Category: Motivation

by Robert J. Hastings

Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are traveling by train. Out the windows we bring in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a complete jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes for loitering—waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

When we reach the station, that will be it, we cry. When I’m 18. When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz. When I put the last kid through college. When I have paid off the mortgage. When I get a promotion. When I reach the age of retirement, I shall live happily ever after.

Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.

Relish the moment is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24: This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it. It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad. It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today.

So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more and cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.

There is a short video that shows the different approaches opposite genders take to resolve issues. A woman tries to share with her significant other a challenge that protrudes into her life. He sees it clearly… and tells her right away. However, she’s adamant what he says is not what it’s about.

Perhaps one reason this encounter hits the nail on the head for me is because it was 17 years into our marriage before I realized Kathy doesn’t want me to solve everything all the time. Sometimes she just wants me to listen. Of course, being male, this is a continuing struggle – as I am prone to jump in with an answer, often before she completes her thought.

The good news is that in my coaching work, I am much more attune with the needs of clients – and have no problem avoiding ‘the answer trap.’ While it’s tempting to say, “I’ve seen this many times; here’s what you need to do,” that’s an instant solution that doesn’t do anything to help the client grow. While a quick fix solves something right now, what skills has the person learned to make better decisions?

Coaching is about giving clients space to open up, reflect and grow. We do this by asking open-ended questions (“What? How? When?”) that allow the person being coached to choose her own path. That’s much more powerful than my opinion. After all, there’s a strong likelihood she’s already asked a few others for their thoughts. Why would she need me to add another one and, perhaps, create more uncertainty?

So the next time someone shares a situation with you, the best thing you can do is pause and ask: “Do you want me to listen or tell you what I think?” She’ll let you know.

*** Here’s a link to the 1:41 video.

When I was 14 and my sister eight, with three older boys already out of the house, my parents sat with us in the den of our home and shared some news. Mom had cancer… and doctors told her she had six months to live. “I want you to know,” she said, “that I spoke with Jesus, and he told me that I will be able to see you both grow up.” Since mom said it, I always believed it – and, as promised, she lived 12 years before passing away three weeks after my sister’s wedding.

While I was in high school, mom endured more than 50 chemotherapy treatments – and the side effects were bad. Her close friend – the mother of my best friend – filled in often: taking me to get things for school, feeding me meals, and letting me stay at their house when mom was in the hospital.

They lived 15 minutes from us, and after I got my driver’s license, I would go there and, if the family was out, just let myself in. They always had a certain ice cream bar in the freezer, and when they arrived home, I typically would be eating one. Thus was born a line I still use today: “You know, I’ve never had a Klondike.”

In college, their house was the hangout during breaks: always plenty of food and games – and never a protest when we stayed late… no doubt making a lot of noise and getting in the way of a good night’s rest.

In 1988, her daughter, another son and I started a travel company, and seven years later I joined them full-time. Of course, they had hired their mom long before that. During my tenure, she arrived each day by 7 a.m. and worked harder than anyone – even though she was past the age most in her generation retired. The hardest transition I had was when she insisted I use her first name. That was a tough habit to break.

During the past two decades, we saw each other a few times, including at a wedding where she kept dancing after many tired. I continued to receive a birthday card just as I had since I was a boy. Most months, she’d send a nice email acknowledging my newsletter, which always brightened my day… especially since she long ago taught me punctuation lessons, including when to use that crazy Oxford comma.

A young 84, she’s been caring for her invalid husband – looking forward to when that burden ends, so she can travel and spend time with her grandkids. Of course, while God keeps promises, sometimes He has other plans. Last week we learned her body was failing quickly due to an infection. She died last night.

I believe my mother greeted her in Heaven with a warm embrace and “Thank You” for watching over me for four decades. Words I didn’t say often enough. When we meet again, I’m going to tell Jean Anthony how much she impacted my life.