Everything Is Personal: Changing the Beliefs That Block Our Inner Happiness and Peace of Mind

By Connie Beyer

Everything Is Personal is an empowering book for those who have tried to change without experiencing much success. Following several setbacks in an attempt to live a life of unconditional love, the author looks into the conflict between how she wants to act and how she actually behaves. In the process, she discovers a truth that transforms her life: Everything is Personal. Everything is Personal is an inspiring chronicle of the authors inner journey to alter her behaviors, only to discover how difficult change can be even when the desire is strong. She recognizes she is not alone. Research shows ninety percent of those who make New Years resolutions fail by the end of the year. Relying on the guiding principle that Everything is Personal and her love for Quantum Physics, brain research, and learning theory, she devises a change process that is simple and effective. As she gradually revises her self-defeating beliefs, she discovers true inner happiness, unconditional self-love, and compassion for others. Her journey is personal, but the answers she finds are universal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Mar 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781489703774

Connie Beyer

Connie Beyer is a former teacher, teacher trainer and faculty associate. She is a wife, mother and grandmother, amateur artist and photographer. She is an avid reader of mysteries, a brain research and Quantum Physics buff, and a believer in therapeutic writing. She currently resides in Gilbert, Arizona.

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Copyright © 2014 Connie Beyer.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-0378-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-0377-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014921818

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 02/12/2015

Contents

Chapter 1 The Library Fiasco

Chapter 2 Attention Must Be Paid

Chapter 3 The Gym Episode

Chapter 4 There’s Always A Reason

Chapter 5 The Moldy Cup Experience

Chapter 6 Connecting the Dots

Chapter 7 Is It Mud or Is It Poop?

Chapter 8 Life Is Like A Box of Chocolates

Chapter 9 What About Me?

Chapter 10 Getting Out of My Rut

Chapter 11 My Brain Has A Mind of Its Own

Chapter 12 In the Process of Change

Chapter 13 Changing Our Attitudes

Chapter 14 Catch Any Positive Attitudes Lately?

Chapter 15 Lights, Camera, Action

Chapter 16 Discovering Our Patterns

Chapter 17 Unconditional Love

Chapter 18 Love and Compassion

Chapter 19 The Purpose of Life Is to Be Happy

Notes

About the Author

To My Amazing Family,

David, Tom, Jennifer, and Zane, for all your love and support.

Thank you, Jennifer, for all your invaluable assistance.

Chapter 1

The Library Fiasco

It’s nothing personal, really.

Play Misty for Me

I have always had a problem with the phrase, it’s nothing personal. I think it is one of those catchphrases we all say at one time or another, whether we mean it or not. It is heard so often that it is embedded in our culture. In fact, some variation of it’s nothing personal or nothing personal has been repeated in over seventeen hundred movies since the 1940’s. (Subzin).

I honestly thought I believed the thinking behind this expression. If someone verbally attacked me or someone else, it was more about the perceived attacker than it was about the person who was being assaulted. I had read a few books that dealt with this topic and nodded the whole time I was reading them. They all seemed to profess that if I adopted the idea that nothing is personal, I would be much happier.

I agreed with the authors that it would be an excellent philosophy to adopt; however, that was on an abstract level. In real life, what I thought I believed and what I felt during the experience were two totally different concepts. When I was in the process of being unduly and unfairly criticized, at least from my point of view, I judged the encounter as quite personal. I instantly forgot the encouraging message I had read and thought I believed. The disapproval from someone I loved, as well as from a stranger, sometimes caused me intense mental anguish.

A few years ago, I had a very unpleasant experience at my local library that led me even further away from the belief that nothing is personal. The whole episode, one that I later dubbed the Library Fiasco, seemed extremely personal. At the time that the incident occurred, I was still in the process of recovering from a stroke. I had decided that since I was finally out of the wheelchair, I would inaugurate my reentry into the real world by returning to a safe place, my treasured library. Ever since I was quite young, I have always been a prolific reader and after the stroke, reading was one of the few activities I could still enjoy. Libraries had always meant a lot to me, much more than just my source for reading materials. They were peaceful and cozy oases, a welcoming place to get away from it all.

