Why I Wrote The Human Factor (And Why It Needed to Evolve)
A reflection on why the book was written twice—and what changed along the way.
We spend years chasing jobs, titles, and expectations without pausing to ask the simplest question: who am I, really? When I first wrote The Human Factor, my aim wasn’t to offer career advice in the usual sense, but to explore how self-understanding shapes the choices we make about work, identity, and direction. Over time, those questions deepened, and the book needed to deepen with them.
We spend years chasing jobs, titles, and expectations without pausing to ask the simplest question:
Who am I, really?
When I first wrote The Human Factor: How Finding Your Dream Job Starts by Getting to Know Yourself, my goal was to help readers understand that meaningful work begins with self-awareness. It wasn’t about résumés or interviews — it was about knowing your values, your strengths, and what truly matters before stepping into any opportunity.
That book opened conversations with readers around the world. But over time, I realized the message needed to go beyond job searches and career choices.
Work is more than landing a position. It’s part of a larger story — one rooted in purpose, identity, and the life we’re trying to build.
That realization led to the expanded edition:
The Human Factor: Discover Yourself, Clarify Your Purpose, Create Work That Matters.
This new version builds on the original but widens the lens:
From job seekers → to anyone navigating change, transition, or reinvention
From tactics → to a reflective framework: Discover → Clarify → Create
From “finding work” → to creating a life and work grounded in meaning
If you take away one idea from this page, let it be this:
Before chasing opportunities, clarify what matters most to you.
Write down three values you refuse to compromise — in work or life.
That small act can shift the way you see your choices, your direction, and yourself.
This section will feature reflections, insights, and behind-the-scenes notes connected to The Human Factor. My hope is that it becomes more than a book page, a space for ongoing discovery about what makes our work, and our lives, meaningful.
If you’re curious about how this thinking ultimately took shape, you can explore the finished book here: The Human Factor.
Does the Soul Live On After Death? Reflections on Philosophy, Science, and Faith
This reflection was first shared in 2018. I have revisited it with a shorter, updated version because the question still resonates today: Does the soul survive death?
Does the Soul Survive Death?
For centuries, people have asked whether the soul lives on after the body dies. Is it separate from our flesh, or is it woven into who we are? Some call it the “seat” of character and emotion, though that may be more metaphor than fact.
Philosophers like Plato and Aristotle wrote about the soul, and in modern times, historian Will Durant also reflected on it. Durant believed life was filled with vitality, yet he doubted the soul could survive the body’s death. His conclusion reflected a deterministic view, even though he valued individuality, free will, and the universe’s drive to create life.
Today, science points to new possibilities. Mathematicians and string theorists suggest our reality may include many more dimensions than the four we know. If so, the soul may not end with death, but continue in ways we cannot yet see.
My faith leads me to that conclusion. As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I believe the soul separates from the body at death and is later reunited in resurrection. What we learn, practice, and become in this life, our values, character, and spirit, carry forward. That makes the way we live today not just important, but eternal.
Why I Wrote What Matters
This book’s title—What Matters: Reflections on Reinvention, Relationships, and Being Present in the Moment—marks a natural pause for me as the author of fifteen books. It’s a moment to look back and ask a deeper question: what have I really been writing about all along?
In many ways, my books have been a long-form attempt to answer that very question: what matters? The answers have changed over time, just as I’ve changed. But through it all, the writing has been rooted in a deep curiosity about identity, growth, and the people who shape our stories.
This reflection introduces the thinking behind my book What Matters, which explores these ideas more fully.
Most of my books have focused on the self—self-reflection, self-awareness, and personal responsibility. But over time, I’ve come to realize that relationships are inseparable from this work. They’re not just something we have; they’re part of who we become. Relationships open the door to reinvention. They teach us about boundaries, purpose, love, and resilience. They challenge our assumptions and offer us mirrors—sometimes flattering, sometimes not—of how we show up in the world.
