I was skyping with a mate of mine recently discussing the important current affairs of Cobar, not far from Nowhere, and somewhere in outback New South Wales, Australia. There’s a severe water shortage in the region and it was this observation which brought us to the topic of camels. I confess my knowledge of camels is limited. I do know they had some cigarettes named after them, and I’m also aware that they come in different varieties (the animal that is), essentially one humpers and two humpers.
After much debate on the ride-ability of these “ships of the desert”, I came to the conclusion that a two humper camel would be better to ride than the one humper. But the truth of the matter is, “how would I know?” I’ve never ridden one of these sand spitting beasts in my life, and the last time I looked at my To Do List, test driving camels in Cobar wasn’t on it!
What did prevail from this realization however was the old adage” there’s no substitute for experience”. How can any individual or party comment on another’s plight with any weight of conviction without first having been subjected to the situation themselves?
Furthermore I have presumed recent experiences within my own personal circumstance, that it is not possible for anyone to effectively engage in my line of business, that is the offering of products and opportunities to interested parties (in the booming industry of personal development), without first having test-driven the home based personal development program for oneself.
Picture this:
A prestige showroom with flaming red Ferraris adorning the floor. A man (William) with more money than friends happens to be walking by, window shopping. The Ferrari salesman (lets call him Umberto) woos the window shopper off the street with a toothy grin and a sassy assistant. Before Willy the window shopper has a chance to evaluate the opportunity, he finds himself sitting at the wheel of a GTO 350, with the sassy lassy laced up beside him. Umberto’s cheekily sat on the bonnet, sizing up Mr Money Bags with one of his trademark million dollar grins.
“It’s the best on the block Willy” Umberto says
“Oh, really, and what makes you so sure?”
“Come on Willy, it’s a Ferrari mate.”
“And its red,” comes the steamy comment from the passenger seat.
“You got me there” replies Willy, “but what else can you tell me about it?"
Umberto skids off the bonnet, does his best Fred Astaire across the showroom floor, and returns with the specifications and a glossy brochure.
“Its, Its….its all in here" assures a stuttering Umberto, as he hands it to a rising Willy, who's now out of the car and planning his departure.
“Thank you, I’ll come back to you after I’ve checked this out.”
Umberto is a defeated man. The fact is, he had pictured Willy’s early departure b4 he had even entered the door.
Just as William is about to exit the premises another man (Mario) walks in “Did you find what you were looking for?” he says. Before Willy can respond, Mario follows up with, “Have you ever driven a Ferrari”
“No I haven’t. What’s it like?”
“You my friend, don’t know what you’re missing out on. This here GTO 350 is the most technologically advanced piece of machinery made without wings. If you don’t have hairs on your chest before you jump in (Mario at this point undoes some buttons to reveal a carpet of chest hair), you will by the time you eventually peel your white-finger grip from this wheel. It’s got G forces to match any G spot, and with 12 kick arse cylinders barking GO DADDY GO, you’ll be red-lining on your ECG in no time, and that’s only 1st gear. A tap of the tip-tronic and 2nd gear’s gonna put you in the back seat if there was one, but there’s not so hold on baby coz we got 700 stampeding stallions of horse power action that’ll literally strip the white lines off a runway! I can’t tell you about 3rd, 4th, and 5th gear as I blacked out from the rush, but when I came to in 6th gear, that’s when I noticed the extra hair growth on my pecs as the wind had torn my shirt wide open. I tried to squeal in delight but my cheeks blew out like a puffer fish. My friend, if this car could talk it would yell one word, “MORE”. You know what GTO stands for? It stands for Go…To>>>Orbit.”
Willy’s adrenaline was surging. “Can I take it for a test drive”? he said
Folks, its obvious what I’m saying here, experience counts for everything! Poor old Umberto, didn’t care for the experience. He just wanted the money. Mario on the other hand, lived for the experience, and money came along for the ride too.
