A Few Quick Thoughts on How to Make Your 2018 Great

“Forget mistakes, forget failures, forget everything, except what you’re going to do now and do it. Today is your lucky day.” – Will Durant

In the next coming weeks you'll see gyms packed to the brim, resolutions obsessively pursued, and maybe even a decline in Netflix binges. Okay, maybe not the last one.

With each new year comes a new beginning and an opportunity to shake off a dozen months that may or may not have gone as well as we would have liked.

But not long after the ball drops you will see those bold declarations thwarted and quickly forgotten.

Why?

I think there are two main reasons:

1. We try to do too much at once

2. Our resolutions are not driven by a sustainable "Why"

So what we can do about it?

Part of our success in life hinges on our ability to take on less, NOT more. Warren Buffett is famously known for turning down 99 % of the opportunities that come his way. Bill Gates credits his massive success to one quality: Focus

We can reverse engineer our thinking and subsequently our ability to achieve more by taking on less. By doing so we steadily develop our capacity to do those few things REALLY well rather than dabbling in mediocrity.

It's also important to ease into those few projects we do decide to take on. If we want to lose 20 lbs we can't expect to jettison that extra weight moments after our new gym membership has been processed. Start slow and gradually build your way up. 

Two things happen as a result:

-- you begin to develop consistency

-- your confidence grows

Second, we have to know why we're doing what we're doing. Why are you training for that marathon? Yes, it's admirable, impressive even, but is it what YOU want to do?

If you don't have some type of stake in the mission at hand then its nearly impossible to sustain the momentum needed to see it through.

By tapping into your "why," you'll have the capacity to endure those times when you want to give in. 

Make it About Something Bigger than Yourself

Often a very effective foundation for staying on the path is looking outside ourselves. When we raise necessity and understand others are depending on us to see a project through there's very little, if anything that can stop us. 

Happy New Year and thank you all for the remarkable support in 2017! 
Wishing you all ENORMOUS happiness and success in 2018.

Much Love,

Nick Maccarone

Lessons from Bullfighting

Some believe it to be an art form. It's critics call it barbaric. Others view it as nothing more than a spectacle. 

But no matter your views on bullfighting, assuming you have some, it's hard to overlook the influence the tradition has had on the ancient cultures of Europe and Latin America. Paintings dating all the way back to 2000 BC adorn some of the caves in present-day Crete.  

Even India and Tanzania came claim to have dabbled in the timeworn drama between man and bull. Each corner of the globe undoubtedly sprinkling their own interpretation of how triumph is regarded and heroism, if any, is measured. 

Though the guidelines around fighting a bull vary by region just as say, cuisine or climate the objective usually falls squarely into one of the following categories:

-- debilitate

-- subdue

-- kill

Today, the event is held in sporting tabernacles that are as impressive as the spectacle itself. Stadiums like the Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas built in 1929, can seat nearly 24,000 people. It's distinct Neo-Mudejar architecture and heraldic crests representing the various Spanish provinces remind you there's nothing passive about the sport or its perception. 

Unlike the simple layout of the Plaza de toros de Ronda, a venue Hemingway was known to attend, the sport and motif it may offer seems more nuanced than a quick glance offers. 

But not in the way you may think.

Though there may be lessons gleaned from watching the composure, even courage demanded in deliberately agitating a 1300 pound (and very angry) animal, just as much can be learned from studying the bull.

Let me explain...

In Spanish-style bullfighting, also known as "corrida de toros," there is a fair amount of pageantry that precedes the actual fight. Here are the three distinct stages:

Stage 1: Tercio de Varas

-- a bugle announces the start of the event

-- the bullfighters enter the arena in an elaborate procession

-- the bull is released into the ring and tested for its barbarity

-- another fighter, known as a picador, enters the ring on horseback before driving a lance into the neck of the bull.

As you can imagine, this doesn't go over too well.

Stage 2: Tercio de Banderillas

-- each of the three bullfighters in the arena, also known as banderilleros, will then attempt to force two sharp rods into the shoulder of the bull

Stage 3: Tercio de Muerte

-- two of the three banderilleros exit stage left leaving just one to fend for himself

-- by now he is holding what many of us consider to be synonymous with bullfighting -- the muleta, or red cape

-- the bull, which is considerably wounded at this point, does its best to hamper the domination exhibited by the fighter through a series of passes

-- finally, a skilled matador wears the bull down to eventually angle the bull into a position where he can stab it through the heart

It's safe to say the three stages of the event heavily stack the odds in favor of the banderilleros. Not only is the bull outnumbered but long before there is any semblance of being evenly matched, the animal has been severely impaired.

Still, there is a point when the bull is considered to be MOST dangerous...

Amid the confusion the bull has the capacity to suspend its turmoil and pain. Just as we can, it can find a momentary respite amongst the chaos.

When the bull reaches this state it's called, Carencia. 

When this happens, the matador knows he's in trouble.   

The reason Carencia is so threatening for a bullfighter is because the bull recognizes its vast strength and power. It's potential and capacity for greatness is suddenly re-awakened. It slows time down, is no longer subjugated by its anger, and even finds some semblance of tranquility.

