All too many people underestimate the power of positive thinking. Some of the most successful people in the world swear by the use of positive thinking.
Nothing is impossible if you stay inspired and keep a positive attitude while striving to attain your goals. Having positive thoughts will not only help with your success but it will also make you happier and you will find more friends as well as business connections. Positive thinking is an important piece in your puzzle of success.
Delve into Dedication One of the most important success secrets is that a person must be dedicated if they really want to achieve their goals. People with lackadaisical attitudes have a minimal chance at becoming a success in life, be it in their personal lives or professional lives. To succeed, you must be one hundred percent dedicated to making your life better.
With true dedication, anything is possible. Believe in Yourself It is essential that you believe in yourself and believe that you can have the success that you desire. The truth is that if you can't believe in yourself, no one else will believe in you. In order to gain the self confidence that you need to be successful, you should read as many inspirational sayings as you can find. These motivational quotes will help you stay on track and improve your self esteem as well. You can find inspiring quotes on a variety of websites. Just be sure that you are dealing with a reputable success secrets website before you sign up for a membership.
Be Prepared for Bumps The road to success is paved with the bodies of those who gave up on their dreams. That's why the road is so bumpy. You need to be prepared for setbacks but you must stay inspired. When you hit a bump in the road, you will need to reevaluate your goal setting strategies. Without reasonable and viable goal setting, you are setting yourself up for failure.
You should find some good inspirational sayings that are about setting goals, both short term and long term ones. This should help you to ensure that your personal goals are attainable. Reach for the Stars You should reach for the stars and expect to grab them, pull them out of the sky and put them in your pocket. All of your hopes and dreams can come true if you follow the right strategies and keep reading inspirational messages. Your wildest dreams are not out of your reach. Each time that you find yourself achieving one of your small milestones, you will need to celebrate your achievement and set a new stepping stone on your road to success.
Success secret: A celebration is essential to keeping yourself inspired. You could go out to a nice dinner, splurge with a manicure or buy that business suit that you've been wanting for a while. The way you celebrate doesn't matter; the main thing is that you reward yourself for your hard work, dedication and success in achieving the small goal. Life is all about change. Nothing ever stays the same for very long. You must learn to recognize the changes and alter your strategy for success in gain it. Unfortunately, the road to success is filled with twists, turns and stop lights. So long as you are willing to think positively and adapt to any situation, you are bound to climb every mountain that you come across.
Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/7209108
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Wednesday, 8 May 2013
Sunday, 5 May 2013
Blinded By A Bear: How My Story Can Help Others by Dan Bigley
The man I once was died in an instant just below Alaska's Russian River Campground the night of July 14, 2003. The backcountry-wandering, ski-bumming, laid-back 25-year-old in me was killed when a grizzly bear pinned me to the ground, cocked its head sideways, opened its jaws and clamped down hard across my face.
Eggshells crunching. Then a hideous POP. Suspended in oscillating blue light, my long-dead grandfather nodded at me in the distance. I started to go to him.
As I lay dying, somehow it occurred to me that I had a choice. I slowly turned back. Rather than take the easy way out, I decided to fight for my life with every ounce of strength that hadn't yet drained out of my body. I promised myself that if I fought and lived, I would never look back and regret it.
That midsummer day had started with such promise. It was gloriously warm and sunny, the red salmon were running, I was going fishing with a buddy and I was in love.
I was living at the time in Girdwood, a little ski town with a backdrop of glaciers, peaks and sea. I had a great job taking troubled kids on outdoor outings. Just the week before, I had bought a cabin high in the Chugach Mountains with a view of Denali and hiking and skiing out my front door. After a year of having a crush on an incredible woman named Amber, we had finally started a relationship -- the night before the bear.
I'd thought this many times before, but on that day in particular, as I headed down the Kenai Peninsula for a day of salmon fishing, I felt the universe was looking after me.
For that day to end as it did was beyond comprehension.
The surgeon rousted from bed the night of my mauling, Dr. James Kallman, had no idea what he was in for as he fumbled for the pager on his bedside table. When he called in to Providence hospital, the emergency room doctor was so rattled she couldn't find words to describe my injuries.
