PRACTISE, Then Practice some more

I love the story about the young talking drum player who ran up to chief talking drummer of the village, talking drum in hand, breathlessly panting, Quick! How do I get to play at the Villagesquare?
The experienced talking drummer eyed him and his talking drum and responded, Practice, boy, practice.
What is your Villagesquare? Where are you headed? How are you practicing to get there? What habits are you forming?
Perhaps you see someone doing something different-something stimulating and adult. Maybe you watch it on television or in a movie, and you see it done at a party or at the office. You like what you see, and you want to do it, too. Or perhaps you want to fit into the group because everybodys doing it. So you emulate and initiate, and the seemingly harmless act of playing copycat or doing copy copy grows, thought upon thought, act upon act, until it is conditioned into a steel cable that either strengthens or shackles your life.
Everyone learns the same way: by observation, imitation, and repetition. Harmful habits, such as self-criticism, smoking, excessive drinking, overeating, laziness, depression, tardiness, and insensitivity, are learned and developed into character traits through relentless, self-disciplined practice.
In the same way, helpful and successful habits of high self-esteem, substance avoidance and control, proper nutrition, dedication, enthusiasm, reliability, and empathy for others are also learned, internalized, and retained through relentless practice. The positive approach to a problem is much more likely to succeed than the negative one. It is far easier to start doing something new than to stop doing something that has become a long standing routine.
Man is a product of influence. You cannot stop a bird from hovering over your head, but you can definitely stop it from making a nest on your head. So watch who you copy and practice their habit. Is it negative or positive?
For example, suppose you are a heavy smoker and you finally decide the slogan is right: A Pack a Day Takes Ten Years Away! So you try the following program:
Commit yourself to clean lungs and a healthier heart.
Enroll in a reputable smoking cessation clinic or program.
Put sugarless mints or gum where the cigarettes used to be, in the car, in your desk drawer, in a pocket, and so on.
Become aware of your new habit of reaching for, unwrapping, and putting a mint or piece of gum in your mouth.
Write down and often repeat new scripts about yourself, such as: I am in control of my habits and my healthI am fit for lifemy lungs are clean and strongI breathe in only fresh airmy stamina and endurance are increasingthe nutritional meals I eat taste even better now.
Listen to positive audiotape affirmations specifically designed to develop a smoke-free attitude.
Congregate in smoke-free areas of buildings and transportation vehicles.
Enjoy the feelings, sights, and sounds of your new found state of health.
Surround yourself with nonsmokers.
Enjoy your heightened sense of smell, taste, health, and appearance.
YOU DONT STOP A BAD HABIT, YOU REPLACE IT WITH A NEW GOOD ONE.
By practicing the ten steps outlined above, you will be applying the basic principle: it is difficult to do two things at the same time. Instead of continuing your old habit of smoking, you will be replacing it with a new habit. As you get involved in new actions and attitudes, they replace the old ones. With all these new activities you have going on, you wont have time for your old bad habits. People often talk about going law-style to break a habit. I prefer going freestyle and replacing the old habit with a new good one.
Anyone who has ever achieved anything can give credit to practice. And we all practice every day in one way or another. The trouble is, most of us spend our time practicing our bad habits rather than our good ones

When You Can Walk on Water, Take The Boat 1

When You Can Walk on Water,  Take the Boat 1

My office was at the end of the building, overlooking the car park. The lot was empty save for my little car which appeared to be waiting so patiently. Always it seemed to be waiting for me, never complaining, always nearby. “Time to leave,” I thought. “I’m already late.” If there’s one consolation, it was that there wouldn’t be any traffic at this hour.

Glancing through the window as I reached for my briefcase, I noticed a red car a few spaces removed from mine. The hood was raised and it seemed as if someone was trying to fix something. It wasn’t unusual for cars to limp into our parking lot with some problem or other. I descended the stairs to the main door, set the night alarm and walked out of the building.

The red car was still there with its hood pried open.
With the idea of seeing whether I could be of help, I cautiously approached. Through the window in the dim light, I saw a bearded face smiling back at me. “What took you so long? I thought you might have changed your mind,” he said. The nerve of the guy, I thought. A total stranger, and he wanted to know what took me so long.
Ingratitude really bothers me. It struck me as somewhat strange, however, that he seemed to have been expecting me. A totally improbable assumption I felt, as I quickly shrugged off the thought.

Peering under the hood I shouted, “Try the motor once more.” He did, and it immediately sprang to life and continued running with a beautiful purr as if nothing ever had been the matter with it. The bearded one got out of his car, walked up to me, thrust out his hand and said, “Hi! It’s good to see you again for the first time. My name is Charles.”

“Hello, Mr. Charles it’s nice to meet you,” I stammered, shaking his outstretched hand. “My name is Jason.”

“Yes, I know,” he said. This took me by surprise. I had never seen the man before. He wore brown pants and a starched black shirt and appeared to be somewhere in his mid-fifties. He wasn’t tall. His hair was black and neatly combed. The beard which was as black as his hair was full and trimmed, but his eyes were his most noticeable feature. Even in the dim light of the street lamp, one could see those piercing orbs and know they had lived a legend. Such determination in those eyes, and yet, such kindness as well. Although I noticed all these things in a split second, I kept staring at him all the while.

He smiled. “Beautiful weather we’re having,” he said.

I nodded indifferently. I couldn’t have cared less about the weather at that moment. “How do you know my name?” I quickly snapped.

“Oh, I guessed. You looked like that was your name” He said it matter-of-factly, but there was something in his voice that seemed to suggest that he really knew my name. Maybe this was one of those set-ups I’d heard so much about recently. Perhaps he was intent on doing me harm — stealing or something. I had the overwhelming urge to leave that spot and remove myself from his presence as fast as possible, but those eyes held me there.