Two of my earlier works—Embrace Life's Randomness and Why Life Stories Change—both wrestle with the tension between what happens to us and how we interpret it. They explore how we respond to uncertainty, whether we see ourselves as agents of change or passengers of fate, and how we create meaning from moments we never expected.
Those books raised questions I still think about:
Can we live by a steady personal code even in a chaotic world?
Are we defined more by what we choose—or by what we endure?
I wrote about things like the law of attraction not as prescriptions, but as ways to consider how attitude and attention might influence what shows up in our lives. I invited readers to notice how beliefs—about self, about purpose, about possibility—can shape not just outcomes, but experience.
At the heart of all these ideas is one truth: we grow by engaging, not retreating. By staying present in uncertainty. By reflecting on pain without letting it define us. By making the most of the good, the bad, the tragic, and the beautiful—because all of it matters.
Over time, I noticed that a short reflection I had quietly posted on my website began drawing more attention than nearly anything else I’d written. It wasn’t elaborate. It wasn’t even mine originally. But it struck a chord, and it stayed with people. I kept hearing from readers who said it gave them peace, clarity, or a new way of understanding their relationships. And honestly, it did the same for me.
“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” — Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
That line captures the essence of reflection. We often think our life story is fixed—written in ink. But the truth is, every time we look back, we revise a little. We’re never the same person telling the story twice.
Our experiences change us. So do the people who enter our lives, the books we read, and the questions we begin to ask. In that sense, our identity is not static—it’s a living narrative, shaped by memory, perspective, and interpretation.
Over the years, I’ve told my own story many times. Sometimes in front of audiences. Sometimes across a table. Each time, the details shift slightly. I emphasize something new. I soften another part. And I realize, again, that growth isn’t about erasing who we were—it’s about understanding ourselves with more compassion.
Through it all, I’ve often returned to a simple truth: the people who enter our lives do so with purpose. Some arrive briefly, offering comfort, laughter, or guidance during a particular season. Others stay longer, helping us learn lessons that shape our resilience. And a few remain across a lifetime, leaving a mark that becomes part of who we are.
What matters most is not how long someone stays, but the imprint they leave—the clarity, the strength, or the joy they bring in that moment. Sometimes their presence is obvious; sometimes it’s only in hindsight that we recognize how deeply we were changed.
When I think about my own story, I realize that every relationship has been both a mirror and a teacher. People show us who we are, and sometimes who we are becoming. They remind us that growth isn’t something we do alone. We are shaped—quietly, profoundly—by connection.
That’s why this book is framed around reflection, presence, and reinvention. Because in the end, the people and moments that matter most are not measured by time, but by the meaning they create
Gratitude Before Happiness: When Meaning Leads, Joy Follows →
Gratitude often comes before happiness—not the fleeting kind, but the kind rooted in purpose. It shows up when appreciation turns outward and inspires us to help others.
Ralph Waldo Emerson once said:
“The purpose of life is not to be happy: it is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”
That view challenges our modern idea of happiness. In its older, nobler sense, happiness wasn’t about ease or comfort—it was about self-fulfillment, about living well and with purpose.
Scottish philosopher Thomas Carlyle questioned whether Emerson was quoted accurately, but his own reflections echoed the same spirit. Carlyle warned against shallow happiness and spoke instead of blessedness—a spiritual fulfillment that comes from rising above self-interest.
He called it “the happiness of heroes”—a deeper joy that comes when we stop chasing happiness directly and begin living for something greater.
This is a timely idea. Consider the line:
“Poverty exists not because we cannot feed the poor, but because we cannot satisfy the rich.”
That quote reminds us that the pursuit of “more” rarely satisfies. The insatiability of greed may only confirm that true happiness isn’t found in what we acquire, but in what we give.
Rather than asking, “What makes me happy?”
It might be more useful to ask, “What makes my life feel meaningful or aligned?”
Happiness often follows.
Rather than asking, “What makes me happy?” It might be more useful to ask, “What makes my life feel meaningful or aligned?” That shift—from chasing happiness to noticing meaning—is where gratitude plays a quiet but powerful role.
