Everything Fell Where They May

I am convinced of one thing.
The mind is the greatest obstacle. I know this. 
I know this because I have lost before I started and I have quit before I’ve tried.
I am not the only one who has lost this way.
Not at all, but at the moment, I am the only one here and you are the only one with me.
Or, so I hope.

I’ve lost to a belief system and old or outdated thinking errors that cause me to believe in failure or lead me to the disbelief that I can advance and surpass my own limitations. 

I was told about The Peter Principle which is a theory on how people rise to the level of their own limitations.
And yes, I confess that I have limited me far more than anyone else has ever limited me or my successes.

What is this?

What is this thing we call imposter syndrome? Why are we all equipped with the assumption that at some point, the world is going to unfold and we are going to be exposed and discovered and revealed and seen as lacking or unqualified; and why are we equipped with the fear that somehow, we are unworthy of our achievements, and above all, why is this so common?

research shows that somewhere between 70 – 82% of people struggle with imposter syndrome.
And the rest?
Well, I assume the rest just lie or ide it better . . .

Where does the internal critic come from and why do we judge so harshly?
Is this due to catastrophic thinking?
(look it up.)
Is this due to biases and programmed thinking errors?
Are these results from trauma?
Is this due to abuse?
Is this because we have a subconscious worry and a survival system that needs to be updated and changed?

I know about me.
I know where my past has led me and how I have allowed my past to dictate my future.

I know that words have meaning. I know that words, like “stupid,” seem to hold on for longer than we think.
I know that doubt is often too contagious and so,  we tend to believe in the predictions that fail us and we often invest in the opinions that remove us from our best interests.

I remember when a man told me about living up to my best possible potential.
I have always loved those words: My Best Possible Potential.
But what does this mean?
Or how about this?
Regardless of our habitual routines and thinking; our best can still improve.
Always.
But, of course, this only works if we continue to evolve and train and work to be at our best.

I think about a line from a Judo coach who explained “you are not just here to train to be your best, you want to be your best, even on your worst possible day.”

You know . . .
. . . back when I was a kid, I was told that I had limitations.
I was told that I had learning disabilities. I could hardly read. I struggled in math. I struggled to remember the lessons I learned. I could read an entire paragraph and forget what I read immediately afterwards.
I hated school and the limiting feelings that come with being called

I stuttered when I would read out loud.
I was in the “dumb” and the “stupid” classes, or so I heard.
There were few and far between people who promised me, “That is not you,” only they later removed their promise and swore that I would end up alone, sad, and with the demise that I deserved as per them.
Worse than hearing insults from enemies, nothing hurt more than hearing the same things from people I loved more than anying.
Either way –

I believed in the labels I was given.
I believed in my stupidity over my ability and therefore, I believed the teachers who told me that at best, I would pump gas for a living. Or maybe I would be a janitor said some of my teachers, which oddly enough, I have janitors in my union and the funny think about this is janitors make more money than the teachers who use their position as a warning and tell kids . . .
“Do you want to be like the janitor?”

I wonder something . . .
If underachieving is habit forming, then by this right, perhaps overachieving can be equally addicting.

I think so . . .
I believe this is true.

I can win at anytime, even if I lose, I win because no matter what, I have not stopped, quit or given in and due to the laws of averages and effort; I am bound to succeed.
Now, in all fairness –
I might not be successful if I want to play in the NBA or Major League Baseball.
I have to be realistic.
I might never make it to the blackbelt levels of Brazilian jiu-jitsu and compete at the top levels after my injuries and age has definitely weighed in.
But the best freedom is that no one can stop me from following my passions or shooting for my personal best.


I can say that the fear of loss, however, can be worse than loss itself. I can see how our intimidations cause us to emotionally stutter or trip and so, we fall down old holes because at best, we believe that this is all we can be.
I remember the fear of loss when I reached a level of achievement and how I contributed to my own downfalls.

The mind is our biggest obstacles . . .

I was called a loser.
I have been called stupid.
I was told that I should settle and be happy with what I get.
I was told that I would never be able to compete at the top levels and that despite my efforts and despite my dreams or aspirations, I should be happy with mediocrity because at best, “someone like me,” will never reach the heights or the goals or the levels of success as other people.

I remember when I had an old crowd of friends.
Or better yet, I will call them so-called friends because real friends are honest, of course, and real friends pull you up instead of keep you down. However, I remember being told about my disadvantages in life and how I will never be as successful.
I was told this by someone who lives homeless now. And while I understand the logistics and the aftermath of bankruptcy, I am not homeless and I am not in such a bad position.

Then again, ugly is ugly and therefore, cheering about someone’s demise or downfall makes me no better than the man who told me I will never be as successful as him.
And, I remember when he told me that I should be grateful for what I have because at best, I’ll always work for someone else and more, I will never succeed better than someone with a menial job who makes a menial living. 

Bringing myself above that person now despite their cruelties to me would only make me like them.
I do not want to be like them.

Yes . . .
I admit it. . .
I failed myself far more than anyone else has ever failed me.
And yes, there were times when greatness came for me and of course, the imposter syndrome caused me to question every success and call it luck instead of skill.

Hard work always pays off.
But smart work pays off far more and with better dividends.

I know it,

There was a time in my twenties when I had to go back and get my high school equivalency diploma. This was called a G.E.D. diploma or a “good enough” diploma.
And I swore that I was never going to pass.
I swore that I was too stupid.
I was never book smart. In fact, I questioned whether I had the best levels of common sense or if at all; I wondered if I was even street smart.

