Nothing Changes Until You Do: A Guide to Self-Compassion and Getting Out of Your Own Way (17 page)
Read Nothing Changes Until You Do: A Guide to Self-Compassion and Getting Out of Your Own Way Online
Authors: Mike Robbins
Tags: #Self-Help, #General
In March of 1998 I read a book that changed the trajectory of my life. That book was
Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff
, by Richard Carlson. I received it in the mail just a few days before heading out to Florida for spring training with the Kansas City Royals. I’d injured my pitching arm the season before and had reconstructive elbow surgery. Although I was only 8 months into a 12- to 18-month rehab process and was doing everything I could to recover from the injury, I had a sense that my baseball career was probably over. With this as the backdrop, I had a lot on my mind as I made my way out to spring training that year. The power and simplicity of the message in Richard’s book and the insight and perspective I gained while reading it were profound and very helpful. While my arm injury and the potential end of my baseball career didn’t seem anything like “small stuff” to me, I realized in reading the book how easily I allowed little things to stress me out and cause pain and worry for me unnecessarily.
When I arrived in Florida, having read the book on the way out, I did something I’d never done before—I went and purchased five copies and sent them to my mom, my dad, my two sisters, and a good friend back home. I really wanted to share the inspiration and insight I’d gained from the book with some of the most important people in my life.
A few weeks into my time at spring training, I was notified by the Royals that they were releasing me from my contract, which meant I had to go home. They didn’t think I was going to fully recover from my injury and be able to play, so they had decided to let me go. I was shocked and scared, although at some deep level, not completely surprised. While it wasn’t officially the end of my career, it was a major blow, and it left me reeling. I packed up my stuff and began the long drive back to California just a few weeks after I’d made the long drive to Florida.
On my way home, I had a lot of time to contemplate my baseball career, my current situation, and my future. I was filled with a myriad of thoughts and feelings, many of which were conflicting. I felt scared and sad about the potential end of my career. I felt confused and worried about what this all meant and what would happen next. I also felt a sense of excitement and curiosity about what else I might be able to focus on and do with my life if, in fact, baseball would no longer be a part of it. In addition to all of these thoughts and feelings, I kept thinking about
Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff
and Richard. On top of being inspired by the wisdom of his book, I was also inspired by his work. And although it wasn’t the first time I’d had this thought, I realized that there was a part of me that wanted to do what Richard Carlson did—inspire others. I wasn’t sure how one went about becoming an author like Richard, but I knew that he lived in the San Francisco Bay Area, not far from where I lived, and I wondered if I might be able to get in touch with him when I got home.
Although it was way out of my comfort zone (I’d never done anything like this before in my life), when I got home, I sent a letter to Richard thanking him for his beautiful book and inspiration. I also let him know about my current situation and the thoughts and desires I had about someday potentially doing the kind of work that he did. Given how busy and successful Richard was, I didn’t really expect to hear back from him, but it felt important for me to write and send the letter anyway.
Amazingly, a few weeks later I received a three-page personal response from Richard in the mail. He thanked me for my heartfelt letter and shared some words of wisdom with me about my dream of becoming an author and teacher. “My suggestion to you if you want to get into this field is twofold. First of all,
be yourself
. Don’t try to imitate anyone and their style, including mine. Second, find something that really touches you, not something you think is going to be popular, but something that is really you.”
I was blown away that he’d taken the time to respond to me personally. I appreciated the truth and sincerity of his feedback. And, I took it as a sign that, like him, doing work that was intended to inspire others was something I was supposed to do.
Five years later, in the spring of 2003, Michelle and I attended a fund-raiser for a nonprofit organization called Challenge Day that we both love and support. I’d started my speaking and coaching business two years earlier in 2001, and I’d also begun working on my first book, but it was pretty slow going at that point. Richard and his wife, Kris, were both at this fund-raiser—I saw their names in the program. I leaned over to Michelle and said, “Oh my God, Richard Carlson is here!” We were sitting with our friends Rich and Kathy, and I knew that Rich knew Richard personally. When the event ended, I turned to Rich and said, “Hey, would you mind introducing me to Richard Carlson?”
He said, “I thought you guys already knew each other.”
I said, “Well, I’m a huge fan of his work and we corresponded a few years ago, but we’ve never actually met.”
We made our way up front, through the hundreds of people at the event, to where Richard was chatting with some friends. Rich introduced us, and I said, “Richard, it’s such an honor to meet you! Thank you for your incredible work—your books have had a big impact on me. I doubt you remember, but I wrote you a letter about five years ago just as my baseball career was coming to an end. I was trying to figure out my next step in life. You were kind enough to write back, which I really appreciated.”
Richard said, “I remember you and your letter. It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Mike!”
We talked for a while. I told Richard a little bit about me and my current work as a speaker and coach. I also told him I had an idea for a book on the power of appreciation. Richard said, “The world could use a book on appreciation—it’s such an important topic! Here’s my card; feel free to get in touch with me if I can be of any help with your book.”
I got in touch with Richard after meeting him at the event and we set up a time to meet for tea near his office. I was nervous and excited to connect with him one-on-one and wasn’t quite sure what the conversation would involve. We ended up sitting and talking for almost three hours—about life, sports, family, appreciation, keeping things in perspective, writing and publishing, and many other things. It felt as though we’d known each other for a very long time. And, without me even asking, Richard offered to write the foreword for my book if I wanted him to (which, of course, I did), and he said he wanted to help me in whatever other way he could.
I was, once again, blown away and deeply grateful for his care, generosity, and offer of support. Over the next four years, Richard and I built a beautiful and wonderful relationship. He became my mentor, and being around him felt like being around the older brother I never had.