You too may feel as though the odds are against you -- the rules are unfair. You may even have the battle scars to prove it. 

But within that adversity exists a unique opportunity for intelligent endurance. We can pause and in the process blissfully interrupt stimulus and response with resourceful thought. 

We may have little control over the events in our life, both good and bad, but we can still elect the way we respond. 

Amidst the pain, the hardship, and the odds we can still create an interval of peace. It's there we hear ourselves above the noise, sometimes truly for the first time.

It's in that arena we cultivate resilience and character, while unearthing our power, durability, and vast human potential.

Then we live to fight another day.

  

   

My Favorite Poem

Several years back as I was thumbing through a magazine I came across a poem by the playwright, Tennessee Williams who is probably best known for his renowned drama, A Streetcar Named Desire.

I'll be the first to admit I don't read a great deal of poetry, nor do I write it. (trust me when I say you'd be very underwhelmed)

But the vulnerability and humanity in his work, Your Blinded Hand spoke to me in such a delightfully inexplicable way I eventually cut the page from the magazine and framed it. 

For years it hung precariously on my dinged apartment wall, staring me square in the face before I'd hastily dart into another unpredictable New York City day.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Your Blinded Hand 

Suppose that               everything that greens and growsshould blacken in one moment, flower and branch.I think that I would find your blinded hand.Suppose that your cry and mine were lost among numberless cries               in a city of fire when the earth is afire,I must still believe that somehow I would find your blinded hand.               Through flames everywhere               consuming earth and airI must believe that somehow, if only one moment were offered,     I would               find your hand.I know as, of course, you know               the immeasurable wilderness that would exist               in the moment of fire.But I would hear your cry and you’d hear mine and each of us     would find               the other’s hand.                              We know               that it might not be so.                              But for this quiet moment, if only for this moment,and against all reason,               let us believe, and believe in our hearts,               that somehow it would be so.               I’d hear your cry, you mine—                              And each of us would find a blinded hand.

Do Not Be Intimidated by Bad Thinking

There's a wonderful book by Alain de Botton called, The Consolations of Philosophy. One of Botton's distinct gifts as a writer and thinker is his ability to take complicated and often daunting subject matters and make them lucid, and dare I say fun. 

In the beginning of his book he talks about the importance of thinking for one self and how doing so is often not popular. 

He tells the story of Socrates, the classical Greek philosopher sentenced to death for corrupting the youth and failing to worship the city's gods. 

Not surprisingly, the image that probably popped into your head was the painting done by Jacques-Louis David in Paris in 1786. The image shows Socrates surrounded by distraught friends as he defiantly prepares for his death.

"I am not going to alter my conduct, not even if I have to die a hundred deaths," Socrates supposedly told a jury.

To many the boldness of Socrates may be viewed as recklessness. He did after all have several opportunities to avoid death, namely by repudiating his beliefs and refraining from public discourse.

He refused.

To point he was trying to make is what's popular is not always right. 

His jury of "peers" consisted of 500 men. 220 decided Socrates was not guilty, while the other 280 felt differently. 

But what was their reasoning based on?

By the way,the qualifications to serve on the jury in Athens around the year 399 BC were the following:

-- being male
-- having citizenship

Talk about a low bar.

In other words, having the capacity to at least try and interpret why something was true by considering why it's alternatives were false was not a pre-requisite. 

Which makes me wonder if it is for many of us today. 

Most people give greater thought to how to make their favorite dish for a dinner party than whether the beliefs they've adopted are actually their own. 

The truth is, the act of pursuing mental and moral well-being hinges on our ability to discount the unfounded link between approval of others and the TRUTH. 

The two are NOT binary. 

Botton says, "The validity of an idea or action is determined not by whether it is widely believed or widely reviled but by whether it obeys the rules of logic."

Courage, as he puts it, is intelligent endurance. It is the capacity to understand that truth is not about the number of people who may oppose it but rather their reasoning for doing so. 

Do we have the courage to look BEHIND the critique of others? Ourselves?

The ability to not buckle under times of unpopularity takes courage, which is cultivated with practice. It's not about blindly clinging to our beliefs for the sake of defiance, but challenging others, however many, to prove its premise through logic, not emotion.

In the end, it seems Socrates was vindicated. Shortly after his death the mood around Athens changed like a season. 

The three men who brought the charges against Socrates were supposedly banished, one was even condemned to death. Meanwhile, a bronze statue of Socrates was crafted by the sculpture Lysippos.

Athens, as Socrates predicted, came around and saw things the way he did.

The lesson is to not be intimidated by bad thinking NO MATTER who, or from how many it comes from. 

Write Your Own Eulogy TODAY

How often do we take the time to ask how ourselves the way we’d want to be remembered?

Too often it seems, people only take the time to make such an audacious inquiry when our mortality finally feels tangible. When the pique of our superpowers and feelings of immortality gradually fade.

Suddenly, death no longer feels like a theory but an impending reality or inconvenience.

Why not instead extend an olive branch to our gradual extinction and even cultivate a healthy relationship to it? By appreciating death we subsequently do the same for life.

