A key to making quiet time to plan

Here's advice that's counterproductive for folks like me, who produce stuff for you to consume online, but it's essential for you: Spend regular time NOT online.

In his book Thou Shall Prosper: Ten Commandments for Making Money, Rabbi Daniel Lapin talks about the mesmerizing effect of constantly staring at a glowing screen – the unnatural light pointed directly into your eyes, and the fast-moving imagery, have a tendency to dull the senses; the pretty pictures and bright colors dull the imagination.

"In contrast, reading about ideas or things grants you the most freedom to absorb or reject," Lapin says in his chapter about setting aside time to look into the future and make goals.

Lapin recommends at least 24 hours away from television and other glowing screens before engaging in the process of reflection and imagination.

In lieu of that for more short-term planning, I suggest postponing the flip of the switch first thing in the morning so you can start the day unplugged. I put a sticky note on my computer screen with the word "No!" (and a smiley face) on it, to remind my groggy early-morning self to reflect, read and write the daily plan before I subject myself to the LED light shining in my eyes. For longer-range planning, I also aim to have a "screen-free" day as Lapin suggests.

The goal is to remove all of the external distractions to the thought process. It's easier to concentrate on the quiet when you envelope yourself in as much quiet as possible.

Regarding 'The cliff'

I have told this story numerous times over the years; this is the version from my book Refuse to be Afraid.

I learned everything I need to know about fear on a steep hill overlooking Lake Champlain in Vermont. I keep coming back to this story whenever anxiety threatens to stop me in my tracks. Childhood lessons sink in deep.

To my younger-than-10-years-old eyes, it looked more like a cliff than a hill; my impression was informed by the shale-like formations that reached down to the beach and disappeared into the pine forest above. Seen from the cabin our parents rented for a week every summer, the forest appeared to grow to the edge of a steep, rocky incline that I wouldn’t be able to scale if I had to.

And one day, I had to.

I can still smell the pine trees, I can still feel the soft but prickly bed of needles against my chest, and I still have a dark spot in my heart from the terror as I lost my tenuous grip on the hillside and plunged over the cliff.

Somewhere around 1960 when I was 7, my brothers and I had gone for a walk through the woods near the cabin. Along this stretch the pines clung precariously to the side of the hill.

The pine needles were thick underneath, and I underestimated how unstable the footing would be, as I wandered far down that nearly vertical hillside, trying to peer over the edge to see the beach through the brush. Next thing I knew, I had slipped. The bed of needles was thick, so thick that I couldn’t really get a grip, and when I did try to climb, every move I made caused me to slide a little farther down.

I was clinging to the side of the nearly vertical slope and unable to climb upward.

“Go get Dad,” I heard my older brother say to my younger brother. “Hang on, War,” he called. Hang on to what?

It didn’t take long for gravity to do its work, and I slid to the edge and then fell, screaming, over the edge of the embankment to the beach below.

The drop from the edge of the cliff to the beach was four, maybe five feet.

When my brothers ran the long way around to the beach, they found me on the ground unharmed, laughing in relief, laughing at myself for being so terrified.

I think about that cliff a lot, when it seems that life has left me hanging by the fingernails. Fear of the unknown makes us scream. Taking on those fears makes us triumphant — perhaps it even makes us giggle uncontrollably.

This is a book about fear, the fear in your heart that makes you want to scream when you’re not hanging on to keep from sliding off the side of what you think is a high cliff. It’s a book about harnessing the fear long enough to take the plunge. You’ll probably find, as I did, that the paralyzing fear of the drop is a whole lot worse than the actual fall.

It’s a book that says refuse to be afraid and go ahead and take the leap.

Buy it for Kindle  or your bookshelf.