Sadly and unexpectedly, on December 13, 2006, just three weeks after he’d written the foreword for
Focus on the Good Stuff,
Richard died at the age of 45. He was flying to New York for a television appearance and he had a pulmonary embolism, a blood clot that moved into his lungs, from which he never woke up.
I learned so much from Richard through his work, our friendship, and watching how he lived his life and balanced his many responsibilities. He really walked his talk and had a presence about him that was remarkable. When you were with Richard, it felt like he didn’t have anywhere else to be and that you were the most important person on the planet.
I miss him very much to this day, but I feel his presence with me all the time. As I was writing this book, which in many ways was directly inspired by Richard and the way he wrote his books, I would often hear his voice in my head, especially as I started to worry or stress out about something specific, saying, “Mike, remember, don’t sweat it; it’s not that big of a deal.”
Richard’s simple but profound message—that life’s
not
an emergency; that most of what we get ourselves upset about is really small stuff; and that when we stop and take inventory, we have lots to be grateful for—is so true. Not sweating the small stuff is about keeping things in a healthy perspective and focusing on what truly matters in life. And when you remember this, as Richard said, “you will begin to create a more peaceful and loving you.” He’s right and I’m so grateful for the wisdom he shared with me and with all of us.
Samantha was born on February 11, 2006. Her birth was one of the most amazing experiences of my life (in the truest sense of the word
amazing
). Of course, her being our first child, it was also pretty overwhelming on many levels. Although Samantha was born three and a half weeks early and Michelle’s labor was incredibly intense (and without drugs), the birth was so remarkable and miraculous that it blew me away. At the moment she came out, I had a flood of emotion—joy, excitement, relief, gratitude, fear, and curiosity—and an overwhelming feeling of love. As the midwife caught her and we saw that she was healthy, the tears flowed.
In the midst of all the excitement, I had a funny feeling that this all seemed somewhat familiar to me. This feeling didn’t make any rational sense, since I’d never had a baby, of course, and hadn’t even seen one being born (except for those videos in our birthing class, which, by the way, were
nothing
like the real experience). Nonetheless, I couldn’t shake the sense of emotional déjà vu. I didn’t understand it, so I just let it go and allowed myself to get caught up in the incredible moment of newborn bliss.
She was born late in the afternoon on a Saturday. A little over 24 hours later, somewhere in the middle of Sunday night (probably the early morning hours of Monday), we were still in the hospital and I couldn’t sleep. Honestly, with the excitement of the birth, the feeding, changing, and sleeping schedule of the new baby, and everything else that was happening, I wasn’t all that interested in sleeping. Thankfully, both Michelle and Samantha were peacefully sleeping at that moment and I sat there watching them. I was feeling such joy, pride, contentment, and love as I looked at my beautiful new baby and my incredibly brave wife. I wanted to capture that moment, both for myself and also for Samantha, so I took out a piece of paper and started to write her a letter. My intention was to let her know exactly what it felt like just a day after her birth—and to reflect on my honest thoughts and feelings as a brand-new father, still buzzing from the whole experience.
The words flowed easily, which is often true for me, especially when I’m feeling an intense emotion. I let Samantha know about my love for her and all that entailed. I talked about the amazement of her birth and how in awe of her mommy I was. As I was in the midst of writing the letter, I started thinking about my own father, who had died a little more than four years earlier. I wondered what it felt like when he was a brand-new father. And I wondered how he would feel if he were here to meet his new granddaughter. I felt a deep sense of love and connection with my dad in that moment. I also felt a lot of empathy for him, given all of the struggles he’d experienced in his life. It was a beautiful moment of healing and connection for me with my dad—as a new dad myself—and with my sleeping baby girl.
I returned to the letter and began to write specifically about my father, her grandfather, whom she would never meet, but who I know would have loved to have met her. As I got a few sentences into writing to her about my dad, I dropped my pen and started sobbing. It hit me right then—the reason that the moment of Samantha’s birth felt familiar to me was because it was very similar to the moment of my dad’s death.
I’d had the honor of being in the room when my dad took his final breath, and although, obviously, the circumstances and emotions associated with my dad’s death and Samantha’s birth were quite different, there was something similarly sacred and beautiful about these two experiences. There was a presence and an energy in the room when Samantha came in and when my dad left. It was loving, safe, magical, and very much the same in both situations.
A great quote that is often attributed to Albert Einstein says, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” There is so much for us to be in awe of in life if we stop and pay attention. From the most profound to the merely mundane, life is full of wonder. Too often we take people and things for granted, instead of being amazed by the beauty and synchronicity that exists all around us.
When something “big” happens in life, like the birth of a child, the healing of an illness, a major achievement, a monumental peak experience, or something else we consider to be great, we often call it a miracle or at least give ourselves permission, albeit sometimes for just a very short time, to stop and appreciate the amazement of the specific event (and of life in general). This is wonderful and powerful when we do it. However, we don’t have to wait for something “amazing” to happen to live with a sense of amazement. Even things that are challenging and painful can be amazing if we choose to look for the gifts in those experiences. Simple, positive things like sunsets, the laughter of children, the tress blowing in the wind, and even just the ability to walk are all things we could step back and appreciate, if we choose to do so.
Years ago a mentor of mine said, “Mike, if you want to dramatically change your life, there are two simple things you can do right now. Be easily impressed and hard to offend. Sadly, most of us have this the other way around. But if you can practice being authentically impressed and amazed by people, situations, and life itself, the way a child is, and make a firm commitment to yourself not to get offended unless something really big happens, you’ll live a fantastic life.”
The wisdom of this suggestion was profound. When we allow ourselves to be amazed by life, life is always amazing in return.
A few years ago, I was in a cab on my way to JFK airport in New York, and I was lamenting to my friend Theo about how so many things seemed hard for me, and how some people just have things come so easy to them.