“When you believe something can be done, really believe, your mind will find ways to do it.” -Dr. David Schwartz

In 1957, Dr. Robert Merton introduced an idea known as the Galatea Effect, which suggests we tend to do what we expect we’ll do.

If you think you can run a marathon, you’re more likely to push yourself through training and eventually cross the finish line. If you expect that you’ll make friends easily, you’ll likely be relaxed enough to make people around you feel at ease.

It also works the other way around. If you believe you don’t have the leadership skills to run a meeting, your insecurity will undermine your authority. If you expect you’ll clam up around the person you’re attracted to, you’ll find yourself sweating whenever you meet eyes.

What if we woke up and expected not only the best of ourselves and our efforts, but also the best in the unexpected? What if we expected that the things we can’t predict will somehow turn out for the best? What if we didn’t just believe in ourselves; we believed in our ability to adapt to the unknown?

We can never know exactly what’s coming, but we can know that no matter what happens, we can turn it into something good. We can know that no matter where our aspirations lead us, we can meet all our needs through our interpretations, attitude, and actions.

If you’re feeling stressed about the things you’re trying to accomplish, choose to expect the best in yourself–but more importantly, remember that you can find joy in tomorrow, no matter what it brings.

Photo by Casbr

by Lori Deschene

“The possibilities are numerous once we decide to act and not react.” –George Bernard Shaw

As you may have noticed, I’m a huge movie buff. It’s largely because most films chronicle a hero’s journey, taking a character through all stages of transformation.

There’s recognition of the need to change, there’s fear, there’s resistance, there’s encouragement, there’s struggle, there’s redemption, and in the end, there’s rebirth, and a sense that things will keep getting better.

Recently I noticed something about the way I experience movies: I generally end a film with a strong desire to do what the main character has done.

After I saw Dolphin Tale, I dreamed about spending time with dolphins. After I saw We Bought a Zoo, I imagined life would expand in amazing ways if I, too, could own a zoo. And after I saw The Big Year, I seriously considered bird watching, even though I’ve always believed this hobby to be as exciting as watching paint dry.

What I realized is that it’s not these specific hobbies I want (though I do, in fact, love animals)—it’s the passion, connection, and growth the characters experience as a result of undertaking them.

I think that’s what we all want: we want to feel alive. We want to feel like part of something bigger than ourselves. We want to care about something that excites us, intrigues us, and challenges us to reach deep down and be the people we know we can be.

In many ways, Tiny Buddha provides that for me, as your blog may for you, if you have one as well.

But even though technology provides us with the opportunity to connect with more people than ever before, there is no replacement for hand-to-hand engagement and experience in the world.

There is no journey like the one we take together, literally step by step, outside our doors, out of our heads, and guided by our hearts.

I don’t know yet what I want beyond the world of written words.

Maybe you don’t know where you’re going either, and maybe that’s okay. Maybe we don’t need to have an exact plan. We just need to know we want to start that journey—to wade into a world of discovery prepared for all the excitement and uncertainty that come with doing and growing.

Today I’m taking a tiny step by researching yoga teacher training. What small step can you take today to create new possibilities?

Photo by soham_pablo

“The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot.” –Michael Altshuler

I am writing this from a plane with plans to publish it later. I decided less than 3 days ago to make the 3,000-mile trip home.

At first, my mother questioned if it was necessary—after all, my grandmother will be okay, despite her recent hospitalization. My brother said it was awesome and sort of surreal to learn I’d be visiting in just a few days—not in a matter of months, as is usually the case.

This is a big part of why I’m coming back again. I have two valid reasons: I want to visit my grandmother, and spontaneity is just plain cool.

Since I was able to find an affordable flight, I saw no reason not to reschedule some appointments and head back east, only a month after my last trip.

The truth is I would have come even if I didn’t find a great deal, because this, right here, is what I work for. Not shoes, or dinners out, or an excessive number of magazines—though I enjoy those things, too.

This trip (and others like it) is one of the best uses of my time and money.

I haven’t always thought this way. There was a time when I only visited once or twice each year, even though I said I valued family above all else. I assumed there would plenty of time for that–and it felt wisest to save my pennies.

