Did he say what I thought he said? He most certainly did. He called it, “a phenomenon.” It is most certainly an annual event. But to call it a phenomenon would be overstating it.
A phenomenon is defined as an unusual, significant, or unaccountable fact or occurrence; a marvel or remarkable occurence. So it is clearly not a phenomenon. You might argue it is significant (it is), but remarkable—unfortunately not.
Starting is easy—it’s finishing that is difficult. You’ve been there. We’ve all been there. One lap, one quarter, one period to go. How you finish is what separates a good legacy from a great one.
When the finish line comes into view it can give rise to a range of emotions—especially if the stakes are high and the important people in our life are counting on us.
Do you believe in miracles? “Great moments are born from great opportunity!” These were the opening words to a pre-game speech that became the prelude to one of the greatest moments in Olympic history. Words that shine a light on the key to conquering giants.
How great an opportunity—David versus Goliath great.
Don’t you love the elation you feel when you cross the finish line of a successful race? Don’t you still recall a few great celebrations after accomplishing a big goal or dream?
We all have. And when we set our sights on a new finish line (an important goal or big dream), we are filled with great intentions and expectations. But then something happens. Your race grinds to a halt as resistance robs you of your passion and enthusiasm.
You’ve met it. It may have defeated you—maybe still defeating you. It is a constant companion of anyone who dares to run the courageous race—to pursue impact that positively impacts the important people in their life.
It does not discriminate—it hates all dreams and pursuit of meaningful impact. It doesn’t care about your talent, circumstances or condition. It is a force that stands between you and the starting line of the dream that stirs your heart. It is the blow that deals defeat and pushes you to curb when the finish line is in sight.
Turning the calendar to a New Year is always filled with anticipation. But there is nothing amazing, magical or powerful about turning the calendar to a new year. The reality is January 1 is just another day. And 2016, for most people, will be just another year.
One thing about the future is certain—if you don’t think about it you can most certainly plan to be disappointed by it. One thing about new year resolutions is certain—92% of us failed to achieve them last year. January 17 is known as “Ditch New Years Resolutions Day!” Yes, January 17, 2016 has been officially identified as the day to celebrate abandoning our New Years resolutions.
Do you realize we are much more likely to come to the end of our days with a longer list of regrets than achievements? Over the course of our days, big dreams and long-term goals commonly get pushed aside and resurrect themselves as regrets.
Charles Hummel wrote “Tyranny of the Urgent.” The tyranny of the urgent simply says we live in constant tension between the urgent and the important.
Is there a right or wrong way to write a goal? The answer is a resounding yes. It all starts with understanding why you could become confused at a green light.
My fascination with success and achievement has led me to attend a lot of seminars and workshops over the years. In 1984, I was sitting in a packed auditorium listening to Denis Waitley and Zig Ziglar speak.
Have you ever set an outrageous goal? A goal that you may have been ill-prepared to pursue, maybe lacked the skill, talent, or support to reach, but you pursued it anyway?
I remember setting my first out-of-reach, crazy, outrageous goal in the 7th grade. I loved basketball and after we moved onto Andrews A.F. B., in Washington D.C., I decided to try out for the Benjamin D. Foulois Junior High School basketball team.
Have you ever been unaware of something that has been going on for sometime? Have you ever had something not work out as you planned it?
A number of years ago I was sitting around the table, with my family, for dinner. My oldest son, Matthew, was about ten at the time and was seated across from me. I must have had my head down concentrating on the food in front of me when I looked up Matthew was looking at me, with a smile on his face. As I made eye contact he said, “Hey dad, I think you are losing your hair.”