Where I work, in the Personal Development industry, it’s about the experience. And there’s plenty of money along the way too! www.setsail4life.com
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Mad Cow's Disease
Picture this
You’re driving through the country-side. You’ve just spent the weekend out of the rat-race. You and your partner are feeling closer and more connected than ever. In fact, there’s no other place you’d rather be but right there next to your soul mate. The sky is so clear you can see crystals in the air. The afternoon light showcases a time-chiseled landscape. Left.., right.., no matter where you look, its just one panoramic slide after another. You consider capturing the scene on camera, and then decline to forfeit the moment.
Your car is luxuriously smooth, and your favorite music is playing, which incidentally, has put the kids to sleep. A smile spreads wide across your face, and you look over to see the love of your life reflecting that same smile. She caresses your shoulder, and strokes slowly down your arm to the upturned palm of your hand. After some suggestive tickling her fingers interlock with yours as she squeezes her intention.
You squeeze right back, not with your hands but with your abs, Phoof! PhhhhhoooffffffPPFFFFF. A huge fart rips through the car seat. You’re wife has lost that smile, and you almost lose control of the car as tears of laughter are followed by tears of relief. Incredibly the kids have slept through the bum-blast, but the fallout now invading their air-space is almost certain to affect their breathing.
“Sorry Love, but your mum’s home cookin gets me every time,” is the only condolence you can muster to your shell-shocked wife.
Flatulence has now taken centre stage as it urges you to recall a thought you had whilst on the in-laws verandah. Horror has now replaced laughter as the morning’s experience bites into your reality.
Much earlier that day you had been helping your father-in-law (Jim) feeding the cows. It was just after dawn as you and Jim dismounted the tractor and you’re immediately struck by the observation that all the cows are shouldered together in the one, well-worn paddock.
You ask “Jim, is there something special to the cows about this plonker of a paddock? Why are we handing them bales of grass here when that paddock over there across the easement has got grass literally waving at us?
“Well son”, he says in an acknowledging tone, “It’s because I don’t want them in that paddock. I want to keep the lush paddock for crop growing”
“But it’s not like you’ve got a barbed fence there Jim. Surely they could cross the creek, and scale the bank. Then they’d be up to their udders in fresh green grass.”
“Son, you don’t understand. These cows don’t like cold creeks and muddy banks. Besides, the barn with the baled grass is closer to this paddock.”
“Jim, are you trying to tell me that there’s not one cow in this whole herd of fat hoofers that hasn’t been tempted to reach those greener pastures?”
“You never asked that son. But now that you have, a very few have tried, some got stuck in the mud and had to be dragged out, and a couple actually made it. But most all of the herd are familiar with this paddock. They know what’s going to happen, that I will feed them and milk them, feed them and milk them”
“And how about those lucky cows that made it to the other side. Do you ever see them?”
“Sometimes son, but they pretty much look after themselves now.”
All this time, while you and your father in-law have been chewing the cud of logic of the common cow, there has been another humanized version of this conversation playing out simultaneously in the backstage of your mind.
For you that well-worn paddock is the rat race, and that farmer is your boss.
But worse revelations are on their way.
As you grab a hand-full of grass, a brown cow of all cows trots right up to you, and eye-balls your hand. Steam extracts from its nostrils, and the ears twitch in anticipation of a feed. Though the cow does not share your fascination, you pause to take it all in. Previously transfixed on the feed in your hand, the cow’s eyes are now on your eyes. Its amazing…., you, and the cow…., are having a moment. The cow says the only thing it can…….Moo…….and what do you do? You mouth it straight back…..Moo…..
A rising flood of emotions tears apart your senses as you finally realize that you and the cow are essentially 1 and the same. You are the COW in this play. No, it’s worse even than that. You are just A cow in this paddock, treading in the cow dung of all the other no name cows in this same, wretched, paddock.
Moral of the story: don’t go picking exotic looking mushrooms while at your in-law’s farm.
