Personal Development Articles

Amy is one of my dearest friends, and I’ve known and lover her nieces, Chelsey and Katie, since they were little girls. When Chelsea was about 5 years old and Katie nearly twelve, they would enjoy going for trips in my van. The two girls, sitting way in back, would chat with each other while I drove. Until we arrived at our destination, they usuall kept their own counsel. But occasionally, one or the other of them would pipe up and ask question or provide some commentary.

On one occasion, just as we pulled up at a stoplight, I heard Chelsey’s small voice coming from the back of the van “Uncle Danny, what does having sex means?”

I didnt want to answer. This was the kind of question she should be asking her aunt Amy, not me! Not here! Not now! But as my face reddened and my mind went into overdrive, I reflected that I was, after all, somewhat knowleadgeable in these matters. Twenty years earlier, I had addressed questions about sex with my own daughters. And furthermore I was a pscyhologist as well as a good friend to these little girls. All I had to do was think developmentally and come up with an answer approriate to Chelsey’s age and experience.

I took a deep breath. And with a bit of anxiety and feigned confidence, I announced: “Having sex is what grown-ups do when they want to have a baby.”

An adequate answer under the circumstances, I thought, and I was somewhat puzzled when it was followed by a very long pause. I figured the silence meant everyone was satisfied with the answer. It was Katie, the older sister, who finally broke the silence. “Uncle Danny, what are you talking about? Chelsea just asked you, ” What does heaven’s sakes mean?”

“Oh,” I said as I could feel the blood rushing to my face, telegraphing my embarassment to the world (or at least the backseat).

And then Katie thought it would be a good idea to follow up: “Uncle Danny. What were you thinking about?”

In fact, Katie’s question was exactly the right one. Something didnt get in the way of my listening, and it wasnt earplugs. I was so lost in my own thoughts when Chelsey asked her question that I could not hear clearly. Thoughts literally interfere with hearing. Emotions like anxiety, insecurity, depression, and anger also impair it.

Even positive emotions like elation and exuberance interfere with hearing. As the pace of life increases, so does the speed of thought. And so does the intensity of our emotions. When that happens, the chances of patient, thoughtful listening decrease. These days, when Im talking to kids about their lives, what i hear more often than anything else is that they feel unheard and misunderstood.

We adults are living such fast-paced lives, we’re so caught up in our own concerns and insecurities, that many times we dont even hear what our children are trying to tell us. Sure, we may hear the words, but too often we miss the meaning. One teenager decsribed it as “drive-by parenting.”

I know how my own anxiety - dating back to the days when I had so much trouble in school - got in the way of listening to my children. When my daughter struggled in school one year, it pushed all my buttons, reminding me of old shame and insecurity. With what I thought was concern for her, I pushed her to study more, we got tutors, and her mother and I checked homework even more carefully than usual.

Sure, I was mobilized because of concern. But the anxiety was about my history and not my daughter’s future.

I see so many parents push their children relentlessly to achieve, ultimately because the parents are afraid of the future. One adolescent girl said to me, “Why does my mother mistrust me? When I bring home a B on my report card and tell her I did the best I could, she never believes me.” But what if I could have managed my own anxiety so many years ago when my daughter was having trouble with her schoolwork? Maybe then I could have seen it as my daughter’s struggle, and not mine. Maybe then I could have been more compassionate. Maybe then I coudl have had more faith that my kid would be okay.

Of course, listening is an issue between adults too, not just with children. ‘He doenst hear me” or “She doesnt listen to me” are refrains often repeated in my workshops with married couples. At one of those workshops, I decided to ask the men and women to tell me about listening to another kind of voice - the one that comes from within.

“When you listen to yourself - your truest self - what do you hear?”

The women and men in that group responded quite differently. Almost all of the women told me they could hear the voice but they couldnt respond. Many said they felt guilty or selfish, so they “kept it at arm’s length.” The men said they knew the voice was in there, but they just couldnt hear it anymore.

What happens when we cant hear our own voices?

A man in the group who had been a lawyer all his life said,”I am successful by all measure.” He had belonged to a powerful law firm, attained his career goals, and made lots of money. I asked him to tell me about his life. When he was a boy, his father had told him to make honor roll, and he’d done so all through high school. In college he consistently made dean’s list, and in law school, following his father’s advice, he made law review. Again at his father’s urging, he joined a prominent law firm and made partner. “Here I am facing retirement,” the man told me, “and I dont know whose life I’ve been living.”