I have been conned more than once. I have taken the bait on more than one occasion. And worse, I believed in all the worst predictions about me.
Therefore if The Peter Principle is true and real, then yes, I would only rise to the level of my limitations.

I remember reading words like, “Don’t be afraid to suck at something new.”
I remember a quote from Malcom X who said, “Don;t be in such a hurry to condemn a person because he doesn;t do what you do or think as you think or as fast. There was a time when you didn’t know what you know today!”

I like this.
I like this because I am reminded that patience and tolerance is the ultimate form of understanding and kindness.
I am reminded that even pros need to practice and even pros were beginners once.
A black belt in martial arts is only a white belt who never gave up.
I have to realize that we all process information at our own pace, in our own ways, and in our own time.
Same as I learn at my level, others have the right to learn at their levels too.

I have never walked with a graduating class. I live with old programmed thinking and yes, I still struggle when it comes to schoolwork and classes and test-taking.
At the same time; I have often take tests for my credentials. And no, I never assume that I will pass and I always assume that I do not know enough to pass.
I never really study because of course, why?
What’s the use?

I thought this same way when I took my high school equivalency test.
Of course, I assumed that I failed.
Of course, I failed.
At best, I would only be qualified to pump gas for a living.
I was sure I failed and for a while; I assumed that I failed and I accepted my defeat. 

I received a letter in the mail. I saw this when I came home from work.
The letter was staring at me.
I knew what it said.
I knew that I failed
So, why open it?
Why read what I already know; that I am a failure and that I am stupid.
I flew through the test so quickly and still, I shrugged off each of my answers because of course; I knew they were all wrong.
Especially the math questions.
I am terrible in math.

I am terrible at retaining information so, if this is true, then my answers for the reading comprehension part were obviously all wrong as well.
The test covered all the basic skills one would need to receive a general equivalency diploma.
I was far from equivalent and far from smart enough. So, why open the letter to read something that said, “we regret to inform you and so on and so on  . . .”

I passed.

I’m not sure how long it took me to open the letter to read my results. Maybe 45 minutes. Maybe it was an hour. Maybe it was two hours.
Either way, nothing was more haunting and painful than my anticipation and the anticipatory anxiety which assumed that I failed the test.
I knew I failed.
Of course, I failed.
I am stupid, right?
I am only qualified to pump gas, right?
I belong in prison anyway.
And hell, there was a teacher who laughed in my face after tossing me around in an empty classroom and said, “You’re gonna be dead before you hit the age of 18 and I’m gonna show up at your grave and I am going to laugh.”

Next month will be my 54th birthday.
I have seen ups and downs.
I have lost and gained far more than I have ever dreamed I’d achieve.

I cannot say that I have a lot of people in my corner. But hey, my biggest and greatest achievements came when I was at my lowest and loneliest.
So . . .
Nothing can stand in my way
Except for me.
The idea now is to get out of my own way. Stop limiting myself. Stop promoting and supporting the predictions that qualify me for failure and start pushing myself, training, working smart, and living up to my best, possible potential, each and every day.
One day at a time.

I do not say this is easy.
Old habits die hard.
Yes they do.
Old attachments can be deadly in more ways than one.
But nothing, nothing is as degrading as the predictions that lead us to fail.

Back in 1991, I was finishing out a short stay in a treatment facility. I was not new to this place and worse, I returned here after a loss in sobriety.
I remember my last day . . .
I overheard a group of men talking about me and laughing at my expense.
One of them said, “That kid is gonna be dead before he gets down to the end of the road.”
I will never forget this experience.
I never forgot how awful it was to hear people talk about me or to hear people who I assumed liked me or were in my corner. And I never forgot the humiliation that flooded me. I never forgot how betraying this was to me. And worse, I never forgot how part of me believed they were right.

Decades went by and I hardly thought about this experience after a while.
Until . . .
I was in a roomful of people who were there to share their experience, strength, and hope to overcome this thing called addiction and alcoholism.
And there he was  . . .
The guy who told me that I would dead before I got down to the end of the road.
He never had much.
He never stayed sober.
He lost everything.

Of course, I was younger and different at the time. And while I understand resentments very well and I can accept that I was angry at the time and perhaps justified in some ways; I do not support my approach to this man.

I asked him if he was ever away and stayed at a place called Veritas Villa.
He was surprised.
“You were at The Villa?”
I explained how this was a long time ago.
I was just a kid back then.
“You don’t remember me?
He looked confused.
“You were at The Villa with me?”
“I was just a kid back then,” I explained.
“I was young and skinny.”
The man still tried to place me.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
“I don’t remember you.”

So, I clarified.
“Everyone used to call me the kid.”
“I was the kid who tried to hang myself in my room.”

His eyes opened wide.
“Yeah,” he said. “I remember you now!”
“You’ve grown,” he told me.
“I ain’t a little kid anymore,” I said.
Then I explained, “Do you know what else I remember?”
“I remember you sitting in the cafeteria, talking about who would make it and who wouldn’t.”
Then I told him, “You didn’t know it, but I was right outside the cafeteria. I heard how you said I’d be dead before I got down to the end of the road.”
The rest is unnecessary to report. However, i will report my first words before explaining my anger were as follows:
“I ain’t dead!”

Out of the group at that table who predicted my failure; I am the only one still alive . . .

Dear Sean Stephenson,

Sir, it has been quite some time since you have passed away. And still, your words have hit home with me. Enough so that I often forget that it is me who stands in my way and too often I go the other way . . .

You told your audience, “never believe in a prediction that does not empower you.”

I do this too much.
But now . . .
It’s time to believe in me
Even when no one else does