And on a serious note, if you are concerned that you may have contracted mad cow’s disease, then you can find green pastures by visiting my website http://www.setsail4life.com/
You’re driving through the country-side. You’ve just spent the weekend out of the rat-race. You and your partner are feeling closer and more connected than ever. In fact, there’s no other place you’d rather be but right there next to your soul mate. The sky is so clear you can see crystals in the air. The afternoon light showcases a time-chiseled landscape. Left.., right.., no matter where you look, its just one panoramic slide after another. You consider capturing the scene on camera, and then decline to forfeit the moment.
Your car is luxuriously smooth, and your favorite music is playing, which incidentally, has put the kids to sleep. A smile spreads wide across your face, and you look over to see the love of your life reflecting that same smile. She caresses your shoulder, and strokes slowly down your arm to the upturned palm of your hand. After some suggestive tickling her fingers interlock with yours as she squeezes her intention.
You squeeze right back, not with your hands but with your abs, Phoof! PhhhhhoooffffffPPFFFFF. A huge fart rips through the car seat. You’re wife has lost that smile, and you almost lose control of the car as tears of laughter are followed by tears of relief. Incredibly the kids have slept through the bum-blast, but the fallout now invading their air-space is almost certain to affect their breathing.
“Sorry Love, but your mum’s home cookin gets me every time,” is the only condolence you can muster to your shell-shocked wife.
Flatulence has now taken centre stage as it urges you to recall a thought you had whilst on the in-laws verandah. Horror has now replaced laughter as the morning’s experience bites into your reality.
Much earlier that day you had been helping your father-in-law (Jim) feeding the cows. It was just after dawn as you and Jim dismounted the tractor and you’re immediately struck by the observation that all the cows are shouldered together in the one, well-worn paddock.
You ask “Jim, is there something special to the cows about this plonker of a paddock? Why are we handing them bales of grass here when that paddock over there across the easement has got grass literally waving at us?
“Well son”, he says in an acknowledging tone, “It’s because I don’t want them in that paddock. I want to keep the lush paddock for crop growing”
“But it’s not like you’ve got a barbed fence there Jim. Surely they could cross the creek, and scale the bank. Then they’d be up to their udders in fresh green grass.”
“Son, you don’t understand. These cows don’t like cold creeks and muddy banks. Besides, the barn with the baled grass is closer to this paddock.”
“Jim, are you trying to tell me that there’s not one cow in this whole herd of fat hoofers that hasn’t been tempted to reach those greener pastures?”
“You never asked that son. But now that you have, a very few have tried, some got stuck in the mud and had to be dragged out, and a couple actually made it. But most all of the herd are familiar with this paddock. They know what’s going to happen, that I will feed them and milk them, feed them and milk them”
“And how about those lucky cows that made it to the other side. Do you ever see them?”
“Sometimes son, but they pretty much look after themselves now.”
All this time, while you and your father in-law have been chewing the cud of logic of the common cow, there has been another humanized version of this conversation playing out simultaneously in the backstage of your mind.
For you that well-worn paddock is the rat race, and that farmer is your boss.
But worse revelations are on their way.
As you grab a hand-full of grass, a brown cow of all cows trots right up to you, and eye-balls your hand. Steam extracts from its nostrils, and the ears twitch in anticipation of a feed. Though the cow does not share your fascination, you pause to take it all in. Previously transfixed on the feed in your hand, the cow’s eyes are now on your eyes. Its amazing…., you, and the cow…., are having a moment. The cow says the only thing it can…….Moo…….and what do you do? You mouth it straight back…..Moo…..
A rising flood of emotions tears apart your senses as you finally realize that you and the cow are essentially 1 and the same. You are the COW in this play. No, it’s worse even than that. You are just A cow in this paddock, treading in the cow dung of all the other no name cows in this same, wretched, paddock.
Moral of the story: don’t go picking exotic looking mushrooms while at your in-law’s farm.
And on a serious note, if you are concerned that you may have contracted mad cow’s disease, then you can find green pastures by visiting my website http://www.setsail4life.com/
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