The first time I picked up Brendan Burchard’s, “High-Performance Habits,” I couldn’t finish it. I got one chapter in and bailed.
I wanted to be up for the task, but the truth is, at that point, I was exhausted.
A week ago, I’d run out of creative and emotional fuel. I couldn’t think of a darn thing to write about, let alone work on my website or the next email.
Reading has always been my motivational refuel, but I hadn’t read a book in months. My father died 4 months ago, and grief took away my ability to focus.
Having experienced a lot of loss in my life, I learned long ago the world doesn’t wait for you to finish grieving. In fact, grief has no timetable at all, but your business requires your attention, no matter what.
I stared at the stack of books in my bookcase, and High-Performance Habits was at the bottom of the stack. I felt a nudge to pick it up, but...
I’m feeling it, and I’m sure you are, too… the trauma of another person’s tragedy. It triggers me as though it were my own. At least that’s how it feels.
Whenever something happens like the recent devastating death of Kobe Bryant, his daughter, and the other victims of the terrible crash, people wonder why they’re so affected when it’s someone they don’t personally know.
It’s called “collective grieving.” It’s a real and heartfelt emotional reaction to a loss that is not directly connected to you. The most common trigger is that of celebrity deaths. It can also ignite with national emergencies like hurricanes, community tragedies, mass murders, or even that of an average person who met a devastating publicized death.
Why do we feel public tragedies so deeply?
When a public tragedy happens, we experience a...
No child dies without leaving a legacy and a purpose for those that are left behind.
One thing is certain, I still stumble over the question, “How many children do you have?” It’s the moment my heart sinks. Then, I have to decide what I want to reveal, how long will I know this person, and… if I acknowledge just my three living children, will I feel as though I’ve betrayed the memory of my beautiful son who tragically died at the age of 16 years, 3 months, and 10 days?
It’s been years since the loss of my beautiful boy, and with each year I accrue more wisdom from my own experience and from listening to other parents like me. We’re connected on a level that most people could never understand. Nor would they want to. The very thought of it rips the heart out of any parent. That’s why people say, “It’s the worst that could happen.” Because that’s what it feels like.
I once believed if I was good, nothing bad...