Sometimes it helps to work backwards to bring greater clarity to the steps we need to take in order to live a life in harmony with the core principles we so desperately long to represent.

Admittedly, I have a LONG way to go before the eulogy below would be read on my own behalf but my hope is that it’ll inspire you to think critically, allow for generous introspection, and help you generate ideas on how you want to be remembered someday.

More importantly, I hope it inspires you to take some form of action sooner rather than later.

Life is after all unapologetically fickle and definitively finite.

Nick was a devoted son, brother, and friend. He worked tirelessly on becoming the best version of himself every single day of his life.

He woke up each day with a profound sense of gratitude and optimism about the world and his capacity to influence it in some small way.

Nick never wavered in his commitment to emotional, spiritual, mental, and professional development nor in cultivating rich relationships with the people around him.

As he got older, Nick honored his gifts, embraced his ignorance, recognized his shortcomings, and even grew to appreciate how deeply flawed he was. He also valued the importance of redefining success on his own terms.

He refused to buckle under times of unpopularity or blindly accept widely accepted norms as arbitrarily right.

He defined a fully lived life by taking risks, committing completely to everything he did, always trying to demonstrate kindness, gratitude and integrity. Especially when it was hard.

Nick believed in being bold but not reckless and in protecting his dreams and curiosity at all costs.

He grew to fall in love with ambiguity and appreciate that most of life is lived in the middle.

In the end, Nick understood some questions are not meant to be answered and that wisdom is cultivated in the space between doubt and knowing.

When Nick finally departed he had nothing left to give. He devoted himself completely to the craft of creating, contributing, and living.

Most notably, he chose to see people as opportunities rather than problems. It was his friends that allowed him to see another point of view, to look at the big picture, and to know the act of carrying out tasks together provided opportunity for growth, inquiry, and a heightened sense of community.

He was a man who invented the future through creating art. And when he died, he wanted people to say, “Man did that guy know how to live!”

But mostly, he wanted to be remembered as a man who made the world a better place through a redeemed social condition. He wanted people to say, “His accomplishments were significant but far more important was the character with which he lived his life.”

GO

Several months back while visiting Granada I rented a scooter. I couldn’t help myself. I strolled past the bright red bikes standing proudly beneath a merciless sun the day before and swore they were calling my name.

The friendly gentlemen working behind the counter went by Juliano.

“I want to go to Laguna Apoyo,” I told him.

“Yeah, you could do that,” he said. “Just don’t take it to San Juan del Sur.”

I didn’t know exactly how far San Juan del Sur was but did know it wasn’t terribly far from Costa Rica. All this to say it wasn’t close to Granada.

“No problem,” I assured him as I started to mull over the seed he’d just planted.

I made my way through the busy streets of Granada picking up as many stares as exhaust fumes from the locals. I must have embodied a thousand stereotypes under my tight red helmet

At this point in my life, the looks I draw are a familiar part of my globetrotting experience no matter what corner of the planet I saunter through. Regardless, of the hemisphere or time zone people everywhere indelicately play world atlas with my face.

I just sit and smile.

I reached the turn off for Laguna Apoyo without a great deal of trouble. I stopped a few times to ask for directions, which was surprisingly productive considering I knew neither the land nor the language.

I don’t see it yet but can feel it. I manage to climb quite high at one point before spotting this majestic oasis. There it is, I think to myself. It’s beautiful.

Moments later I fall off my scooter, while trying to get up a steep and bumpy road I had no business riding on.

I scratch up the no longer impeccable front fender. I’m okay but it certainly takes a bounce from my step as I begin to dread breaking the news to Juliano back in Granada.

I wonder just how much of my $100 deposit he plans to pocket.

Eventually, I get it together and make my way back down the mountain so I can get a closer peek at the lagoon. I pass schoolchildren, stores, gaunt looking horses, and resorts all within a single stretch of mile.

I feel mixed emotions as a rare sense of freedom washes over me. I have so much, I think. These people have almost nothing.

There’s an intensity to the poverty here that’s unsettling — the same destitution I saw in Nepal, Haiti, and South Africa. It seems with each place I visit the level of need gets dialed up. I don’t know what to do about it all, but promise myself I won’t allow my uncertainty to evolve into ambivalence.

As I inch closer to the lagoon it begins to rain. My body is drenched as I weave my way out of the forest and back to the main road. I’ve seen what I came for.

I reach the highway and must now decide to turn back or make my way home to Granada. A nearly empty tank of gas tells me it’s time to pack it but I’m not ready for it all to end.

I hook a left and off I GO.

Big rigs, motorcycles, and impatient cab drivers swerve around as I begin to appreciate the insanity riding such a thing on a Central American interstate demands. Perhaps it’s why I don’t see a single tourist doing the same.

It’s this very singularity, however misguided, I love.

I haven’t felt freer for as long as I can recall. I’d drive this flimsy little thing to Russia if I could. I don’t ever want to get off this bike. Everything, as in my youth of youths is out in front.

I suddenly feel I’ve started over and there’s a calling to be realized, a land to be explored, a great love to be met.

It’s all just up ahead.

I can practically see it.