To my surprise, I was a little nervous about going back. I knew the library had been closed for a while for remodeling and had just reopened the day that I elected to return. Even though I was recovering quite well from the stroke, I still had some lingering aftereffects. I probably looked perfectly fine to others, but I was acutely aware that my cognitive abilities had suffered. It took me much longer to process information, and sometimes I just couldn’t think of the words I wanted to use. I also didn’t adjust easily to new situations. My last thought as I was walking into the building was that a lot of changes might have taken place, but at least they couldn’t move the heavy, bulky bookcases. I would just go to the shelves that held the mysteries I loved, pick a couple that looked intriguing, and leave quickly.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. Contrary to my obviously limited knowledge of bookshelves, I discovered they could be moved after all. Not only were they moved, they were in a completely different configuration! I felt totally discombobulated and spent almost an hour trying to figure out where they were hiding the books that I treasured. The general area where I normally found my beloved mysteries now contained cookbooks. Considering how much I hate to cook, this seemed to be some kind of personal cosmic joke. I eventually found some novels that appealed to me, but I was quite rattled by the whole experience. I gratefully took my new detective stories to the checkout counter, looking forward to some well-earned rest and reading the latest whodunit written by my favorite author.

Unfortunately for me, the moving of the bookcases was not the only change that had taken place. A stern-looking librarian begrudgingly explained to me that the staff no longer checked out books. They now had computers for self-checkout. I told her I would still like her to handle it because I didn’t think I could manage checking out the books by myself. The librarian came around to the front of her desk and speaking in a fairly loud voice informed me, It’s easy to check out books on the computer. Anybody can do it. Somewhat sarcastically, she added, Why do you think you can’t? I was stunned by her words and tone and felt like I was going to bawl any minute.

Instead, I went on the attack, or to put it another way, I totally lost it. Although I usually never want to create a scene in public, I turned to her and speaking in a loud, shrill and somewhat shaky voice, said, I can’t believe you are talking to me this way. How dare you? I then used my stroke as a weapon to make her feel guilty. I am recovering from a stroke, and I’m not perfect, like you. Thank you very much for embarrassing me by calling attention to my problem in front of everyone. I think I even heard the F-word bandied about at some point, and I don’t think that she was the one who used it. I threw my books on her desk telling her I no longer wanted them. I vowed never to return, and I literally ran out of the library, at least as best as someone who until recently was confined to a wheelchair could run.

Even before I closed the car door, I began sobbing. When my crying finally came to an end, my mood changed instantly, and I spent the next several minutes angrily ranting and raving at the injustice of it all. How could she embarrass me like she did? Why did she speak to me in such an unprofessional way? Surely I wasn’t the only one who had a problem with the new system, especially since today was the first day of the library’s reopening. I wasn’t asking too much, was I? It was her job to help me. Don’t I have enough problems already without her adding to them? My self-pity theme went on for quite a while as I continued to whimper, too distressed to drive.

Eventually, convinced that I was totally drained of all emotion, I felt it was probably safe for me to drive home. As soon as I put the key in the ignition, however, I suddenly remembered how atrociously I had acted, and I commenced weeping once again. I was no longer upset with the librarian at all. I was now thoroughly distressed by my own behavior. I couldn’t believe that I behaved in the manner I had. I had never acted out in such an extreme way in public before. I was totally miserable and proceeded to verbally abuse myself. I am such a horrible person; I was totally obnoxious in there. I am so embarrassed. I can just imagine what everybody thought about me. I hate myself. Everyone else was able to use the self-checkout, why couldn’t I? I am really stupid. I wish I was dead.

