Tea in the Library (8 page)

In any event, it was certainly a personal development watershed.

Fortunately, books again came to the rescue — along with people in my life who steered me towards certain authors. I started reading some of the ubiquitous personal development writing that abounds, including the much-maligned deluge of material that comes from American writers. From a previous position of skepticism, I was fascinated at what I discovered. Some of the material I read didn't speak to me — either it made no sense, or was unoriginal, or was pure bullshit. But there were enough kernels of useful insight to keep me interested and keep me reading. I reached the conclusion that one should take what one can use from this material, and — well — use it!

One of the most high profile authors in this area is Anthony Robbins. While I never became a fire-walker, I found much in his book
Awaken The Giant Within
that spoke directly to the situation I was in. Skimming over the rather ludicrous idea that there was a giant within me, I was taken with his writing on focus. This was the theory behind the visualizations. Putting a picture of what you want in front of your eyes has one principal effect — you focus on it. Robbins describes being taught by a racing car driver to drive a powerful machine at maximum speed around corners. The novice will look at the obstacles, and inevitably run into them. The expert knows that you focus on the road ahead — focus where you want to go. Try it next time you get on a bicycle.

Now, there are many books around which expound on the magic of visualization, and related approaches such as “focus”, “manifestation”, “attracting what you think about”, and Florence Scovel Shinn's advice to believe strongly enough in your goal that you “dig your ditches” — that is, take action on the basis that your goal is already a reality. Check out authors like Wayne Dyer (manifestation), Esther & Jerry Hicks
Ask And It Is Given
and Joe Vitale
The Law Of Attraction
.

To complete the Goethe quote:

The moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves, too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no man or woman could have dreamed would come his or her way.

I hadn't come across that quote at the time of Tea In The Library's exciting conception and birth, but some of the other authors were among my reading, and I could observe and agree with the concept that you tend to receive what you focus upon. Visualization I saw as a very powerful tool for directing one's attention. Once this concept was lodged in my head, I literally kept pictures of the planned bookshop in front of me — pinned up at my bedside, on my desk at work, in my briefcase. And things did begin to happen and people who could help did come my way — some described above and more to follow. It was just a matter of recognising those helping hands and grabbing hold of them. Of receiving what was sent my way. But I am getting ahead of the story, because it was some time before I made it to this point.

When Michael Gerber told me in
The E-Myth Revisited
that your small business shouldn't take over your life, I drew from this that I could continue with my day job, and simply be the omniscient “entrepreneur” who oversaw operations. Stephen Covey, in his well-known book
The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People
, also describes this entrepreneur, distinguishing him/her from the manager and the technician, who are at the coal face. This theory is of course all very well. But I admit I may have taken it rather too far. (More of that later!)

In addition to the printed word, I also drew a lot of support from people around me. I decided at one point that I needed to talk about the bookshop café project more — to “talk it into reality”, as it were. If you tell others you are going to do something, a subtle pressure is on to actually do it (or risk looking foolish).

I was given a particularly interesting piece of advice that was a great boost to my confidence. I described to my friend Margaret how I had attended seminars of the Australian Booksellers' Association, and introduced myself as someone who “wanted to open a bookshop”. The reaction of the booksellers was usually tinged with a little pity and some skepticism, and a sense of lost cause. I was off to a Booksellers' Association conference again, and Margaret insisted that I take a different approach. I was to introduce myself thus: “Oh, I'm a successful lawyer, but I am going to open a bookshop”. I tried it. The difference in response was marked — people assumed I had the expertise and wherewithal to open the shop (which was not actually true) and therefore treated me as they would someone who had actually accomplished the task. It was not that they were any less helpful in the first instance — it was just that their palpable assumption that I “had the goods” was so confidence-boosting. It was like a round-robin: because they thought I could do it, I thought I could do it.

I have abbreviated the mind games of this time into a few paragraphs, but many was the long night of discontent. Self-confidence doesn't grow on trees. One major question shadowed all others — and still does — should I step right out of my comfort zone, quit the day job, and take on running a bookshop café on the basis that my livelihood really depended on it? Many small business people literally put their houses on the line to open their businesses. If they fail, they could lose everything. I was much more cowardly. Or was I more shrewd? I earned good money as a lawyer, and needed it to support my three student children and hefty mortgage (plus one dog). I reasoned that my income could cushion the business — all I would need was a competent manager. This would eat into profits, but I didn't mind if no money was made for a while because of this, if the business supported itself. On the other hand, I so desperately wanted to be hands-on in this project, to steer the ship of my creation, hopefully clear of the shoals and out onto the high seas. I wanted adventure!

Looking back now, I think in the end the real reason that I decided to stay in my job and hire a manager was simply lack of confidence. I thought — in my heart, though not articulated — that “throwing away” a good job for a foolish dream that probably wouldn't work because I didn't know what I was doing, would be a stupid move. “People” would consider me an idiot. I might well
be
an idiot to do that. I took the coward's option.