Gratitude isn't just a pleasant feeling; it's a practice that reorients us toward what’s already working, already valuable, already enough. When we pause to appreciate what we have, we stop waiting for life to deliver something else before we feel fulfilled. This presence, this awareness, grounds us in what matters. It opens us to energy, clarity, and connection. Even in the midst of challenges, the ability to feel thankful restores a sense of strength and perspective.
Gratitude reminds us that joy is often not in the pursuit of more, but in the recognition of enough. And from that recognition flows the kind of inspiration that leads to deeper conversations, kinder actions, and a richer, more grounded life.
The Eternal Question: Is Our Soul Truly Immortal? →
"Is Our Soul Eternal? Exploring Heaven and the Universe"
Introduction
Is our soul eternal? How can we know for sure? For centuries, parents have advised their children with a familiar promise: “Be good, son, if you want to go to heaven.” But what does it mean to be good? Is it about our actions, our thoughts, or something deeper?
Attitude vs. Action: The Promise of Heaven
The advice to "be good" often centers on maintaining a positive attitude—a smile in the face of adversity. But does simply being positive guarantee a place in heaven? Is goodness a matter of attitude, or does it require action, integrity, and compassion?
Parents may say, “Be good, son, and you will go to heaven,” but this raises profound questions. Does the value of what we learn or the help we offer to others matter? Does our willingness to help reflect our growth, or is it solely because others need assistance?
Kipling's Wisdom: The Promise of Manhood
Rudyard Kipling offered his son a different kind of promise in his poem “IF”:
“Yours is the Earth and everything in it,
And, what is more, you’ll be a Man, my son!”
Kipling's promise was about becoming a man—a concept of maturity, strength, and integrity. But unlike the promise of heaven, this was something that could be achieved through character and resilience. The father promising heaven offers something he cannot prove or deliver.
The Question of the Soul's Eternity
If the soul is eternal, what does that mean for us? Do our actions and experiences matter in an eternal context? Some religions teach that the soul returns after death and reunites with a resurrected body, while others suggest the soul may exist without the body, experiencing a spiritual existence.
Philosophers like Plato and Aristotle have long pondered the existence of the soul, each offering insights that continue to influence the debate. In the 20th century, philosopher Will Durant suggested that the soul is an integral part of human existence, though he was skeptical of its survival beyond death.
Durant's Doubt and the Essence of the Soul
Will Durant, a great admirer of life and knowledge, struggled with the concept of the soul's immortality. Despite his passion for exploring human history in his monumental work "The Story of Civilization," he leaned toward the idea that the soul dies with the body.
Yet, Durant’s reflections are compelling because they reveal a tension between his love of life and his doubt. He saw life as a river—a flow of experience from an unknown beginning to an abrupt end. But what if the river doesn’t end? What if it continues in another form?
The Dimensions of Existence
Modern science offers new perspectives. Mathematician Theodor Kaluza proposed a concept of multiple dimensions beyond the three spatial ones we experience. String theorists have since expanded this idea, suggesting that our reality may include ten or even eleven dimensions. Could our souls exist in these other dimensions, continuing beyond physical death?
Seeing life metaphorically as a river may be poetic, but it assumes a starting point and an end. What if life is part of a larger, continuous flow that we only partially understand?
My Perspective on Eternity
I believe the soul continues after death and is eternal. This conclusion is not just influenced by the thoughts of great thinkers like Durant or the possibilities of string theory but also by my religious beliefs.
To me, the soul is more than a byproduct of consciousness—it is the essence of who we are, a spark of awareness that continues to learn, grow, and experience beyond the limitations of the physical world. Whether viewed through the lens of philosophy, religion, or science, the soul remains one of the greatest mysteries of existence.
Final Thoughts
In a world that measures so much by what we can see and touch, the question of the soul challenges us to consider something beyond the physical. Whether we believe in an eternal soul or not, the journey to understand it pushes us to explore the depths of our own humanity.
