HELP—SOMEONE—HELP!

Since their inception, roller coasters have been considered by many to be the mainstay of the modern amusement park. In terms of height, speed and sheer thrill-power, few rides (if any) can compare to the contemporary roller coaster. Indeed, if you have ridden one, you need not be convinced.

I was first introduced to the world of roller coasters when I was seven or eight years old. My dad, hoping I would share his love and admiration for the amusement ride, took me to Sandusky, Ohio, home of the Cedar Point amusement park. As the self proclaimed “roller coaster capital of the world,” Cedar Point boasts some of the tallest and fastest coasters on earth. Needless to say, I was thrilled beyond myself.

My first roller coaster ride was on Cedar Point's classic Blue Streak, which also happened to be my dad's first ride when he was a kid. Built in 1964, the nostalgic looking Blue Streak is a wooden coaster which stands a massive 78 feet, has a maximum speed of 40 mph, and sports a ride time of 1 min., 45 sec. It's obviously nothing to brag about, but I couldn't wait. I remember jumping into the car, fastening my seat belt and impatiently waiting to get to it. My life was about to change.

I can perfectly recall the trains “pulling out of the station.” There was a short stretch of track which we freely passed through until making a left turn at the base of the first hill, which we had to climb. I was ready, the trains had only been moving for 10 sec. and I already loved it. The climbing chains connected with the first train and slowly began pulling us up the massive 78 foot hill. But for some reason I wasn't nearly as excited as I had been. The chains were loud, much louder than I expected, and the incline we were ascending was much steeper than I thought. I remember looking down and noticing how high we were getting. Suddenly it dawned on me, we were going to the top, and then down the other side. To put it mildly—I lost it. I began screaming like a banshee, “stop!” “stop!” “dad I don't want to do this anymore!” “get me off this thing!” “HELP—SOMEONE—HELP!” There was nothing anyone could do, we were strapped in, we were going up, and we were going down. I continued my “freak out” session throughout the remainder of the climb. At the top of the hill there is a little “blue house” that the trains pass through before the descent. I vividly remember passing through that blue house with everything moving in slow motion. As we crested the hill—to my abject horror—the path down was revealed to me. Our car seemed to hang there forever as we began the free fall, and with everything moving in slow motion, I was given plenty of time to dwell on my young and untimely death. Filled with terror, I was about to get my first practical lesson in physics.

“OHHHH NOOOOOO!” could be heard as we gained speed in the decline, which was promptly followed up by a serenade of consistent prepubescent sheiks and screams which continued throughout the next approximate 1 min., 45 sec. I have no idea how many people behind me were hit squarely in the face by my tears, but I would guess quite a few.

To my shock, I remember getting off the Blue Streak thinking “that actually wasn't that bad,” and oddly enough, I continued riding roller coasters that day, with only a few more tearful breakdowns occurring. It seemed the more I rode them, the more I liked them, and the more comfortable I became. Today I'm one of those “nuts” who fancies the very front seat of a roller coaster as “the only way to ride.”

Many people have had similar first experiences with roller coasters. What is unique about the “roller coaster” experience is that it describes the path nearly all people take in overcoming their fears. As explained in Lesson VI: Fear and Action, action conquers fear. In other words, if we do the very thing we are afraid to do, eventually, our fear of doing it will disappear altogether. In my case of being afraid while riding a roller coaster, I was scared to death, but because I was literally “strapped in” I had no choice but to confront my fear, and though I may have screamed and cried at first, I found that my fear wasn't as bad as I thought. This is often the case. We may literally freak ourselves out over doing something, but through the process of doing it (acting despite our fear) we find that our fear mysteriously disperses. It may take more than one “ride” to dispel our fear, but so long as we persist in acting, despite our fear, it will eventually disappear.

Student A and "I Fail at Life"

As a follow up to the previous post Joe, Basketball and Accurate Thought, I would like to make some additional comments.

Over the years I have had the opportunity to teach many teenagers, some of which, at times, have provided me with rather breathtaking examples of inaccurate thought. For instance, say Student A is talking with his or her friends during a break and (for some reason) explains that, while driving a car, it is legal to pass a “slow-poke” on the right-hand side and cross over into the shoulder of the road. Some other students (who perhaps have their drivers license?) quickly reply that, far from being legal, such a maneuver would be, in fact, illegal and quite dangerous. Consensus quickly rises in the room and many other students nod their heads to agree that so-and-so is right and passing on the right-hand side of the road is definitely illegal. Perhaps some even jest that “maybe it is legal—in England!” Laughter ensues and Student A grudgingly accepts that they were wrong.

Now, I would not consider this to be a good example of inaccurate thinking (though, strictly speaking, it would be inaccurate to think that one could legally pass a car on the right-hand side of the road) in and of itself. What often happens next, however, would be considered one of the best examples I can conjure. In situations such as these, where a so-called “Student A” is proven wrong (often by mere popular vote), many students will respond to their mistake by saying something like “oh well, I fail at life.” The first time I heard this I almost stabbed myself with one of my dry-erase markers, I was aghast.

