End your day by planning out the start to the next day (think of Teachers) Plan, optimize, own & adjust your morning routine - get in the flow
Stand up straight with your shoulders back Treat yourself like someone you are responsible for helping Make friends with people who want the best for you Compare yourself to who you were yesterday, not to who someone else is today Do not let your children do anything that makes you dislike them Set your house in perfect order before you criticize the world Pursue what is meaningful (not what is expedient) Tell the truth – or, at least, don’t lie Assume that the person you are listening to might know something you don’t Be precise in your speech Do not bother children when they are skateboarding Pet a cat when you encounter one on the street I would encourage you to read 12 Rules for Life by Jordan Peterson!
Whenever I have a thought, I write it down. If I got that thought again, I might do a quick Google search and then give a rating to the idea. If I kept constantly thinking about it, I start researching it. The research part might take maybe an hour a week. The other steps don’t really take much time. I find this to help with procrastination or losing focus.
This might be dumb but often when I want to motivate myself, I think about skateboarders. They’re not afraid to take risks and often fall on their ass in front of everyone. But no fear, they just keep getting up and trying the trick again until they get it.
“All right. Here goes. I’m old. And so what that means is I’ve survived so far and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, coworkers, acquaintances, grandparents, my mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. But here’s my two cents — I wish you could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it not to matter. I don’t want it to become something that just passes. (man’s voice reading same passage fades in) My scars are a testament to the love and the relationships that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut or even gouged. And that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love and the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see. As for grief, you’ll find that it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s something physical. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive. In the beginning, the waves are 100 hundred feet tall and they crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find that the waves are still a hundred feet tall but they come further apart and when they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But, in between, you can breathe and you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song or a picture. A street intersection. The smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything. And the wave comes crashing. But in between the waves, there is life. Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everyone, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart and you can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare International, you can see it coming for the most part and you prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of wreckage, but you’ll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming. And somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come and you’ll survive them, too. If you’re lucky you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.” It goes on so beautifully. I strongly encourage you to listen to the episode, particularly the last part where the poem is read live. It’s worth it.