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.

Skeletons! In The Closet

It's time for a proverbial “bust” on myself.

What follows is an account of myself when I was happily moving about between the mature and wise ages of thirteen and sixteen. Though my wife is convinced that I'm perfect (I'm convinced I went a tad overboard selling myself to her, in fact, let's hope she doesn't read this article), I assure you, as you will soon see, I am most definitely not.

Shall we begin?

When I was an early teen I was ever-so-slightly prone to arguing with people. I had recently outgrown the hollow sham of physical fighting, and was ready to try my hand in, what I considered to be a more worthy pursuit. Now, believing that brains were far more worthwhile than brawn, I began my transition by saying things like “you may be stronger than me but you're still stupid!” I would randomly inject myself into conversations, not because I had anything useful to say, but rather to simply show my mental superiority. For example, if you said something, regardless if I felt it was it was true or not, there would be a good chance that I would attempt to trump up some strange example which would prove what a moron you were. Why? It wasn't because you were necessarily wrong, but rather, because I felt it was my job, being the most brilliant person who ever lived, to show you just how brilliant I was. Wouldn't you have loved to have been my friend?

Over the years I developed some techniques which proved quite useful, had I made a mistake in my reasoning (which, mind you, was not often). I can recall a time when I was arguing with this kid about how to properly “gear a bike for maximum speed” or something (don't ask). I perceived him to be getting the better of the argument, and thus, in a state of panic, pulled out one of my new defensive methods. This particular technique, involved stringing together a series fabricated words, which did not exist, and using them as if I knew exactly what I was talking about. My opponent, would more often than not, be blown away in confusion, and simply throw in their cards, it was sheer brilliance. They had no idea what I said (little did they know I had pulled it out of thin air), and I liked to think (at the time) that they suddenly realized I was beyond them in every respect and they had better just stop talking. To bring back the example with gearing the bike, I said something like “but once you see that the circulators motion inertializor mechanisms reduce the effigerity energy of the elaborativeitron forward motion of the rear derailleur, you'll see that it's just not possible.” I distinctly remember following this up with saying, rather disdainfully, “do you even understand what I just said to you?” To which he replied, “no, I guess you're right though.” BOOM!—SCORE!—WA-BAM! I had it all figured out.

Another technique I developed (which was much more desperate, I admit) was simply accusing my opponents of being complete idiots. In other words, if I was losing an argument, I would quickly respond by saying something along the lines of “listen, I don't think your pee-wee mind can even remotely comprehend what I'm trying to explain to you, so I'm just not going to talk to you anymore.” Mind you, I said this with the utmost arrogance, essentially adopting the attitude that I had been gracious enough to even speak to them, let alone tolerate their idiotic opinions. Unfortunately, most kids, especially at the age of fourteen or fifteen, have little or no confidence in themselves, and this technique would often end the conversation outright, with me, of course, feeling the exhilaration of mercilessly slaying yet another unworthy adversary. I was like Genghis Khan, everywhere I went there were piles of bodies that I had soundly defeated on the battlefield of ideas.

There was another time when I got into an argument with my father. I do apologize, as I cannot to save my life remember the topic of the altercation, but I do remember I was sixteen and was in the car with both my parents. At any rate, after a somewhat heated back and forth, my dad simply stopped talking and several minutes later, began talking to my mom, as if nothing had happened. I was at the height of my mental endeavors, overflowing with pride, as I believed I had swiftly and soundly whooped my own father into silence. (Surely it must have been rather humiliating to be routed so easily by one's son?) I clearly remember my subsequent thoughts being “I actually know everything.” I literally thought that if anyone has a question about anything, they should simply ask me. All I had to do was think, and the stream of truth would flow forth from my lips. I had apparently reached a point, after defeating countless foes and now conquering my own father, where I thought I had entered some kind of “nirvana of wisdom.” Looking back, I think my dad stopped talking because he was simply sick of arguing with his young hard-nosed, moron-of-a-child. Needless to say, “I actually know everything” was a belief which I proudly donned, until it was subsequently beaten out of me through various life mistakes and random occasions of making a complete fool out of myself.

This brings me to my point.

What we have here is a vivid illustration of one of the most self-deceived people on the face of the earth. I was not brilliant by any stretch of the imagination. I liked to convince myself that I was, but I was far too self-deceived to even realize my convictions were based on absolutely nothing (especially considering I cheated myself into victory after victory, none of which were even genuine). Fortunately I was able to get a good taste of deceiving myself at a reasonably young age. Getting kicked in the face by life will do that to you, and as luck would have it, I had enough sense left to put two and two together. Some say that adults are considerably more self-deceived than the youth, for while the youth are simply ignorant, adults are willingly ignorant. While I agree with this for the most part, it doesn't have to be that way. Truly, the unexamined life is not worth living.

Why Is There 12?

While The Catalyst of Confidence is built around ten core lessons, which culminate in an eleventh, the acute reader will notice that there is also a twelfth, and no doubt wonder why it exists, especially considering that the eleventh lesson draws upon the functional understanding of the previous ten. In a sense, the twelfth and final lesson seems to stand out from the rest of the book, like a kind of black sheep, and though it adds to the consummation found in the eleventh, it is not merely a stand alone lesson, but rather, a more complex interpretation of the first. In other words, Lesson XII: Possibility and Impossibility, is simply a further explanation of Lesson I: Perception and Belief.