I am by no means wealthy, but I’ve finally realized my pennies are only as valuable as the priorities they allow me to honor. We never get to know how much time we have left; we only know we can choose what we do with the time we have now.

We can easily let fear and a scarcity mindset talk us out of putting our money where our hearts are.

Or we can ask ourselves: What really matters to me? And how can I best use my resources to honor that today?

We can do a lot in this world with our time and money–but only after we decide what it means for each of us as individuals to make our moments count.

Photo by h.koppdelaney

“Curiosity is one of the great secrets of happiness.” -Bryant H. McGill

The other day, as I walking to the activities center in my apartment community to write, I saw a team of men cutting down dead tree branches using truck-mounted lifts. They were tossing them into a wood chipper which shred each one in a matter of seconds.

I’m sure this is a common practice, but it was the first time I’d ever seen this, so I decided to sit on the sidewalk and watch, even though I was on a tight schedule.

I felt mesmerized by this mass-pruning, preparing the area surrounding me for new life; and in that moment, my interest trumped my need to get things done.

I used to do this all the time as a kid—see something fascinating and get lost in an audience of one, preparing an array of questions to launch at the next adult I encountered. Every day there was something new to learn, and accordingly, something to get excited about.

We now live in a world where information is far more easily accessible, but amassing knowledge through the web is not the same as opening ourselves up to discovery in the world. One is the intellectual pursuit of facts; the other is the natural consequence of presence and curiosity.

One requires us to be searching; the other only requires us to be open.

It’s all too easy to live our days with a tight grip on our schedules—thrusting ourselves from commitment to commitment and in the process, stifling possibilities for spontaneity and awe.

When we live our lives in the zone of doing, we miss out on the many details we only notice through the act of being.

We miss out on the tiny nuances of our environment changing around us. We miss out on the tiny gestures of kindness from the people we love. And we miss out on opportunities to see the world through the eyes of childlike wonder.

I have found that the most exciting form of learning is the kind that comes from experience. The beauty is that we don’t need to plan for this. We just need to live in the moment and see what we discover.

Photo by quinn.anya

“Many fine things can be done in a day if you don’t always make that day tomorrow.” -Unknown

When I was younger, an adult I was staying with told me, “The diet starts tomorrow. Let’s eat everything we can before midnight.”

So we did. We ate grilled cheeses, leftover Chinese food, Twinkies, and anything else that called to us from her cabinets.

It was then or never, that was the message, and tomorrow would be different—which of course it wasn’t.

For years, I started each morning intending to make healthy choices, and then after failing to meet my perfectionist standards, decided to turn over a new leaf the following day.

I justified chain smoking by telling myself I’d quit tomorrow. I allowed myself to remain inert by rationalizing that the day was “ruined” because I missed my morning workout.

It was impossible to make big change because I always had an excuse to avoid making different choices.

I eventually gave up Marlboros and binge fests, but I still deal with all-or-nothing thinking at times, particularly when it comes to leaving my comfort zone—and if I’m not careful, it can be paralyzing.

Perhaps you can relate. Maybe you’ve rationalized that you’ll start dieting after the holidays, instead of cutting back just a little starting now. Or maybe you’ve put off looking for more fulfilling work, assuming it would be easier next week, next month, or next year, when you feel less frustrated or overwhelmed.

We delude ourselves when we rationalize that tomorrow we’ll excel at what we aren’t willing to start today. We may never feel fully prepared or confident when it comes to our ability to change—and that’s okay, so long as we’re willing to try, starting now.

That means accepting we may not do things perfectly.

We may feel like we’re making progress and then fear we’re right where we started. More likely, we will have taken two steps forward and one step back—which means we are moving forward.

I don’t believe that life is short; most of us will have abundant opportunities to experience all this world has to offer. Whether or not we actually do that is largely dependent on how we spend our time.

We can sabotage our days by imagining tomorrow will be better; or we can seize our moments by forgiving ourselves when we struggle and doing the best we can right now.