"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience." - Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
👉 Subscribe to My Newsletter for More Thought-Provoking Essays
The Bosque del Apache: Birds, Photographers, and a Moment in Flight →
The Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, located about two hours south of Albuquerque, New Mexico, is a haven for migratory birds and those who travel to see them. You reach it by driving to Socorro, then another 11 miles to the small town of San Antonio, where an 8-mile loop road follows the Rio Grande and winds through the heart of the refuge.
"Bosque del Apache" translates to "Woods of the Apache." The word bosque, borrowed from Spanish, refers to the lush forest habitat flanking the river on both sides—a rich environment that draws more than 350 bird species each year.
But the real spectacle is in winter, when tens of thousands of Sandhill Cranes, Snow Geese, and Ross’s Geese arrive. These vast flocks are the stars of the refuge, and their synchronized movement is unforgettable.
Sandhill Cranes are tall, elegant birds with long necks and legs. They mate for life, typically raise one or two chicks, and migrate together. In the winter, they come from places like Canada, Montana, and Utah—bringing their young along to teach them the migratory route and begin passing down instinct and independence.
The best time to witness this migration is between November and late February, particularly at sunrise and sunset, when the birds roost on the water and take off or return in massive waves. It’s during these golden hours that the refuge becomes a stage—and the sky, a canvas.
We spent a couple of days at Bosque del Apache during one of those late fall seasons. A friend had told us, “Be there when the birds take off in the morning. You’ll know it’s time when one rises—and then the sky fills.” We hoped for that moment, the one where thousands take flight at once in a breathtaking burst.
It didn’t happen quite that way.
Instead of one unified takeoff, the birds lifted in smaller, staggered groups, peeling into the air as if by instinct, not drama. But it was no less remarkable.
Lining the road that morning were rows of serious photographers—big cameras, bigger lenses, and long tripods planted firmly in the dirt. Canon and Nikon gear, some worth thousands, pointed at the waking sky. Many wore camouflage. Some wore quiet focus.
“Photography is an austere and blazing poetry of the real.”
– Ansel Adams
Mixed among them were first-timers and amateurs, some with point-and-shoots, others—like us—with iPhones and hope. We didn’t quite fit in with the high-end crowd, so we gravitated toward small clusters of fellow observers: people who were simply there to watch.
In a way, the photographers moved like the birds. One would shift position, and suddenly a half-dozen followed. A silent choreography of long lenses and padded gear.
We noticed something else, too. It was mostly men who handled the heavy-duty equipment. The women arrived later, often gathering in their own quiet clusters, content to observe.
That day, we were among the first to arrive—before sunrise, before the color hit the sky. And when the light broke, the scene unfolded: thousands of birds, rising mist, the murmurs of shutter clicks, and the quiet awe of strangers watching together.
In the end, it wasn’t just the birds that left a lasting impression. It was the people—the way we all gathered, waited, and watched. Different lenses, different perspectives—but united by the same wonder.
“A good snapshot keeps a moment from running away.”
– Eudora Welty
How Retelling Our Stories Helps Us See Ourselves Differently →
If It Really Was My Life Story, Why Does It Change Each Time I Tell It?
There is no one whose story I know more intimately than my own. The same is true for you. That may seem obvious, yet what continues to surprise me is how differently I see my story each time I tell it.
Details I once considered essential fade in importance, while other pieces—once minor—begin to feel more meaningful. Coincidences come into sharper focus, and my perspective shifts. Each retelling changes the story, and in doing so, changes me. We reshape who we are by revisiting and reinterpreting the same events.
Author Pat Conroy once said, “The most powerful words in the English language are ‘tell me a story.’” I’ve witnessed firsthand how telling one’s story can transform a person—not by altering the facts, but by reframing the meaning behind those facts.
For over 35 years, I participated in a monthly men’s group at my local church. Each meeting, one person would share their life story in a 45-minute window. Originally, the goal was simple: to help us get to know one another. Many men are slow to open up, and this format created space for appreciation and connection.
Over time, as members came and went, some of us repeated our stories. That’s when something interesting emerged: people began telling the same story differently. Not fabricated, just reframed. They had come to new conclusions, made fresh connections, or viewed the past with new eyes. The same events—now seasoned with reflection—carried a different weight.