I kept replaying the incident in my head several times, repeating over and over what the librarian had said and what I had said. As I finally started to calm down, it occurred to me that maybe the librarian was teasing and planned to show me how easy it was to check out books the new way. Was it possible I had misinterpreted her tone due to the mental state I was in at the time? I wanted to go back and make amends for my misdeeds, but I just could not force myself to do it. I came to the conclusion that I was an appalling individual who had no redeeming value.

When I finally finished crying for the second time, I did allow myself a small laugh. A few weeks before the incident, I felt a spiritual impetus to set an intention to be unconditionally loving to everyone I met to the best of my ability. I always remembered how every simple kindness right after my stroke made me feel much better and gave me hope. Even just a positive word or gesture from a stranger could brighten my day considerably. Wishing to pay it forward, I repeated my intention every time I went into a place where I knew I would encounter others. I had even repeated my resolution before I went into the library. A lot of good it did!

As I drove home, I decided I would never tell anyone about this embarrassing incident as I was quite ashamed of my behavior. Then I remembered a slogan that a friend had shared with me many years ago that she had heard at an Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meeting, You’re only as sick as your secrets. These words of wisdom had been an emotional lifesaver for me many times in the past. I resolved to follow through on the advice and share the whole debacle with a few close friends and family members.

When I described my experience, I truly expected them to be totally disgusted by my behavior. Instead, they thought the whole incident was quite funny and were pleased that I was finally getting some spunk back after my stroke. While I disagreed with them, their attitude did help me realize that it was not the end of the world. For some reason, I also was struck by the fact that each one of us, the librarian, my family and friends, and myself reacted to the exact same situation according to our own personal points of view. I’m not sure why, but this thought planted a seed in my mind that I just couldn’t let go.

While trying to get some sleep that night, I continued to reflect on the Library Fiasco. I also gave more thought to how everyone perceived the same incident differently. I started to smile thinking how each one of us might tell others about the conflict based on our own personal perspectives. I remembered how I had first painted myself as the victim when I retold the story, laying it on thick about how rude and unpleasant the librarian had been. I did add how badly I reacted and how awful I felt about it, but I certainly still implied that she was the villain. Next, I pictured how my friends might tell our mutual friends about the incident. Again, the librarian would be the bad guy, but I would be the heroine who stood up for her rights, finally replacing the quieter, introverted version of myself that I had become after the stroke.

Then, I visualized the librarian describing the incident to her husband. Of course, she was the heroine whose only purpose was to teach some crabby old lady how the new system worked. I had every intention of showing her how to use it, but she went completely bonkers - screaming, cussing and throwing books all over the place. She kept insulting me, trying to make me feel guilty when she was the one who was being a real witch. In reality, she probably didn’t have to elaborate too much regarding my performance since my behavior was truly horrible.

I continued to mull over the Library Fiasco for a couple more days. The silly stories I had made up about it released some of the lingering stress, but I still felt the need to understand why I had behaved in the way I did. I decided to approach the incident a little more realistically. I was obviously already stressed when I entered the building. Everything about the library was quite different. While I always sought out challenges in the past, at the time of the Library Fiasco, I was only confident with the tasks and activities that were already familiar to me. I honestly believed that I could not possibly learn how to check out books on my own, and the librarian’s insistence that I could only made me more frazzled than I already was. I felt vulnerable and totally at the mercy of someone who did not seem very merciful.

It eventually dawned on me that the hidden reason I had acted extremely inappropriately was because I had never dealt with the loss I had encountered due to my stroke. I was always very grateful that I was recovering so well, and I still feel the same way today. However, I did have to retire from my profession. At the time of the stroke, I was acting as a liaison between a university and several school districts. I was able to use the skills and relationships I had developed over my many years as an educator and felt like I was doing important work. While I was asked to come back after the stroke, I knew I couldn’t. My thought processes were just not as sharp as they had once been.

Interestingly, I had never considered the powerful emotions generated by the loss of my career. Before my stroke, I had always largely defined myself based upon the work I was able to accomplish. I knew my stuff, I had a good reputation, and I had many collegial friends. I truly thought I was making a difference in the world of education, a world I loved. I became painfully aware that all the time I was trying hard to look at the bright side of things, I had totally suppressed the very real negative feelings that had accompanied the aftermath of the stroke and were lurking beneath the surface.