"It's terrible, just horrible," she told him. "Please, we just need you to come."
"Upper nose, eyes, forehead anatomy unrecognizable," is how the medevac report put it.
Once Dr. Kallman saw my CT scans, then saw for himself the mess the bear had made of my face, he understood. Among my cluster bomb of injuries, my brain was exposed to the world. Although he was amazed I was still alive, chances were high that I would die of infection. If I did somehow pull through, there was no question I would be blind.
The universe is still looking out for me because I am alive today. Obviously. But not just alive, I am thriving.
Before the bear, I was an adventure-seeking missile. Hike here, climb there, fish at every opportunity. That last part hasn't changed; I still fish every chance I get. But there's nothing like having your face in the jaws of a bear to rearrange your priorities.
I climb different kinds of mountains now. I have a master's degree in social work, and a challenging and fulfilling job working with troubled children and families at Denali Family Services. In seven years, I have gone from clinician to clinical director of this nonprofit social service agency. I'll be teaching a master's level class at the University of Alaska-Anchorage in the fall. And, I teamed up with veteran Alaskan writer Debra McKinney to tell my story in the newly released book, Beyond the Bear: How I Learned to Live and Love again After Being Blinded by a Bear, published by Globe Pequot/Lyons Press. My hope is that my story will help others navigate through tragedies of their own.
Oh, and remember the girl I was in love with the night before the bear? Several months into my recovery, she and I fell in love all over again. We're now married and have two beautiful children.
"Daddy, are you blind?" my daughter asked me when she was 3.
"Yep, I'm blind."
"Are you happy?"
"Yep, I'm happy."
She paused a moment, then asked: "So you're blind AND you're happy?"
I am. To sum up the last 10 years in one sentence: The bigger my life, the smaller my disability.
I went through hell, there's no denying that. The pain, the confusion, the doubts, the nightmares, the sense of loss that ached to the bone. But over time I adapted to life in the dark. I became determined not to be just a survivor, but to live fully.
I wouldn't have made it this far without a caring community and the kindness of strangers. Like the man from Talkeetna who offered me one of his eyes. (He didn't know that with both optic nerves severed by the bear's "death blow," I had been blinded instantly and permanently.) I would never have made it this far without the technical and emotional support it took to get me through graduate school. I never would have made it this far without love.
I felt that love in the blue place when I was dying, and it gave me the strength I needed to fight for my life. I felt it when I was first told I was blind and it gave me the courage of acceptance. I have felt it every day since.
I choose on a daily basis to feel grateful. I am grateful to have seen the world for the first 25 years of my life. I am grateful for the things I still can do, and don't waste time dwelling on all I've lost. So I can't go white-water kayaking or run like a crazy person down a steep mountain trail like I used to. But I have a fulfilling career, a family I cherish and a community that's got my back. So I can't read storybooks to my kids at bedtime, but they can read them to me. And I can go hiking, camping, fishing and play hide-and-seek, even though I always lose.
Nearly 10 years after the bear, I still don't take a single day for granted. Every breath is a gift. The bear that took my eyes was the last thing I ever saw, but that bear gave me a new way to see.
Eggshells crunching. Then a hideous POP. Suspended in oscillating blue light, my long-dead grandfather nodded at me in the distance. I started to go to him.
As I lay dying, somehow it occurred to me that I had a choice. I slowly turned back. Rather than take the easy way out, I decided to fight for my life with every ounce of strength that hadn't yet drained out of my body. I promised myself that if I fought and lived, I would never look back and regret it.
That midsummer day had started with such promise. It was gloriously warm and sunny, the red salmon were running, I was going fishing with a buddy and I was in love.
I was living at the time in Girdwood, a little ski town with a backdrop of glaciers, peaks and sea. I had a great job taking troubled kids on outdoor outings. Just the week before, I had bought a cabin high in the Chugach Mountains with a view of Denali and hiking and skiing out my front door. After a year of having a crush on an incredible woman named Amber, we had finally started a relationship -- the night before the bear.
