Insanely, voracious reader that I am, I picked up the book, Get Motivated by Tamara Lowe and powered through it in a day. Self-help books often appeal to me. I learn a lot. I’ve also discovered that if I took everything I read to heart, I would be so messed up I would need a caretaker and a padded room.
Feeling the love, I’m hoppity, skipping through the book, ready to light the world on fire (ok, well a little candle, but it’s a start) and then I hit my brick wall. Lowe says that we have five high-priority areas:
Sense of spiritual fulfillment or purpose
After this list she simply states, “Nailing four out of five, in my opinion, is not enough. If your business is thriving and you’re making money hand over fist –but your teenager is on drugs and your marriage is disintegrating–you’ve failed. Likewise if you are healthy and have fulfilling relationships–but your career is tanking and your bank account is anorexic–you are certainly not winning at life.”
Apparently, I am not winner. My life is so off-balance that I don’t know which end is up. I could list all the reasons why I’m not a winner but that’s only going to depress me and take away any hope of deluding myself I am a winner long enough to start clawing my way out of the loser hole I’ve dug. (After that last sentence, I feel even more confused.)
So, you’d think that all the good things I read in this book would be what I carried around with me all day. Oh, no. In unexpected moments, I hear my inner, crazy person tell me,
“Geez, you really are a loser.”
Over the years, I’ve learned to display some compassion toward my “inner, crazy person.” Really, she isn’t to be taken seriously however, she does have strong feelings and I feel empathy. We’ve been to the same places, talked with the same people, lived the same life, it’s just that she is whacko and a total happiness killer. Indulging her is always a major mistake. No body can get in my way like this inner, crazy person can. Yet, there she is screaming, “You’re a loser.”
Great! She’s gone for my juggler, my emotional Achilles heel. I fight back. I tell her,
“Sorry, you are so wrong. It’s just been a rough few years. You can’t always see winning from the outside. I’m a winner. A loser would have quit years ago. I’m still in the game. There is still time for me. Even in my “loseriest moments, wearing the toilet ring of shame around my neck, looking like a peasant from Les Miserable with spinach in my broken teeth, appearances can be deceiving. Winners don’t quit and winners don’t whine. They take a licking and keep on ticking, You! . . .You!. . . crazy person, You!!”
Granted, the images I have just conjured up don’t argue well for my sanity. I do feel better. Maybe my toilet-ring-0-shame wearing self, needed to be assertive. She is my hero. We may still be in the trenches but we are aiming for the stars. How can we lose?