His own voice - the one inside - had been silenced. He had never listened to it, and now he didnt know where it was. And that’s what happens. Over time, if we dont hear ourselves, our own quiet voice gets silenced.

If we want to hear our children, we need to take time first to listen to ourselves. Only then we can listen to them.

My most poweful lesson about listening came during my early days after my accident. I noticed that the more I simply listened, the more people spoke to me. And the more people opened their hearts, the more deeply I cared. I listened with my open heart, and people spoke with an open heart. How did this happen? Well, in addition to losing many functions in my body, I “lost” all of my personal pronouns. It was always about them - that is, other people - and their humanity. I had no responsibility to change anyone, only to listen and learn. And in the process, I discovered how to care deeply.

Adapted from Learning from the Heart - Lessons on Living, Loving and Listening by Daniel Gottlieb

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It was six o’clock in the morning on New Year’s Day 1998 when I heard my father’s frightened voice on the telephone.

“Danny,your mother’s been rushed to the hospital. You’d better get here right away.”

My mother had not been aging gracefully. She had been growing more and more frail and confused and gotten much worse in the two years since my sister died. With her health deteriorating, I expected that she would soon need full time care. She argued about giving up her car keys and refused to bring someone in to help her bathe and dress. My father was exhausted trying to keep her safe. We faced the prospect of my mother going into a nursing home, which was awful for all of us.

I arrived at the emergency room a couple of hours after receiving my father’s phone call. My father was crying. He tried to say, “Dont rush.” The words just trailed off behind the tears.

Later,he would tell me what happened. My mother had awakened in the middle of the night complaining of stomach discomfort. She paced their apartment for a couple of hours and then passed out on the sofa. The emergency van came quickly, but nothing can be done. My mother had had an aneurysm. She died shortly after the ambulance arrived at the hospital.

Just the night before that, I learned, they had been at a New Year’s eve party with their fellow seniors. I later found out that my mother had asked my father to dance with her. It was the first time in ten years that they’d dance together.

In the emergency room, a nurse met me at the door, expressed condolences, and asked me if I wanted to see my mother. Then the nurse led me to an isolated cubicle and pulled back the sheet so I could see my mother’s face. From my wheelchair, I could only see some of her features, as they were partially visible. I glanced quickly at her closed eyes and motionless lips before my gaze went to her motionless abdomen. I stared at it for a few seconds…just to be sure.

I guess time seemed to stop because I was jarred by the nurse’s gentle voice. “Would you like me to place her hand in yours?”

Before this moment, I couldnt have imagined holding the hands of the corpse. But this was different; this was my mother.

As I stared into our hands touching, I reflected back over our lives together. Early pictures of my young mother show an attractive woman in the classic Lana Turner mold. She had jet balck hair that she dyed regularly (well into her seventies) and a dark, Mediterranean complexion. I recall the constant gleam in her eye and how she always seemed to be partial to feisty children.

Throughout her life, she had been a people magnet. There were always visitor in our house, and wherever we went, people would tell me what a wonderful mother I had.

Frankly, I never felt that way.

She was a fighter, and many of her fights had been with me. She pushed me, she nagged me, she annoyed me, and she often embarassed me in front of my friends. And she didnt always trust me. Sometimes I thought she didnt trust me because she didnt understand me, and sometimes I thought she didnt trust me because she really did understand me.

Now,as I heald my mother’s hand, I thought about the kind of family she had created. I remembered how powerful I believed she was when i was little. After all, she could manage the family, help in my father’s store, volunteer for several organisations, and solve whatever problems my sister and I had. And through it all, she had seemed fearless. If one of her children needed something, she would take care of it. Nothing stopped her.

But how well had I known her? What blinded me was that she was not a woman to me, not a person. She was a mother. Hope springs eternal, and I always thought that one day she would “get” me. But it seemed like she never did. She never really  got to know me, really, and I never got to know her.

Why did I battle with my mother? In part, I think, because she was always trying to get me to be different. She wanted me to be more married, or more successful, or more…whatever it was. And in hindsight, her wishes were not about me; they were about her. I recall a conversation a couple of years ago before her death when she had been talking about my marital status and I said to her ” Mom, I want you to know something- that Im a fifty year old man and Im happy. I have a good life. I feel good about what I’ve accomplished. I have great friends and I feel like I’ve made contributions to the world. I want you to know that about your son. I want you to know that you’ve contributed to that.”