Or was it the shrewd option? Read on …

We all have our mountains to climb

As life goes on, everyone accumulates experiences of varying kinds, which we attract to ourselves through our expectations, beliefs and the things we focus on and think about. In pondering why my own journey now suddenly included some of the more exciting challenges of its brief span, I'll try a little pop psychology. Like many people, I had moved through life scaling hurdles along the way: small things can seem like big mountains depending upon your comfort zone. Something which seems simple to one person can be a big challenge to another, depending upon beliefs and experiences accumulated along the way.

When I left my small Tassie town, I barely had the confidence to answer a telephone. Although I matriculated in one year, I stayed back at college for an extra year while my friends “caught up”, too scared to go on to university alone. I married my first boyfriend. When I started my career, I was too embarrassed to dictate correspondence and kept writing things out by hand until the senior partner gave me a (surprisingly gentle) talking to. Fortunately living in the big city got me over all that, and none too soon.

There is no doubt that divorce is a Major Life Event, and the effect on all involved is undoubtedly influential, one way or another. Skimming lightly over the very unpleasant few years involved in the deterioration of my marriage, I was left with two ingrained beliefs about myself: that I was an abject failure at something important, and that I was “hopeless with money”. I proceeded to prove the second one completely true by losing all that was left of the divorce settlement to a fraudster (now cosily ensconced in Berrima Correctional Facility). As to the first, it festered for a few years, until I realized that in fact I had achieved a few laudable things, and maybe “failure” was too strong a word. Nevertheless, a couple of “Great Achievements” would settle the matter, wouldn't they? — like, oh, I don't know — starting a successful business? Walking to Mount Everest? Let's Think Big!

So I became attracted to and fascinated by the Himalayan heights. Some years earlier, on my very first overseas trip, I had visited Switzerland. I will never forget taking my first train ride in Switzerland, from Zurich to Lichtenstein for a day trip, through the Alps. Those mountains were so tall that even if I leaned my head down below the train windowsill and peered upwards, I still couldn't see the top of the peaks.
Those
are mountains. It made me appreciate the bemusement of a Swiss visitor we entertained back home, taken for the day to the wonderful panorama across the Jamieson Valley in the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney. “It is very beautiful”, he said, wrinkling his brow, “but where are the mountains?” The wooded peaks and valleys stretched out to the sea, but of course there was nothing in the vista even remotely like the Alps.

Real mountains evoke all kinds of awe, I find. In the Swiss, the sheer size of them seems to inspire a dedication to the miniature and intricate — think watches, intricate engineering feats and those cute chalets with window boxes. For me, I can't quite pin it down, but the proximity of huge mountains and the glorious, massive landscapes of mountainous areas just plain inspire.

Not long after the Switzerland visit, I was a guest at a talk given by Tim McCartney-Snape, who's name may be familiar as an Australian Everest summiteer. He led the expedition of Australians who were the first to climb a particular route on the North Face of Everest. When I heard Tim speak, it was at a corporate motivational session, and he told the story of his Sea To Summit expedition, when he started (literally) in the Bay of Bengal, and walked all the way to the top of Everest. Of course, there was a lot more to the expedition than that, and one remark he made struck me in particular. Tim came across as a quietly-spoken guy. He was one of those athletes who can climb at altitude without oxygen — very wiry and tough. This was a supreme sportsman, disciplined physically and mentally. He told us that among his expedition team were two women, his wife and his sister, and they didn't get on. Tim confided that this emotional “people issue” was by far the most difficult thing he had to deal with in the whole expedition. He spoke of taking an acclimatisation hike up Everest's West Face, just to get away from the angst at camp! Now this was a corporate motivational talk, of course, and the message was tailored to his audience. But I took it to heart. We all have issues to deal with and problems to solve and goals to attain. Those that a mountain climber has to deal with are not all that different from those that we all encounter.

Tim also illustrated his talk with pictures of the Himalaya, and that was the moment I was hooked. Somehow the motivational talk and the mountains came together. Then, reading Tim's book, another link: he and I were exactly the same age. Moreover, he was at the same university at the same time as I — we had been ‘freshers' together. In fact, Tim had never climbed until he joined the ANU Caving Club in first year. One of his companions on the North Face climb, Lincoln Hall, had in fact been buddies with a good friend of mine. From all of this I think I took a sense of “there, but for a few different decisions, go I …” Plus a good dose of “it's possible …”

Well, years went by, as they say. Naturally, I took up reading books on mountaineering exploits, particularly the history of Everest. I read books about the first summit of the mountain — John Hunt, the leader of the British expedition; Edmund Hilary of course, and Tensing Norgay. Then there was the dreadful loss of life in the storm on Everest in 1995, and the dozens of cathartic accounts written by those affected, Jon Krakauer's
Into Thin Air
leading the pack. If you are as fascinated as I by the human questions of guides and clients on a mountain like Everest, and the moral responsibilities of people who are not only in danger of death themselves but also affected by hypoxia, I recommend that you read some of the many fascinating books written by those who survived this storm. Each viewpoint is different. Try Anatoli Boukreev's
The Climb
, Lene Gam-melgaard's
Climbing Hig
h, and don't miss Beck Weathers'
Left For
Dead
(he was).