Our beliefs are curious things. It seems that, regardless of what we do or for what purpose, our actions can ultimately be traced back to a belief about something, while that specific belief can often be traced to a specific perception regarding a specific experience, which can ultimately be reduced to information, and from all this our actions and potential actions spring. (It is worth noting that throughout this entire process we have the freedom to choose how we perceive the information we associate with, and as such, are not necessarily reacting blindly to our environments.)

We find in Lesson XII: Possibility and Impossibility, that those who have accomplished the so-called impossible, believed that the “impossible” was possible. We find in our own lives that our ability to accomplish the things we desire, to solve problems, build relationships, or communicate effectively, is determined by what we believe. Likewise, the impossibility or possibility of a given end is also largely determined by and dependent on what we believe. Believe you can solve a problem and you'll find a way. Believe you can't and you won't bother trying.

As Certain As π

The following quotation appears in the Selected Quotes section at the end of Lesson V: Action and Habit:

“Excellence is an art won by training and habituation. We do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but we rather have those because we have acted rightly.”

-Aristotle

Piggybacking my previous post The Specter of Discipline, I would like to briefly discuss the simplicity of this quote. To avoid any confusion, I have used the word simple to illustrate not baseness or thoughtlessness, but, on the contrary, brilliance.

Aristotle is essentially saying that excellence is the direct result of right action. Within the context of the previous post, right action would be defined as doing what we have committed ourselves to do. i.e., being consistent in our decisions and actions. The end of our efforts being the attainment of discipline.

As we know (and Aristotle as well, no doubt), all actions seek to perpetuate themselves through the law of habit. Thus, in terms of our objective (discipline) we can easily reformulate Aristotle's immortal words as: Discipline is an art won by training and habituation. We do not act rightly because we have discipline, but we rather have discipline because we have acted rightly.

Right action, in this case, the consistent doing of that which has been decided, will invariably lead to the attainment of discipline. It is as certain as π.

The Specter of Discipline

It seems few things haunt the masses of mankind more than discipline.

Popularly regarded as rather unpleasant and menacing, discipline is a concept which hangs over the heads of many like a ghost. This is, of course, due to the fact that many people tend to view discipline as something they lack rather than positively possess.

When people say something like “I have no discipline,” what they mean is they tend to not follow through with many of their decisions (there are also those who are not conscious of the fact they do such things). Ultimately, a lack of discipline is characterized by an inconsistency between one's decisions and actions. For instance, say I was going out to eat with my wife and had resolved to spend no more than $50 on the meal. But, upon seeing the top-shelf wine selection featured by the restaurant, quickly change my mind, and opt to relinquish my limit. Essentially, I have reneged on my original decision to spend no more than $50. Now, let me emphasize that this is not necessarily much of a problem—in itself—when isolated in the moment (assuming of course I have the money to spend). The problem occurs when I develop the habit of haphazardly acting other-than that which I have decided. Thus I may find myself, perhaps in the not-to-distant future, saying things like “I always spend more than I should, I'm just not disciplined.”

Most people fail to realize that both discipline and indiscipline (the lack thereof) are habits. While discipline is the habit of doing what you commit (decide) to do, indiscipline is the habit of doing other-than what you commit (decide) to do. As described in Lesson V: Action and Habit, all habits result from consistent actions. Hence, those who have developed the habit of discipline (the habit of doing what they commit to do) have done so because they have consistently done what they have committed themselves to do. Whereas those who have developed the habit of indiscipline have done so because they have consistently done other-than what they have committed themselves to do. Indiscipline is developed by not adhering to one's decisions, while discipline is developed by simply following through with them. In short, if you fall under the “not disciplined” banner you have simply developed the habit of indiscipline.

How does one overcome such a habit?

If you struggle with discipline there are many things you can do to develop it. The simple answer is changing your actions (easier said than done, I know). As mentioned above, if you are not a disciplined person it is because you have developed the habit of indiscipline, which may only be replaced by developing the habit of discipline. In other words, you must begin to consciously do what you decide to do. The following tips may be helpful:

• Develop awareness of your decisions: Every day we make hundreds (perhaps thousands) of decisions. Some are small, like brushing your teeth. Others are larger, like going to the gym. Begin to pay attention to your decision making process. Many people literally make most of their decisions unconsciously, that is, with no conscious thought. Your goal is to begin consciously making your decisions and to develop an in-the-moment awareness of when you make them.

• Start with small things: Remember, your ultimate goal is to develop the habit of doing what you decide to do. You may want to lose 100 pounds, but if you've developed the habit of indiscipline, your goal should first be to develop discipline. The best way to do this is to start with small things. Consciously decide to get dressed in the morning. Decide to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner. Decide to go to the bathroom. Decide to take out the trash. This alone will affect you tremendously. Not only will you begin to develop the habit of doing the things you have decided (regardless how small), you will also gain an increased awareness of your decision making process, and will begin to feel more comfortable deciding to do bigger and bigger things. This leads us to our next tip:

• Only decide to do something if you are absolutely sure you will do it: Do not commit yourself to doing anything if you are unsure about your following through with it. As you begin to consciously decide to act on bigger and bigger decisions, you may find yourself uncertain as to whether or not you will follow through. It is better to decide not to do something, than to not do something you have decided.

The key to developing discipline is being consistent in our decisions and actions. Only then may we truly develop the habit of discipline. When we have developed the awareness of our decisions we can begin deciding about the small things in life. The small choices we make and act upon invariably lead to larger and larger ones, until over time, we have developed the habit of doing what we decide to do in all areas of our life.