Her comment was,”Yeah, but you could be happier.”

If I had been younger, I would have been angry at that comment. She still didnt get me! Instead, I felt sad. I knew, at that moment, she had never truly experienced the feeling of happiness.

All those years, we didnt get each other because we were trying to change each other. She was trying to make me into someone more accomplished, more healthy, and more happily married. I was trying to make her into someone more compassionate,tender, and insightful. Each of us was trying to make each other into the person we thought we needed.

Of course, both of us were clueless about what we really needed. But in our hunger to make things different from what they were, we became impaired. We didnt see each other for who we were…until the day she stopped breathing and we held hands.

Now for the first time, I saw my mother as a woman of her generation. Born in 1914, she had dreamed of going to college,had even been offered a scholarship, but her family disuaded her because girls didnt do that back then. Despite her disappointment, she had created a life that had meaning and dignity.

I recalled how well this woman had taken care of her own, aging, frail mother who live in our home. I remembered how she always insisted the whole family travel every Sunday to visit her mother-in-law, who was widowed and living alone. I reminded myself, how despite being able to afford it, she had sent her two children to a private Quaker school for preschool and kindergarten because we were living in a community that was increasingly anti-semitic.

She had wanted us to get a good start. Helping my father manage his Army Navy store, she had made, the business so successful that we could move to a middle class neighbourhood.

That’s the woman I had not been able to see, because until then she had just been my mother- and a mother who was far from perfect.

I was looking at the motionless hands of two people who had loved each other for fifty one years. She could no longer squeeze my hand, nor could I squeeze hers. And only now did I see her in a different light.

Now I understood that for all the times she fought with me, she fought for me even more.

I remembered my junior year in high school when I got A’s and B’s on my report card -with one exception, a C in Spanish. This was a big deal because I had never made the honor roll before. I’d neevr even come close. This time, I was more than close. I knew my Spanish teacher had made a mistake whenhe gave me that C, because I have gotten A’s and B’s on my Spanish exams that marking period.

When I argued my case with my Spanish teacher, he acknowledge his mistake, and he changed my grade to B. Finally, I had made it- honor roll!

Three weeks later, I was called to the principal’s office for disciplinary action.

The principal accused me of changing the grade on my report card. I said my Spanish teacher had changed the grade and explained exactly how it happened. The principal didnt believe me. My Spanish teacher apparently got nervous about the mistake he had made or, perhaps, about not following procedures in correcting my grade. Whatever the reason, he wouldnt take responsibility and led the principal believe that I had changed the grade.

Threatened with suspension, I tearfully called my mother. I was all not sure how this would go. Whom would she believe?

My mother arrived at the meeting fifteen minutes after the principal’s phone call, and she looked angry - but not at me! Turning to the principal, she looked him in the eye and said her son would never do anything like this. She knew the story, and she knew the Spanish teacher was lying. And she said,” You will not suspend my son from school from something he didnt do.”

Holding my mother’s hand now, I thanked her for that. And then I went on.I thanked her for creating a family where we could laugh at one another and at our own mistakes. I recalled how her hands had made me feel safe when I was little. I also remembered how,when I was a few years older, I rejected the security that her hands had offered, pretending I was more independent than I really felt.

How hard it was to pull my hand away from my mother’s. It’s always difficult to say goodbye to someone we have loved for a lifetime.

As I left my mother’s side for the last time, I thought about the hundreds of relationships I;ve seen in which people love each other but cannot see each other clearly. They cannot feel the warmth in each other’s hearts; all they can feel is resentment for past injuries, or fear of future ones. Or years of frustration as they had tried unsuccessfully to change each other. It saddens me to see people who love each other yet cannot opent themselves and simply hold each other’s hands.

(Adapted from “Learning from the Heart- Lessons on Living, Loving and Listening”  by Daniel Gottlieb). Highly recommended reading.

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In May of 1983, Helen Hill,age 95, received her high school diploma. She was absolutely ecstatic. When she finished high school 76 years earlier, she and her five classmates did not receive formal diplomas because the school was so much in debt,it could not afford them. Mrs. Hill was the only surviving member of the class 1907,so she could not share her joy and excitement with her former classmates. The message is clear: A disappointment of yesterday can turn into delight for today.It’s never too late!