“I see that you’re alarmed — concerned about your safety,” he said, seeming to pull the very thoughts out of my head. “No need to fear. Thanks for helping me with the car. I thought no one would come at this hour, but there you were! People these days are so afraid of everything, of each other, of the dark, yes, even of themselves.
My gratitude to you, Jason.”
I figured that he had to be lying since I hardly did anything to help him start his car. It just appeared to me that the motor started the second I told him to try it again.
“Anyway,” I said, “I didn’t do anything, but you’re welcome nevertheless.”

“Perhaps we’ll meet again soon,” he said as I moved toward my car.

“Perhaps,” I muttered, thinking how unlikely that would be. He waved as I stepped into my car and drove out of the parking lot.

By now it was very dark, and my wife and children would be wondering where I was or whether I was stranded on the road. It was the normal, short drive, no more than 15 minutes or so before I pulled up to the mailbox at the bottom of our driveway. As is my custom everyday, I collected the mail and started driving up to the garage. The driveway is long and curving and the thought occurred to me to make arrangements for snow removal for the winter. It was far from winter and, yet, my tired mind was already getting prepared.

I wondered about Charles but brushed the thought away, having felt I’d done my good deed for the day and probably would never see him again. There were more important things to do now, like dinner, walking the dog and finally taking out the garbage. Dinner and then walking the dog would be pleasant. “Raj,” my Rottweiler, was a spirited, friendly animal, and a little run with him would do both of us some good.

As I walked into the house, mail in one hand and briefcase in the other, my son, John, was waiting for me.
Only three years old, he had no concept of time and so was not too surprised to see me at that late hour.
Laying aside the mail and briefcase, I picked up John and proceeded into the kitchen. My wife, Mary, and daughter, Marci, greeted me warmly. The aroma of slowly simmering chicken stew made me realize how hungry I was.

“What kept you so late today, Jason?” Mary asked as we sat down to dinner.

“Oh, nothing much. Just helped a fellow get his car started.” Dinner over, I took care of the remaining chores, helped put the children to bed and discussed some of the day’s activities with Mary. Finally, we watched a short TV show and then I read for a little while. I love to read, but there never seems to be enough time. Generally I’m reading at least five books at different stages, going from one to the other until I complete them all. It’s certainly not the best way to read books, but this way, I do manage to get through them.

We decided to go to bed, and only then did I feel the fatigue of the day. Reflecting on my strange meeting with Charles, I fell asleep.

The Little Man Who Lives In My Head

“It finally clicked. I have bad self esteem when it comes to men.” — Journal Entry, October 27, 2015
I have a little man who lives in my head. He’s been there practically as far back as I can remember. He’s a consistent male gaze, approving, disapproving, judging, and watching my every move to see if I met his standards. His form is fluid, constantly shifting and changes from week to week. Currently, he’s here with me and has taken the shape of one of my ex-boyfriends. Or rather, ex-lover. We were never “official,” even though we were monogamous and went out with each other for close to half a year. Welcome to modern dating.
He’s watching me write this article. He’s judging each word I use to form my sentences and scoffs every time I make a typo. He sees the thoughts that skirt across my head, scrutinizing and picking apart each one. Now you may be thinking, how can anyone live like this? This would turn anyone into an anxious, dysfunctional wreck. Well by broad definition, I’m fairly sane and normal. I’m a 26 year old writer slash fine artist and animator. I love making people laugh and pulling socially awkward wallflowers onto the dance floor. By all social accounts, I’m confident and I’ve always gone to the beat of my own drum.
But I’ve had this complex tucked away in the back of my head like a dirty little secret. In all my fantasies where I’m accomplishing something, I have a “male voyeur” in my imagination. Usually it takes the form of an ex-boyfriend, current boyfriend, or a guy I’m attracted to. So whenever I’m accepting my Emmy or Oscar for Best Screenplay in my mind, there he is applauding in awe, or in the case of an ex-boyfriend, regretting all his life’s choices.
This imaginary male watching me becomes the cornerstone of validating my own victory. Which in theory, is absolutely ludicrous. I don’t write for anyone but myself. In fact, when I’m truly dropping into a story, it’s one of the few, rare moments where the little man vanishes. However in my subconscious mind, the presence of this approving male figure makes the moment all worth it. But in reality, moments involving reward or recognition would be just as sweet if it were just my family and a few close friends there to watch. So why is he always there?

Recently, I discussed this with my mother and she admitted that she’s lived with same complex her entire life, even now. This woman is a natural leader, started her own business, and she’s probably the most talented person I know. If someone like her has a little man in her head, there must be others, powerful people I would least suspect, who suffer from it too. Living with the little man in my head has become a total paradox for my feminist beliefs. It’s only recently where I’ve really begun to acknowledge it and ask, why? When and how did this all start? Nowadays, the little man almost always takes the form of an existing person that I have a romantic interest in. However, flashback to my childhood, this wasn’t always the case.
Picture a 3-year-old Eurasian girl hypnotized, inches away from the screen watching the Disney classic, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. Speaking as a total animation nerd, this film is an undeniable work of genius. The animals, aside from their adorable, big-eyed stares, had realistic movements and mannerisms of the creatures they were based on. Snow White herself was drawn with such mesmerizing 3-dimensionality (based on a technique called rotoscoping), that it almost seemed like you could reach out and touch her. Walt Disney set the bar pretty damn high in terms of the first feature-length animated film, successfully blurring the lines between extreme fantasy and reality.

Unfortunately if you’re going to create something that’s essentially eye candy for the senses, it’s very hard for a young, impressionable mind to make realistic distinctions. A particular snapshot comes to mind of Snow White singing at the wishing well. The Prince climbs ove