I experienced it myself. Moments I once saw as setbacks I later understood as turning points. People I once considered minor characters in my life’s script turned out to be pivotal.
This realization echoes the message of the poem: people and events enter our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. But we often don’t know which until much later. In hindsight, we see the influence. We recognize that a relationship or encounter helped shape our path—even if we didn’t understand its impact at the time.
As our perspective evolves, so does our personal narrative. And as our story changes, so do we.
This story connects directly to a poem I’ve shared on my site—one that continues to resonate with readers and shape how I view the people who come and go in our lives.
Thoughts about the reintroduction of the gray wolf to places where they were extirpated →
Wolf reintroduction refers to the deliberate reestablishment of gray wolves in regions where they were previously extirpated. This effort is only considered in areas where large expanses of suitable wilderness remain and where prey populations—such as elk or deer—are abundant enough to sustain a stable wolf population.
One of the most well-known examples is Yellowstone National Park. Was it successful? Yes. Since wolves were reintroduced in the mid-1990s, they have played a pivotal role in restoring ecological balance. By reducing the overpopulation of elk, wolves have indirectly allowed vegetation like willow and aspen to regenerate. This, in turn, has supported the resurgence of beavers, songbirds, and other species that rely on healthy riparian zones.
Beyond Yellowstone, the movement to bring wolves back continues. In a historic vote reported by The Guardian on November 7, 2020, Coloradans narrowly passed a proposition to reintroduce gray wolves by 2023. The measure passed with just 50.4% of the vote—marking the first time U.S. citizens have directly voted on the reintroduction of a wildlife species, a decision typically made by state wildlife biologists.
However, Colorado’s decision came amid controversy. Just days earlier, the Trump administration announced the removal of gray wolves from the U.S. Endangered Species Act (ESA), citing the species’ “successful recovery.” This move was widely criticized by hundreds of scientists and conservationists, who argued that gray wolves still occupy only a small fraction of their historic range and that their recovery remains incomplete.
When you Retell your Life Stories, You Reinvent Yourself →
We are each the authors of our own life stories because the events happened to us, and no one else experienced or can remember the events and connect them to the same conclusions as well as we can.
A question might be, how can we edit and change how we tell the story facts just because we are retelling it? Isn’t it the case that facts are just that, facts? The events that previously happened are part of our history; isn’t that the point?
Well, yes and no. The facts happened, and we finished the event they represented when they happened. Still, those conclusions depended on our viewpoint of the event at the time.
Each time we consider a past event the lens we see it through filters of other and newer experiences that had not happened when the original experience or event happened. The lens of thoughts and recollection always filter to the “now,” adding in all the new experiences. We see the past through the prism of newer events and experiences.
Our lives change constantly, adding to our life stories and enabling us to see past events differently.
Creating a narrative about the events in our lives triggers the conclusions that new experiences and knowledge have brought to us. We could conclude that all we did was add clarity to what happened, but new insights offer more than clarity, and the events themselves take on new meaning.
To test this for yourself, ask someone to tell you their life story, listen closely, and note what you feel the overall conclusion is from the events discussed. Then, go back in a few weeks or months, ask again, and listen closely, making notes. The story will sound different and the conclusions about the event change somewhat.
#Retelling #Reinventing. #Life.Stories #Personal.Development
It is what is inside us that motivates us and keeps us going →
by Brent M. Jones
Starting at about four, my mother would have me kneel at my bedside and say my prayers. The importance of that part of my life story has changed over the years, and I see it differently. I value this experience, and I am grateful for it.
The early assumption that God was listening and that taking problems to him would be helpful has been a comfort, even without confirmation of having been heard at times. This sentiment is summed up well in a quote by C. S. Lewis: “Life with God is not immunity from difficulties, but peace in difficulties.”
Others have shared how they were taught similar lessons at a very young age by saying a prayer many are familiar with: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” I have thought about this often: If a person dies and his soul is taken, what is the soul, and what exactly is taken?