Carl Carson,at the tender age of 64, decided to make a career change. At that age, most people think in terms of retirement,which is unfortunate. Many 64 year olds are still very young and have accumulated experiences on which they can build exciting and rewarding careers. Carson had been successful as a car and truck leasing agent. For his new career, he decided to go into the consulting business. His original plan was to sell his services to ten clients. Like many of us, when he reached his rather modest goal, he decided to do more. He began putting out a monthly newspaper, advising twelve hundred paying subscribers. By age seventy five, Carson was criss-crossing the nation a hundred times a year, speaking at conventions and having a very good time.

The message is absolutely clear: It’s never too late to dream, to learn or to change. Too many people come up with excuses for not reaching their goals. They dont live in the right place, are too old or too young, or have a host of excuses. Im not saying that it;s going to be easy because life is tough, but it can be rewarding! It’s true that you cant stop the calendar or turn back the clock, but you can still dream, set positive goals and use your unique abilities.

By Zig Ziglar, adapted from Something to Smile About

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“Tunas Puteri bertujuan, menolong orang dan berkawan.” (Brownies are meant for helping people and making friends.

Do you rember this song? J

I was introduced to this song at the age of ten, the age where the school ruled that the students have to enroll themselves in uniformed society in school.

I chose Brownies, main reason being that my eldest sister was also a Brownie.

So, I picked up the brown and white uniform and started my journey as a Brownie with my close friends from Kelas Oren in school (Roshidah, Maizatul, Rabiatul, Naimatul, Nurul Aizza,etc)

There are advantages being a Brownie. The main one being that you get to get rid of nasty boys who like to play tricks on girls J Being an all girls society is quite fun when you are in a mixed (boys and girls) school like mine.

We got to show Girl Power! J

Perhaps that’s where it started that until now I always find it easier to bond with girls rather than guys.

During my 3 years as Brownie, we did have a lot of fun. We sang, we dance, we marched, we cook, we sew, we played all sorts of games and I can’t recall there were times we girls fight or shout at each other. We bonded very well, adhered to the spirit of fellowship.

But there is a particular event that I will never forget. It was our farewell party when we were twelve.

At the age of twelve, I was the Chairman (thanks to my friends who faithfully voted for me) and most of my Kelas Oren friends have also held important positions (talk about cronies,hehe J )

Being our farewell party, we have grand plans for the event. The event will be held in the Scout’s House (Rumah Pengakap) which is now,only a history in Parit Buntar.

We are going to cook nasi goreng (fried rice) using woods (camping style) as the main dish, some other foods that I cant remember, and we have cakes, we have performances and we’re inviting our teachers to attend.

On that special day, our committed committees arrived early to set things up and start cooking.

Soon, we realized we have a “crisis”.

We want to cook fried rice- we have all the ingredients except - RICE!

That’s great right, nasi goreng without nasi, anyone? J

So, the team in crisis started discussing about what to do. The party will start in an hour + so there wont be sufficient time to go home and cook the rice.

Neither any of our house has the amount of rice that we wanted (we’re cooking for about 30-40 people if I’m not mistaken).

So we did what was the right thing to do – we took out all our money in the pockets and managed to collect RM2.

We decided to buy RM2 plain rice from nearby restaurants.

I think we approached two restaurants, wearing our Brownie uniform. Our uniform must have attracted their attentions, because one of the owner asked our purpose for buying plain rice, which we proudly said “We are going to cook fried rice.”

One of the owner was really nice, I think it’s Rahman mamak restaurant in Old Town, Parit Buntar, because upon knowing our attention, he just gave it to us for free! And he gave us a lot of plain rice too!

He just humbly asked whether he can have some of our fried rice, which we gladly said we will.

And that is one thing that I regretted until now.

With enough plain rice to cook, soon we are so occupied with cooking and other events that we forgotten about our promise to this nice uncle!

Coming back to our farewell party, the rest of the programme went smoothly. We got our tasty fried rice and everything fall into place.

But I will never forget the day when my friends and I worked as a team to overcome the challenge (it’s a crisis actually, given the time frame J) and have the courage to overcome it rather than giving up - even at the age of minority.

When life throws you a lemon, what do you do? Make a lemonade out of it! J

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THE ULTIMATE EXPRESSION OF LIFE IS NOT A PAYCHECK.