I'd thought this many times before, but on that day in particular, as I headed down the Kenai Peninsula for a day of salmon fishing, I felt the universe was looking after me.
For that day to end as it did was beyond comprehension.
The surgeon rousted from bed the night of my mauling, Dr. James Kallman, had no idea what he was in for as he fumbled for the pager on his bedside table. When he called in to Providence hospital, the emergency room doctor was so rattled she couldn't find words to describe my injuries.
"It's terrible, just horrible," she told him. "Please, we just need you to come."
"Upper nose, eyes, forehead anatomy unrecognizable," is how the medevac report put it.
Once Dr. Kallman saw my CT scans, then saw for himself the mess the bear had made of my face, he understood. Among my cluster bomb of injuries, my brain was exposed to the world. Although he was amazed I was still alive, chances were high that I would die of infection. If I did somehow pull through, there was no question I would be blind.
The universe is still looking out for me because I am alive today. Obviously. But not just alive, I am thriving.
Before the bear, I was an adventure-seeking missile. Hike here, climb there, fish at every opportunity. That last part hasn't changed; I still fish every chance I get. But there's nothing like having your face in the jaws of a bear to rearrange your priorities.
I climb different kinds of mountains now. I have a master's degree in social work, and a challenging and fulfilling job working with troubled children and families at Denali Family Services. In seven years, I have gone from clinician to clinical director of this nonprofit social service agency. I'll be teaching a master's level class at the University of Alaska-Anchorage in the fall. And, I teamed up with veteran Alaskan writer Debra McKinney to tell my story in the newly released book, Beyond the Bear: How I Learned to Live and Love again After Being Blinded by a Bear, published by Globe Pequot/Lyons Press. My hope is that my story will help others navigate through tragedies of their own.
Oh, and remember the girl I was in love with the night before the bear? Several months into my recovery, she and I fell in love all over again. We're now married and have two beautiful children.
"Daddy, are you blind?" my daughter asked me when she was 3.
"Yep, I'm blind."
"Are you happy?"
"Yep, I'm happy."
She paused a moment, then asked: "So you're blind AND you're happy?"
I am. To sum up the last 10 years in one sentence: The bigger my life, the smaller my disability.
I went through hell, there's no denying that. The pain, the confusion, the doubts, the nightmares, the sense of loss that ached to the bone. But over time I adapted to life in the dark. I became determined not to be just a survivor, but to live fully.
I wouldn't have made it this far without a caring community and the kindness of strangers. Like the man from Talkeetna who offered me one of his eyes. (He didn't know that with both optic nerves severed by the bear's "death blow," I had been blinded instantly and permanently.) I would never have made it this far without the technical and emotional support it took to get me through graduate school. I never would have made it this far without love.
I felt that love in the blue place when I was dying, and it gave me the strength I needed to fight for my life. I felt it when I was first told I was blind and it gave me the courage of acceptance. I have felt it every day since.
I choose on a daily basis to feel grateful. I am grateful to have seen the world for the first 25 years of my life. I am grateful for the things I still can do, and don't waste time dwelling on all I've lost. So I can't go white-water kayaking or run like a crazy person down a steep mountain trail like I used to. But I have a fulfilling career, a family I cherish and a community that's got my back. So I can't read storybooks to my kids at bedtime, but they can read them to me. And I can go hiking, camping, fishing and play hide-and-seek, even though I always lose.
Nearly 10 years after the bear, I still don't take a single day for granted. Every breath is a gift. The bear that took my eyes was the last thing I ever saw, but that bear gave me a new way to see.
You Deserve Happiness, So Stop Settling for Less
A scene in the film Me and You and Everyone We Know -- a quirky love story about a lonely shoe salesman and an equally lonely artist -- shows the artist in the store where the salesman works, waiting while a friend shops.
The shoe salesman glances at the artist's shoes and asks, "Are those comfortable?"
She says, "I guess so. I mean, they kind of rub my ankles, but all shoes do that. I have low ankles."
He looks her in the eye and says, "You think you deserve that pain, but you don't."
You think you deserve that pain, but you don't.