If the soul is eternal and lives on when the body dies, it must be made of different materials. If that substance is spiritual, then where does it reside within our living bodies? Is it separate or part of our living flesh?
Some have referred to the soul as the seat or location of our character and emotions. It is sometimes explained as the spirit within a person and the person’s mental abilities, personality, feelings, memories, perception, thinking, and even skills. Wherever our soul goes, if our particular skills are needed, perhaps our work ethic learned in obtaining those skills is part of the package.
Whatever it is that will go with me, if I die before I wake, I want to understand as much about everything as possible and make sure my knowledge is worth taking along.
Louis Armstrong once said, “Musicians don’t retire; they stop when there’s no more music in them,” and “What we play is life.” What, then, is that music if you are not a musician? How did that music, or that passion, get to be inside us?
Armstrong is saying that music is a part of his work ethic and life and is needed to exist. This leaves the question of what our music might be and how we keep from losing it. I conclude that my “music - passion” and what makes me feel alive are family, reading, writing, and service, but these items have evolved g and changed as I look back over my life story.
Music can be a connection between our physical selves and our very souls. We feel the music. It reflects our hearts. Music with scriptures are hymns, and we worship through hymns. The feelings of our hearts are conveyed in prayer with music.
Our bodies and faces reflect the images of happiness and sadness. Music and singing open up those feelings. Sometimes we sing for what we long for, using music to help us get by without the necessary things.
What do we long for? What do we have a passion for? Love and kindness are passions that can focus on us and drive our actions. We lose ourselves in those feelings; for some, opportunities for service to others reflect their hearts. When applicable passions fill our minds, we have a little place to worry about ourselves.
For us, what we play, rather than music, can be whatever we love. It can be anything we choose, but we need to feel passionate about it. If you’re lucky enough to love knowledge, learning, or service, then you are indeed blessed. That, like the music for Louis, never stops being an option.
Rust is a Passionate Color →
Rust is a vibrant color, rich with warm orange, brick-red, and mustard-yellow, and the combinations seem endless as one’s emotions are stimulated when fond memories come front and center. Rust let us know that a d and perhaps the otherwise worthless car has a history and a story to share if you're willing to listen.
When a great restored old car is found, you may think, "Wow, That car is so cool; that era was so cool." As you caress the vehicle with your eyes, remembering "back in the days" floods your memories and sends you back in time. When you see the same type of car all rusted out, you may think of the time and place, but your thoughts will be more profound and perhaps longing with nostalgia.
The car seems to be still alive, if only in the remembering. Will a rusted 55 Chevy take you back to that time any faster than a restored one? The restored one may take you back to a particular car and time, but perhaps the rusted version leaves your mind open to looking deeper.
The rusted-out car doesn't smell new. The doors (if they work at all) sound different if they close. The surface of rust may break and crumble if you rub your hands over it. Is it a car, or is it a spirit of a car?
The spirit of the car brings back feelings, memories, and emotions and allows for that moment in time to transfer to the "now."
Rust is beautiful. Rust is the color of timelessness.
Our Memory Lane is Modified by Frequent Trips →
As your life unfolds, the power of experience reshapes your memory lane, allowing you to craft a new narrative. Each time you retell your life story, you are not just recounting but reinventing yourself.
Our past, often envisioned as a metaphorical' memory lane,' is not fixed. It is subject to change, influenced by our present perspective and experiences. Each time we revisit a memory, our brain has the potential to reinterpret or edit it, offering us a fresh understanding.
Professor Elizabeth Phelps, a professor of psychology and neuroscience at NY University, presented this thought. Senior Editor Mark Fischetti quoted her in a 2017 Scientific American article, “Why Do Our Memories Change? "
Professor Phelps said, “Our memories can change because they become vulnerable each time we revisit them. When we first lay down a memory, it takes the brain a little while to solidly store the information—consolidation. And every time we subsequently recall that memory, it has to go through a new storage process—another slight delay for another consolidation.”