The ultimate expression of life is not a Mercedes. The ultimate expression of life is not a million dollars or a bank account or a home. Here’s the ultimate expression of life, in my opinion, and that is living a good life. Here’s what we must ask constantly,”What,for me,would be a good life?” And you have to keep going over and over the list. I’ve got a short list.

1) Productivity

You wont be happy if you dont produce.The game of life is not rest. We must rest, but only long enough to gather strength to get back to productivity. What’s the reason for the seasons and the seeds, the soil and the sunshine, the rain and the miracle of life? It’s to see what we can do with it. To try your hand. Other people have tried their hand; here’s what they did. You try your hand to see what you can do. So part of life is productivity.

2) Next are good friends.

Friendship is probably the greatest support system in the world. Dont deny yourself the time to develop this support system. Nothing can match it. It;s extraordinary in its benefit. Friends are those wonderful people who know all about you and still like you. A few years ago, I lost one of my dearest friends. He died at age 53 from a heart attack. David is gone, but he was one of my very special friends. I used to say of David that if I was stuck in a foreign jail somewhere accused unduly, and if they would allow me one phone call, I would call David. Why? He would come and get me. That’s a friend. Somebody who would come and get you. Now,we’ve all got casual friends. And if you called them, they would say, “Hey, if you get back,call me, we’ll have a party.” So you’ve got to have both, real friends and casual friends.

3) Next on the list of a good life is your culture. Your language, your music, the ceremonies, the traditions,the dress. All of that is so vitally important that you must keep it alive. In fact, it is the uniqueness of all of us that, when blended together, brings vitality,energy,power,influence,uniquesness and rightness to the world.

4) Next is your spirituality.

It helps to form the foundation of the family that builds the nation. And make sure you study,practice and teach. Dont be careless about the spiritual part of your nature; it’s what makes us who we are, different from animals.Spirituality.

5) Next,here’s what my parents taught me: Dont miss anything.

Dont miss the game. Dont miss the performance. Dont miss the movie, dont miss the show,dont miss the dance. Go to everything you possibly can. Buy a ticket to everything you possibly can. Go see everything and experience all you possibly can. This has served me so well to this day. Just before my father died at age 93, if you were to call him at 10.30 or 11 at night, he wouldnt be home. He was at the rodeo, he was watching the kids play softball, he was listening to the concert, hewas at church, he was somewhere every night.

Live a vital life. Here’s one of the reasons why. If you live well, you will earn well. If you live well, it will show in your face, it will show in the texture of your voice. There will be something unique and magnetic about you if you live well. It will infuse not only your personal life but also your business life. And it will give you the vitality nothing else can give.

6) Next are your family and the inner circle.

Invest in them and they’ll invest in you. Inspire them, and they will inspire you.With your inner circle, take care of the details. When my father was still alive I used to call him when I travelled. He;d have his breakfast most every morning with the farmers. So papa would go and have breakfast and I’d call him just to give him a special day. Now, if I was in Israel, I’d have to get up in the middle of the night,but it only took 5,10 minutes. So I’d call papa, and they bring him the phone. I’d say. “Papa,I’m in Israel.” He’d say, “Israel, son, how are things in Israel? ” He’d talk real loud so everybody could hear - my son’s calling me from Israel.

I’d say, “Papa, last night they gave me a reception on the rooftop underneath the stars overlooking the Mediterranean. ” He’d say ” So you got a reception on the rooftop underneath the stars overlooking the Mediterranean.” Now everybody knows the story.It only took 5-10 minutes but what a special day for my father,age 93.

If a father walks out of the house and he can still feel his daughter kiss on his face all day, he;s a powerful man. If a husband walks out of the house and he can still feel the imprint of his wife’s arms around his body, he’s invincible all day. It’s the special stuff with the inner circle that makes you strong and powerful and influential. So dont miss the opportunity. Here’s the greatest value. The prophet said, “There are many virtues and values, but here’s the greatest: “ONE PERSON CARING FOR ANOTHER.”

There is no greater value than love. Better to live in a tent on the beach with someone you love than to live in the mansion all by yourself. One person caring for another, that’s one of life’s greatest expression.

So make sure in your busy day to remember the true purpose and reasons you do what you do. May you truly live the kind of life that bring the fruit and rewards that you desire.

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