Too many of us go through life quietly enduring things that make us unhappy. We tolerate jobs that cut into our well-being. We stay in roles that rub and chafe and wear away at our happiness. In short, we settle.
A few years ago, while eating lunch with my colleagues in our corporate cafeteria, I looked around the room at everyone and then turned to my coworker. I asked, "Do you think these people are happy?"
He replied, "Right now they are."
"In general, though," I said. "Do you think they're happy?"
He stared at me. "Do you really think anybody is happy with their job?"
And there it was.
We grow up dreaming of being astronauts and princesses. We're told we can achieve anything we want. We're promised the world and permitted to dream beyond its limits. But at some point along the way, we abandon the concept of happiness completely. We build lifestyles of cubicles and commutes. We do what we think we should.
And then we wake up on Monday morning filled with dread and think it would be ludicrous to expect otherwise.
"Nobody likes their job," we justify, "so I shouldn't expect to, either."
The salesman in the film goes on to say, "People think foot pain is a fact of life. Life is actually better than that."
The artist's friend adds, "Your whole life could be better, starting right now."
Your whole life can be better.
You deserve to face Monday with something more than despair. You deserve to feel excited about something more than Friday evening. You deserve to love your job. You deserve to feel that your happiness still counts. Because it does.
Happiness should be a standard that life decisions are measured against, and any decision that undermines your happiness should be regarded as a poor one.
Don't bind yourself up in a mortgage if you're going to use it as an excuse to stay in a job you hate. Don't move to a city you hate for a job you hate just because it pays well. Don't arrange your life so that you work an hour from home if you're going to spend the commute missing your children grow up.
Do not settle for shoes that hurt your feet.
Do not justify a job that pains you in other ways.
Happiness is a basic necessity. Expect happiness -- and then figure out how to get it.
To borrow one last line from the movie, "I am prepared for amazing things to happen."
I deserve it. You do, too.
The shoe salesman glances at the artist's shoes and asks, "Are those comfortable?"
She says, "I guess so. I mean, they kind of rub my ankles, but all shoes do that. I have low ankles."
He looks her in the eye and says, "You think you deserve that pain, but you don't."
You think you deserve that pain, but you don't.
Too many of us go through life quietly enduring things that make us unhappy. We tolerate jobs that cut into our well-being. We stay in roles that rub and chafe and wear away at our happiness. In short, we settle.
A few years ago, while eating lunch with my colleagues in our corporate cafeteria, I looked around the room at everyone and then turned to my coworker. I asked, "Do you think these people are happy?"
He replied, "Right now they are."
"In general, though," I said. "Do you think they're happy?"
He stared at me. "Do you really think anybody is happy with their job?"
And there it was.
We grow up dreaming of being astronauts and princesses. We're told we can achieve anything we want. We're promised the world and permitted to dream beyond its limits. But at some point along the way, we abandon the concept of happiness completely. We build lifestyles of cubicles and commutes. We do what we think we should.
And then we wake up on Monday morning filled with dread and think it would be ludicrous to expect otherwise.
"Nobody likes their job," we justify, "so I shouldn't expect to, either."
The salesman in the film goes on to say, "People think foot pain is a fact of life. Life is actually better than that."
The artist's friend adds, "Your whole life could be better, starting right now."
Your whole life can be better.
You deserve to face Monday with something more than despair. You deserve to feel excited about something more than Friday evening. You deserve to love your job. You deserve to feel that your happiness still counts. Because it does.
Happiness should be a standard that life decisions are measured against, and any decision that undermines your happiness should be regarded as a poor one.
Don't bind yourself up in a mortgage if you're going to use it as an excuse to stay in a job you hate. Don't move to a city you hate for a job you hate just because it pays well. Don't arrange your life so that you work an hour from home if you're going to spend the commute missing your children grow up.
Do not settle for shoes that hurt your feet.
Do not justify a job that pains you in other ways.
Happiness is a basic necessity. Expect happiness -- and then figure out how to get it.
To borrow one last line from the movie, "I am prepared for amazing things to happen."
I deserve it. You do, too.
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