“You what?—you fail at life?—because you thought it was legal to pass on the right-hand side of the road?”

In the loving and forgiving world of logic, there exists a term known as the non sequitur. Latin for “it does not follow,” a non sequitor describes a conclusion which does not follow from its premises. The response outlined above, “I fail at life,” is a non sequitur. In other words it is an entirely unjustified conclusion and yet, sadly, is one of the most common “teen-age” responses to challenges and mistakes. It is also one of the most profound and agonizing examples of inaccurate thought. Those saying such things may as well say something like “triangle x is isosceles, therefore I fail at life” or “the sky is blue, therefore I suck.”

When asked, students quickly point out that “I fail at life” is just a “harmless saying” and when they say it, they really don't mean that they literally “fail at life,” but rather, that they simply made a mistake. At first this may seem like a harmless conclusion, but imagine saying such a thing to yourself every time you made a mistake. Imagine developing the habit of communicating such a thing to yourself. It seems that eventually such a “harmless saying” would begin to take on a life of it's own in our minds, and would soon begin reminding us of our failings and shortcomings until such things dominate our thought life.

It is a known law of psychology that we come to believe that which we repeat to ourselves. Beliefs, as we have learned, determine our perception of reality, govern our actions and limit or unleash our potential. It appears that many teens have been communicating “I fail at life” to themselves for years in their internal dialogs. Imagine, if you can, adopting the belief that you-fail-at-life. How much faith would you have in yourself? How would you act?

Probably a lot like many of our so-called “teens.”

Joe, Basketball and Accurate Thought

Every living person has a voice in their mind. For example, if you just thought “I don't have a voice in my mind,” that is the voice I'm talking about. This “little voice in our head” is often referred to as our internal dialog, and essentially describes how we communicate with ourselves. It is through analyzing our internal dialog that we are able to garner great insight into our beliefs and—perhaps more importantly—our perceptions. This knowledge, in turn, helps us discern the accuracy of our thinking as it pertains to specific things.

Take Joe, for instance, who is currently in his mid 30's and has been an avid fan of basketball since childhood. Whether watching the pro's, college athletes or friends playing sandlot-style, he is fascinated by all aspects of the game. Joe, however, doesn't play, because, as he would say “I'm not any good at it.” When Joe was 10 he moved to a neighborhood that had a basketball court in a nearby park. Though he was new to the area, he finally got up the courage to go play with the other boys, who got together almost every day after school. It was his first time playing, and compared to the others, Joe was terrible. He had always wanted to play basketball, and though he now had the opportunity, he found that he wasn't any good. As a consequence, Joe resigned himself to the life of a spectator, and as he grew older, began following the sport on both collegiate and professional levels, but he never played basketball again.

Those who have read Lesson I: Perception and Belief can immediately draw some basic conclusions from the previous paragraph. First and foremost, the statement “I'm not any good at it” is a belief which Joe has adopted in regard to his personal competence in the game of basketball. We know this is a belief because it governs his actions and determines the fact (reality) that he doesn't play. This particular belief was created as a result of his initial perception that he wasn't any good, which probably originated itself as a statement by Joe in his internal dialog. But was this perception accurate? In other words, did it correspond to reality? It seems that it did because Joe actually was bad at basketball, especially considering it was his first time playing. However, upon closer inspection of his initial perception, and after taking into account a proper understanding of the concept of failure (as seen in Lesson VII: Failure and Adversity), we find that his initial perception was, on the contrary, inaccurate. That is, it did not correspond to reality.

How is this possible? Joe was, in fact—bad—wasn't he? Wouldn't perceiving himself to be good, despite his incompetence, be a form of self-deception? Yes. But the accurate thinker will note that the proper alternative to “I'm not good” is not merely “I am good,” but rather “I'm not good—right now.” The original statement posed by Joe in his internal dialog, “I'm not good” (which is the initial perception that led to the creation of this belief), is posed as a universal. That is to say, it is posed as a conclusive statement—something which cannot be changed—something which simply is. The proper alternative statement “I'm not good—right now,” accounts for his incompetence within a specific time and place, and as such, allows room for improvement. The plain truth is not that Joe is bad at basketball (in a definitive, all-inclusive sense), but rather, he is simply bad at this point in time, he is bad right now. While the initial perception (“I'm not good”) essentially dooms Joe to perpetual incompetence in the game of basketball—as it is an all-inclusive universal statement—the proper alternative statement (“I'm not good—right now”), frees Joe to acknowledge the reality that he is bad without removing his ability to improve over time. Had Joe perceived his inability to be a temporary affair (one which was contingent only upon his ability to improve), he would not have quit and would have most likely continued playing and developing his skills and love for the game. But as it is, Joe has unintentionally ostracized himself from a first person role in the game of basketball, and will, perhaps, never play again for the remainder of his life.

Examine the specifics of your internal dialog. You may be surprised what you find.