Photo by zedmelody

“Expect the best, plan for the worst, and prepare to be surprised.” -Denis Waitley

The other day I was watching reruns of a show I’ve recently found and now love. In one scene, the main character talked about the “perfect moment” that never came to be—an isolated point in time when things would have worked exactly as he imagined they would, and as a result, there would only be positive consequences to his choices.

This got me thinking about my own instinct to create perfect moments according to what I’ve visualized—and also the times when I’ve been part of other people’s plans.

In high school, I reconnected with an old friend from junior high, who’d also been bullied back then. I was going through a lot emotionally and wasn’t in a place to date him. He told me he was disappointed because he “wanted me for his senior year.”

He had a specific vision of me being the one on his arm at the prom. It wasn’t just about being with me; it was about being with me in a very specific way.

I’ve done the exact same thing at times. I know I want to have children—but in an ideal world, I’d have them in the next two years, and I’d have created a situation that allows me to spend equal time on the east and west coasts, to be close to family in both places. I realize, however, that in two years time, I may not have created those conditions.

Life doesn’t always work out in the way we imagine would be ideal. We can either resist that, feeling crushed when we don’t get exactly what we wanted, or accept reality at every step of the way and adapt to make the best of what we get.

We’re often advised to visualize the future in specific detail so that we may create it; to see in our heads the environment, the people, and the situations we want to manifest. This can be a powerful exercise because it helps us get clear about what we really want.

It will be a far more effective practice, though, if we remember that what we really want isn’t the perfect moment—it’s happiness from moment to moment. That comes from choosing to embrace and work with what is, instead of bemoaning and fighting it.

Photo by magical-world

“The outer conditions of a person’s life will always be found to reflect their inner beliefs.” –James Allen

Do you believe you can do work you love? If you don’t believe it, you likely won’t try for it.

Do you believe you can be in a happy relationship? If you don’t believe, you likely won’t open up to it.

Do you believe you can adopt that healthier habit? If you don’t believe it, you likely won’t stick to it.

Do you believe you can fully release your anger toward that person who hurt you? If you don’t believe it, you likely won’t let go of it.

Do you believe you should be treated with respect? If you don’t believe it, you likely won’t require it.

Do you believe this moment is good enough? If you don’t believe it, you likely won’t enjoy it.

Do you believe you deserve happiness? If you don’t believe it, you likely won’t let yourself feel it.

It’s not true that anything is possible—I can say with absolute certainty that none of us will grow wings tonight and fly out our bedroom windows. But it is true that far more is possible than we often realize.

It starts with what we believe. And beliefs are thoughts that aren’t fact—meaning we can change them if we really want to.

We can change the stories we tell ourselves. We can change the limits we’ve set for ourselves. Most importantly, we can change what we do for ourselves, starting right this moment. Every passing second is a new opportunity to be who we want to be, if we believe we can.

I may not always have believed the best about and for myself, but in this moment, I choose to believe and act on it. Do you?

Photo by Augapfel

“Don’t count every hour in the day, make every hour in the day count.” -Unknown

The other morning I hopped out of bed and made a beeline for the laundry room. Although it contains numerous washers and dryers, unlike the room at my old apartment complex, far more people use it.

This means I might as well camp out in from of the building a la Black Friday if I hope to get my clothes in at some point in the AM. That morning, as luck would have it, two of the washers were still empty three seconds after the door opened.

Since I work from home, I try to be army-style efficient when doing household chores, so I generally know the precise moment when I’ll need to switch my loads into the dryer.

That morning I somehow arrived back at the room with seven minutes to spare. I considered returning to my apartment to squeeze in a few emails; after all, I had a ton to do. Then I realized how absurd that was. It was only seven minutes. Was it really that big a deal to simply wait it out?

Out the window, I noticed a swing set without any children enjoying it, and I realized that while I was worried about wasting time, I was wasting an opportunity for fun.

So I swung. And then I started humming. And then I started singing softly. And then I got a little louder. Then someone walked out of the laundry room, huffing because all the machines were full, until he saw me, a bizarre looking adult singing and swinging alone.

His laughter in that moment reminded me: there is no better use of time than the choice to smile and share it.

