and a fainting woman “formed a conspiracy that led to disaster”—as the New York Times put it. The disaster was a New Jersey train collision. Railway workers later spoke of it as “special dispensation from aloft”—what we’d call “an act of God.” But a closer look reveals a lot of human fingerprints.

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All it took for a Blizzard to start a firestorm was the suggestion that people be themselves. Apparently a lot of us have decided we’d rather be someone else … someone whose behavior is not our responsibility.

People claim to be increasingly bothered by rudeness. Nearly 75 percent of Americans responding to a recent online survey, conducted for communications and public affairs firm Powell Tate, said poor behavior has gotten worse in recent years. But when Blizzard Entertainment tried to curb some of that incivility by requiring participants in its “StarCraft II” and “World of Warcraft” forums to use their real names, the company received a blistering response. The idea was shelved within a week.

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Penn Jillette had a headache. A raging headache. But he couldn’t figure out why.

The magician/comedian, famous for his work with “silent” partner Teller, explained to Rolling Stone magazine that he’d studied the physics before introducing the trick—and was convinced smashing a concrete block on his head with a sledgehammer would have no ill effects. So he kept doing it despite the pain. “I did a lot of shows before I realized I was just hitting myself in the head with a hammer!”

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Ever get caught up in a situation so off-the-wall nuts that your mind discombobulates, making you incapable of uttering coherent sounds? When that happened to me recently, the first person I saw was my friend, Diane. Fortunately, with friends who understand you that well, words aren’t necessary. “I know,” she said, grabbing me for a quick hug, “Now go, go.”

That registered. Seconds later I was in the parking lot, my hands shaking so that I couldn’t find my clump of keys in a purse pocket no more than four inches wide and deep. Oblivious to the lightly falling rain, I dropped my unopened umbrella and everything else on the wet grass, clawed out my keys, then grabbed my soggy belongings and slung them across the driver’s seat at the passenger door. Finally I was off.

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Dwight Wymer had something important to say. But his students simply would not pay attention. So he thumbed through magazine articles by colleagues looking for motivational tips, discovered what seemed an excellent suggestion, and purchased the necessary equipment. The pastor was ready that summer Monday in 1981 when the seven- and eight-year-old boys arrived to start Vacation Bible School at Immanuel Baptist Church in Grand Rapids, Mich.

When the children became distracted, Wymer simply directed them to take their place on his newly constructed “electric stool.” He admonished, “God warns us—if we can learn to listen” … then he zapped the unsuspecting kids with an electric shock. Following the article’s instructions, he’d lined the stool with wire screens, hooked those to a six-volt battery and a transformer coil, and connected the contraption to a push-button switch.

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Most of us would like to make … adjustments. We want to lose weight, get healthier, spend more time with our families, grow in our faith, explore new talents, give back to the community. But somehow we’re too busy, have too many responsibilities, are too set in our ways. Hey, it’s tough to change.

Bet Jeffrey Henderson felt that way, too.

The young African American grew up in what was then called South Central—a Los Angeles community synonymous with poverty, crime, drugs, and gangs. At the age when average middle-American kids were transitioning from JV to varsity sports, he was selling crack on street corners. And by 19, he was earning $35,000 a week.

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In the film classic The Big Chill, a group of former college classmates try to understand why a member of their clique would end his life. One asks his new girlfriend if it’s true that he was unhappy. “I don’t know,” she answers. “I haven’t met that many happy people in my life, how do they act?”

Now, thanks to a new study dubbed “the first representative sample of planet Earth,” we know that regardless of gender, age, or cultural background, happy people act like they’re content with their … bank accounts?

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Yikes! Just caught a glimpse of my reflection in the bathroom mirror. This would not be a good day to ask “Who’s the fairest of them all?” The mirror would roar with laughter … then I’d throw something at it and wind up with seven years’ bad luck.

Beauty has never been one of my preoccupations, but it sparked an interesting discussion a couple of nights ago when my mother and I drifted into conversation about my friend, Marvene. Several years ago, Marvene married a family friend I’d known since junior high—one of my brother’s college roommates. Time passed, we became close, and one day I realized: My goodness, that girl is beautiful! Now, if Marvene’s having a bad day and doesn’t want to ask the mirror who’s fairest of them all, she knows she can call me for positive reinforcement.

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