The Library Fiasco made it clear that I needed to allow myself the time to feel the grief for the death of my professional life, which had been so important to me. I came to understand that I was not reacting insufferably solely because of the way the librarian treated me. Normally, I would never have caused a scene like I did. I took what she said very personally and, as a result, I was reacting to the helplessness and lack of control over my life that I had felt since my stroke. I eventually became quite grateful for the Library Fiasco because it brought all these issues and emotions to light. My distressing experience afforded me the opportunity to seriously look at a problem that I didn’t even know I had. Once I became aware of the real issue, I sought a resolution to it almost immediately.

The seed which was planted when I recognized how my family and friends, the librarian and myself all had different perspectives related to my behavior took a few more years for me to work through. For reasons I can’t explain, the dichotomy between the knowledge that we all had conflicting personal opinions about the same incident and the adage, it’s nothing personal, struck a chord in me. Obviously, each of us looked at the same scenario in very personal ways. I also realized while I truly did not know if the librarian acted as she did because of something personal going on in her life, I knew for a fact that I had. In actuality, how I acted had nothing to do with her. If the same situation had occurred before I suffered the lost of my career, I would have blown it off. Knowing all this, how was it possible to say that nothing is personal? I decided I could no longer just accept this axiom as my own truth until I figured out how the statement, it’s nothing personal, could be valid when the Library Fiasco and other life experiences seemed to prove otherwise.

I came to the realization that knowing something intellectually is just not enough. I had often read and appreciated the valuable ideas available in many self-help books over the years. Unfortunately, I have never been able to practice what they preached. As a result of the Library Fiasco, I gradually came to the conclusion that if I genuinely believed a message was important I had to find a way to grasp its meaning from my own personal perspective. I had to find my own truth. As a result, I began a journey that I have never regretted, and after much inner work, the seed planted during the Library Fiasco eventually blossomed. Now, whenever someone says to me, It’s nothing personal, I tend to quietly think like the character in the movie, Play Misty for Me, It’s nothing personal, really, except I tend to make it into a question, It’s nothing personal. Really? I think this way now because the seed which was planted during the Library Fiasco grew into an unwavering belief that I still hold dearly, one which totally changed my life in every way - the belief that Everything is Personal.

Chapter 2

Attention Must Be Paid

"Perhaps the most important thing we ever

give each other is our attention."

Rachel Naomi Remen M.D.

A fter the Library Fiasco, I put my conflict between it’s nothing personal and it sure feels personal on the back burner for a while. I recognized that I needed to concentrate first on working through the loss of my career and the subsequent loss of identity issues which ensued. I always knew that working in the field of education was important to me, but just like it happens to many of us in retirement, I never realized how crucial it was to my well-being until I was deprived of it. Slowly, over a period of several months, I learned to let this part of my life go. I came to truly appreciate the feeling of freedom and lack of stress that had accompanied my retirement.

As I got physically and emotionally stronger, I was able to spend more time doing the things I have always loved but never had the time or energy to do when I was working. I took great pleasure in going to movies, reading more novels, writing, and looking into research, especially about the brain and Quantum Physics. I started going out more with friends and family and visited many places that I hadn’t explored yet in my home state of Arizona. I revisited my love for art and became a prolific amateur artist and photographer, continuously working on some project or another.

I, also, finally had the time to truly explore the personal issues that needed to be addressed. Little by little, I came to genuinely appreciate the stroke and the end of my career. For the first time in my personal life, I was becoming somewhat comfortable in my own skin. My professional life was wonderful, but I finally came to the conclusion it was what I did, not who I was. As I was working out some of my personal issues, I happened to come across a quote by historian, James Truslow Adams, Seek out that particular mental attribute which makes you feel most deeply and vitally alive, along with which comes the inner voice which says, This is the real me," and when you have found that attitude,