I realize we can’t always play with the world, with all the abandon of children. But what if we thought of unexpected breaks less as time to kill and more as time to enjoy?

What if we didn’t think about what we could squeeze in and instead allowed ourselves to forget for a minute that there’s so much to do?

What if we took the opportunity to lose ourselves, even if just for a few minutes, without pressure, stress, or an overwhelming sense that there’s something else we should accomplish?

There will always be more to do. But sometimes the best use of time is choosing to forget about that.

Photo by wonderlane

“Make the most of yourself, because that’s all there is of you.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

I recently started yoga again after an extended period of time away from my mat. People once knew me for my flexibility and my passion for downward dog; but over the past couple of years, I somehow reduced my practice from six days per week, to four, to two, to sporadically deep breathing while touching my toes.

When I learned my new apartment community offers classes by the pool, I decided to jump back in. I felt excited to start again, but I imagined I’d feel frustrated in realizing my core had weakened, my balance had become shaky, and my overall endurance had decreased.

Yet, when I moved into warrior two and felt my legs trembling, I found myself thinking, “Thank you.”

In that moment, I remembered all the things my legs have allowed me to do over the years. I thought about how miraculous it is that every day, I am mobile—I can stand, and walk, and bring myself to places I enjoy, and run toward people I love, even when I haven’t exercised regularly.

From there, I felt grateful for my mind. As a lifelong pusher who once exhausted and dehydrated myself into the ER, I appreciated that I’d somehow developed the mental capacity to value my body for what it does for me instead of always berating it for how it fails me.

We live in a world that often promotes unrealistic physical standards while simultaneously encouraging the type of busyness that can leave little room for self-care.

Sometimes it can feel near impossible to be satisfied with ourselves in mind and body. It can feel like there isn’t enough time to fit everything in—to do the work we love, spend time with the people we cherish, and do what we need to do to feel healthy and comfortable in our skin.

We’re always going to want to stretch a little further and do more with the time we have. But maybe making the most of ourselves isn’t about how much we do or how well we do it.

Maybe it’s about allowing ourselves to feel good about where we’re at and what we’ve done. When we honor ourselves, we don’t need to push quite as hard, because we’re motivated less by dissatisfaction and more by a deep self-love that reminds us just how much is possible.

Photo by collegekid

“Life is a process of becoming. A combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.” -Anais Nin

It’s a seductive image—the idea of when you “get there.” What you’ll look like when you lose the weight. How your life will change when you achieve success. How everything will improve when you’re finally happy.

I first began chasing “after pictures” when I was a chubby 12 year old kid. I was convinced that slim felt like peace, and I found lots of photographic confirmation—particularly in advertisements.

I remember buying 7 mammoth bottles of weight loss juice for $100. The “before” picture in the ad didn’t just show a larger woman; she also had messy hair, a disheveled appearance, and an overall air of despair.

The woman in the “after picture,” however, seemed to have everything together. It was like she’d arrived at perfect, and now there was nothing that hurt. I wanted that. I wanted permanently better.

Years later, when I recognized I was attaching to “someday” to avoid being in today, I unintentionally shifted to another “after picture”—the day when I’d become perfectly present. It was the same self-rejection, just disguised as something spiritual.

I now realize the “after picture” is an illusion, as it pertains to weight loss, success, enlightenment, or anything else we think is permanent happiness. And it’s not because we can’t make major changes in our lives. It’s because even when we do, we are constantly transforming and evolving, inside and out.

Our bodies are constantly changing—even if we’re healthy, our weight fluctuates at least a little, and we inevitably age.

Our minds are constantly changing—we learn, unlearn, and then relearn over and over again as we discover more about ourselves and the world.

Our feelings are constantly changing. We hurt, we’re humbled, we heal, we’re strengthened, and then we do it all over again, because that’s what it means to be human.

Not only is there nowhere to get to, there is nowhere we will stay. There is just the choice of this moment: to be present and comfortable in our skin, to forgive ourselves if we struggle, and to remember that as long as we’re breathing, there is always a new opportunity to choose.

Photo by iBrotha