What Unsuccessful People Do Differently

It's autumn here.

How do I do it?  end up looking at these articles on 7 Things Successful People Do Different From You Lazy Slobs?  In any case, here's one smelling up my inbox with sentences like this:

Successful people have a drive, a greediness, a push to get something done you could even call self-centered.

As you know, in my religion greed is considered a poison.  We don't cultivate it. On the personal side, I've known a few entrepreneurs, and I think the description is fair.  They're always alert for a way to make money.  In a particularly cool move, one of them once let us pick up the check for dinner, but asked for the receipt so he could write it off on his taxes.  I am not making that up.

A little further on I get this (I'm rewriting but retaining the essence):

Less successful people let anything drift into their environments—they don't control their lives. The average person only writes down their goals once a year. 

I note here that "less successful people" are "average."  Oh my.  And only make big resolutions once a year.  I, on the other hand, have resolved today to take a shower.  I did resolve to get a haircut, but Kenneth isn't in on Tuesdays. So I tried to schedule a haircut with him so tomorrow doesn't drift like this, but it's not like that - he takes his book home with him.  So I drifted into the environment of no haircut today. Blown around like a fallen leaf.  Lest I get self-critical about this,

More autumn.

I reframed it:  I am flexible.  I see the big picture in a time of the breaking of nations. And hey, what's the hurry?

What struck me most about the article was the difference between the self-centered vows of the Highly Successful and the vows handwritten on a card propped on the windowsill over my kitchen sink.  They are a sort of mantra, a variation on lovingkindness meditation, from Kristin Neff's book, Self-Compassion, which I mentioned recently:

May I be safe.
May I be peaceful.
May I be kind to myself.
May I accept myself as I am.

Such small goals,  in the Eastern tradition of humility.  Yet how large for all those who were abused or neglected or taught always to put others first and ignore their own needs.  And by the way, the vow to be safe kept me from recklessly scheduling a haircut with some unknown person.  Been there.

The writer on Success did say something I agreed with:

Every day presents an opportunity to set and reach goals regardless of how large or small they are.

Recently I read that achieving any goal gives us a good little hit of feel-good chemicals. A kind of starburst in the old neurochemistry.  Small achievements are something I pay attention to, since I am prone to letting myself drift, as the Ambition writer would say, into the environment of a merciless depression, and that doesn't get you anywhere.  Set a small enough goal, like Take a shower.  Do it.  Take a moment to pat your own back.  If you are lucky, you can actually reach over your shoulder and do that, which will make you smile.

That's all I know today.  Please enjoy your drifting.

The Commitments You Don't Keep

You probably think the commitments to others are the really important ones: making the dentist appointment on time, going to someone's birthday dinner, going to work every day, being faithful to the Wun you said you'd be faithful to (trying to be modern here and not just say "your spouse").  I'm not saying they aren't.  But I'm not sure how much they need to be talked about, because we all tend to take them seriously.

The Wun we don't take seriously is ourself.  Oh, you know where I'm going with this.  But before I go on, really, I need to slow down this flow of word and thought and . . . you know where I'm going with this . . . do my practice.

Part of my practice these days is easy photography, catching texture or color or light, or Tashi in her infinite beautiful poses.  My new Droid has been a great help with this - a basic point-and-shoot that I always have with me.  I bought the book Contemplative Photography to encourage me to do this, and it has worked.  I haven't read it all the way through or done the exercises, exactly - but it helped me along with this.

So, not too strict, not too loose, that's right effort.  And if you just won't do something, like meditate every day, maybe you need to sit down and really think about it.  Maybe it's not the practice for you.  Maybe the commitment came from the mother in your head, and maybe the child in you is doing a healthy rebellion.  And there are a dozen or a thousand other reasons we don't take time for ourself, none of them good reasons.  Not one.

String too short to save

Sometimes I make grand vows, though recently I just make them for this day. My day is often divided in two parts by an afternoon nap or at least restorative yoga (lying in a shambles on a yoga mat in my study with a lavender-scented eyepad), so I could just make my vows for half a day. Sometimes I spontaneously make a little vow, having seen myself do something I don't like. My vows often have to do with speech: "I will count to three before I speak. No, five." Sometimes I vow "It's Sunday - I get a day off." I am pretty good at keeping that one. Other times I vow not to try so hard. I usually make that vow very energetically. Lately, beyond vows, I am devoted to keeping my stress low. This one comes right from the center, that part that wants to stay alive. Avoiding stress. That's a funny thing to vow, if you think about it; animals don't have to vow that.
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There is only one reason we spell thought the way we do, custom. And lots of good reason to shorten it to "thot," which I do in my journal. I have my word processor trained to automatically spell it right. I mean, the regular way. It also knows how to spell wierd and protein. Weird, I mean. Protien. Protein.
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Today I graduated from my physical therapy and have NO FOLLOWUP APPOINTMENT with the musculo-skeletal (sports) doc, who said he's never seen my feet and ankles looking this good. Now I have to grrraaadually and sloooowwly accustom myself to my new semi-flexible orthotics, being more careful than I was last time. They did not give me balloons. One little balloon wouldn't hurt them.
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This morning from my kitchen window I could see in reflected sunlight a sort of bouquet formed by my red potted geranium, doing its last valiant bloom; the new orange pansy I bought, which is supposed to "rebound" in spring (as I myself do, too); and the last delicate white blooms on a hosta. I did like that reflection of the eastern light from the kitchen window, giving the plants a lovely portrait glow.
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What would make a pretty picture tonight? Oh, a rag rug from Vintage Chica (see image). Because I have signed up to take weaving, in hopes of making a ragged authentic rug, or something, the kind of using-up-every-last-scrap thing I have always admired.

And what I remember someone always used to say about this time,
Good night,
sleep tight.
Don't let the bedbugs bite.
. . . thus fostering in me at an early age a love of poetry.