The book Why Life Stories Change: As You Look At Your Own Life Story, You See Yourself Differently states that who we are is the total of the events in our lives, especially those we connect with. We choose the circumstances we connect with each time we tell our life stories. We do just that by putting together the narrative of who we are in our life stories.
As we retell the story, we can pick which events we connect with and what we conclude about them, weaving and reweaving the narrative about them into our story.
As my story changes with the retelling, it changes me. I become different because of how I see the story.
A person’s connections include those who have come into their lives, but even events we experience through fiction and fantasy can contribute to our conclusions about life. For example, George R.R. Martin presents this idea in a quote: " A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies,” and all those lives influence us.
A poem by an unknown author suggests it focuses on the influence of those people in our lives.
"Some people come into our lives for a reason, some for a season, and some for a lifetime.”
Some believe God sends the people needed into your life, and others may bring challenges and darkness.
Each time we go down Memory Lane, it is different, but we become different with time and look back through the filter of new experiences.
Both books below show the value of using the past and learning from it to re-invent ourselves.
Why Life Stories Change: As You Look At Your Own Life Story, You See Yourself Differently
This book states that who we are is the total of the events in our lives, especially those we connect with. We choose the events that connect each time we tell our life stories. We do just that, putting together the narrative of who we are in our life stories.
&
Embrace Life’s Randomness: Breathe in the Amazing
Our journeys through life follow unexpected paths. Sometimes, looking back offers clarity and understanding, while other times, you find yourself at an unforeseen junction, and it takes your breath away.
How is Existence Subjective, and Is It For Everyone? →
Existence is subjective, a unique experience for each individual. What one person experiences is always different from another's, making it always particular and individual—always my existence, your existence, her existence.
This uniqueness is encapsulated in Martin Heidegger's phrase, Dasein, “there being,” which defines humans by the fact that they exist or are in the world and inhabit it. Dasein, a key concept in Heidegger's philosophy, refers to human existence’s unique mode of being, characterized by its temporal nature and its relation to the world. This understanding of existence requires investigating the meaning of “Being.” *
Many problems arise because people believe that their subjective experience of the world is objectively actual for everyone.
Existentialism is a philosophical theory that empowers individuals as free agents who control their choices and actions. This belief in personal agency is a cornerstone of existentialism, emphasizing the importance of taking responsibility for one's life and decisions, fostering a sense of accountability and engagement.
Existentialists believe that society's restrictions should not hinder an individual's life or actions. These limitations not only inhibit free will but also stifle the development of a person’s potential. However, the belief in existentialism offers a beacon of hope, suggesting that it is crucial to break free from such constraints to fully realize one's potential, fostering a sense of optimism and hope for the future.
*Being and Time by Martin Heidegger - This book tries to answer the question of what it is to live.
Because he asks these questions, he exists as a being.
Humble People spend more time thinking about others more than themselves →
Humble people care about others and don’t spend most of their time thinking about themselves. Their concern for others is selfless; they don’t measure what they do by what they can gain.
They acknowledge they don't have it all together.
They know the difference between self-confidence and pride.
They seek to add value to others.
They take responsibility for their actions.
They are filled with gratitude for what they have.
Life is a humbling experience. It tests you along the trip. Humble people appreciate the value of all things, including and especially other people. They are open to new ideas and continue to learn throughout their lives. The final analysis takes humility to make sense of the world around us and our role in it.
What is True Happiness in Life? →
Gratitude comes before happiness, and lasting happiness grows when we express that gratitude through kindness and service to others.
Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The purpose of life is not to be happy: It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”
Happiness, in the ancient noble sense, means self-fulfillment, bringing a different focus to the word happiness.
Thomas Carlyle doubted that Emerson was accurately quoted and added these thoughts:
… “It was only cheap, easy happiness that Carlyle railed against. He taught that there was higher happiness, namely, blessedness — the spiritual fruition that comes through renunciation of self, the happiness of heroes that comes from putting thoughts of happiness out of sight, and that the direct and persistent wooing of fortune for her good gifts was selfish and unmanly, — a timely lesson at all seasons.”
"Poverty exists not because we cannot feed the poor, but because we cannot satisfy the rich.”
The reason that the rich can’t be satisfied may offer some confirmation as to what the true nature of happiness is, suggesting that for true happiness, one needs to be helpful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well”.
Fiction brings experiences that the reader would have never expected to have. →
by Brent M. Jones
Fiction enables us to step into a new reality where all our beliefs can be set aside, and we can meet new people who inspire or even terrify us when we read.
Will fictional characters and experiences influence our self-identity? I think they will. Do they play a role in the narrative of how you see your life story? Again, I think they do. Does fiction have any redeeming value? Will its influence raise or lower our intelligence? There is plenty of evidence that it increases it.
Numerous suggestions exist on how to increase intelligence, but one common one is hanging around with intelligent, educated people. You can talk to them about a wide range of subjects and new ideas, and you can gain different perspectives. It sounds a lot like opening a book of fiction.
The journal Science published an extraordinary study showing that reading literary fiction can improve people's theory of mind (ToM) – their ability to understand others' mental states.
"Fluid intelligence" is the ability to solve problems, understand things and detect meaningful patterns. In today's world, fluid intelligence and reading go hand in hand.
The first time I read William Faulkner’s fictional story, As I Lay Dying, it took me by surprise. I expected to enter a unique storyline and learn about the people in Faulkner’s fictional Yoknapatawpha County, Mississippi, during the 1920s. Yet the conversation's language, tone, and sound were a surprise. The way the characters spoke to each other was different than anything I would ever have expected, and I knew I was in a different place. The way the characters interacted and sounded contributed to letting me see life differently.
I read Lia Genova’s book, Still Alice, because I wanted to learn more about what it was like to have Alzheimer’s disease. I hoped to never experience this for myself and saw this story as a way to understand the condition further. The story did much more than I expected, as I learned but also felt the impact of the disease. When Alice, a linguistics expert, began to lose her words and thoughts, I felt how hard it was for her.
Einstein suggested, “If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales.”
Neil Gaiman is a writer of fantasy and fiction, and in his book The View from the Cheap Seats, he wrote about attending a meeting for fiction writers in China. In previous years, China didn’t allow fairy tales and fiction in their schools, so he was surprised to learn of this invitation. He asked an official what had changed and was told, off the record, that they had toured all the big companies they did outsourcing work for in the United States and asked those they met what they read. The resounding answer was science fiction. The officials then began to understand the connection of invention with creativity. (I guess it took a random event for them to figure this out.)
Einstein also said that creative imagination is the essential element in the intellectual equipment of the true scientist and that fairy tales are the childhood stimuli to this quality. I guess the Chinese officials didn’t read that before their trip.
There are good and bad guys in fiction, fairy tales, and horror stories. For some, the “Force” in Star Wars might represent the goodness in the universe, but what about that goodness? Will it reaffirm our beliefs while seeing them as an element of a fictional plot; does it make the fiction more believable? The bigger question is, can we really step out of our world, or are we just going always to view things through the lens of our experience?
Random events in books free me and leave me thinking I have escaped concluding my lens of experience.
As you look at your own life story your narrative changes and you see yourself differently →
by Brent M. Jones
Creating a narrative about the events of your life brings clarity and helps you understand how you became you.
As your life continues, experience changes how you see past events, and you find a new narrative. Retell your life story and reinvent yourself as you do.
Book Focus
Your Life’s Narrative, The Story you tell yourself, Your life story is your reality, Reinvent Yourself, Create your narrative as you look back, Connect the events of your life, Stories change with the retelling
Make Yourself a Rag Doll Friend →
A handmade rag doll has a lot of ways to bring you peace and comfort. It is always there for you and always listening. Its material might be former shirts, blouses, drapes, and just anything from the past with special memories. The doll becomes a collection of memories. The memories chosen are also friends.
The most significant and most lasting toys are made, not bought.
When the Music Runs Out (what if your too young to retire?) →
Normally when the music runs out it is a bad thing
This fine young man is too young to retire!