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Actually, you don’t have to tell me – this was the question I was asked recently by someone.

What do you dream about?

There is, of course, hell of a difference between dreaming and not doing anything to make the dream come true – and being driven by your dream to get closer to realising it.

And very often we succumb to a sort of casual dreaming, the one that provides the otherwise dull and uneventful life with an “injection” of serotonin to keep us going. Moreover, we only dream about things for ourselves and maybe a few close ones. The rest of the world is not included.

Here is where the problem lies. Reaching the heights of personal happiness and thus releasing the mentioned happiness chemical will only temporarily cure any lack in well-being. The reason is simple: you’re constantly drawing on your own resources to pump yourself happy.

Try and help others. Give them a smile. Give them a hand. Don’t just dream how good your house will be with a new kitchen. Dream how good everyone’s kitchen can be when everyone can afford to have a kitchen of their dreams. To make this happen, something will have to change in design, in economy, in the way we live. James Dyson did just that, and now that his vacuum cleaners are making millions of people happy, he is a happy man. And no, not only because he’s become a billionaire. It is because people’s satisfaction rubs off on him.

The law of attraction still works here, too. If you want to be happy, start dreaming of seeing other people happy. The truth is that we can really make a better world. But we need to answer this question first.

What do you dream about?

Many people all around me are talking about the power of writing your goals down. Now, I did this in the early 2009, then something happened, it all didn’t pan out quite well, and I freaked out. I knew better this year, as I understood the difference between publicising the goals and actually writing them down. And even though I didn’t announce that goals I was working for, I made sure I had them in front me on the paper since January.

As a few people who tried to do this will know, you don’t always get to hit the goal. But you can get really close; and then, instead of deploring the fact that you didn’t get what you wanted in exact way, shape or form, you can assess the success, identify and minimise the lows, and maximise the highs. And then hopefully with the next set of goals you will get what you want.

I mentioned the difference between publicising and writing the goals. I believe setting the goals and working on them should be very personal. Of course, you cannot accomplish everything by yourself, so you do need a team. However, as some students of business might know there is a concept of GRASP, in which G stands ‘getting along with the right people‘. So, this year, rather than announcing my goals to everyone, I chose to attract those who were right for my project and/or for me.

When you write your goals down, something magical happens. Good things start occurring, positive changes begin, great people enter your life. It is important to remind yourself of those goals, no matter how things are actually going. And it’s even more important to remember that “it’s not how good you are, it’s how good you want to be“. This is the only thought that will always keep you afloat.

Recently I’ve been reading on the subject of autism and Asperger syndrome. Although there are certain similarities between the two, Asperger syndrome patients usually find themselves a place in the society, meet a partner and may even have children.

Both types are characterised by the lack of social skills, in particular; however, Asperger syndrome strikes me as an attempt to clinically explain the inability or the lack of desire to join the ranks of society, to socialise on the accepted terms, and to see things in a customary way.

Yesterday I was reading a chapter in a parents’ manual sold in WHSmith, and one example was quite funny. A teacher asked the Aspergerian boy “Do you have time?”, the boy replied “Yes”, and the teacher complained that the boy was rude.

Apparently, people with Asperger syndrome tend to either take things seriously or not see the seriousness of the issue. They may find something funny when it isn’t and fail to laugh at a real joke. They can take things literally (e.g. pull their socks). They may not be able to see the situation through another’s eyes. They will have difficulties establishing social contacts, building and maintaining relationships, and generally, they will have issues with being accepted. But they can also focus on whatever they are passionate about to the degree when they are capable of producing something astonishing.

The problem is, because of their idiosyncrasies these people are likely to be treated as misfits or even disabled.

My issue isn’t about stating that someone have a certain condition that make them too different for their own good. My issue is that this has to be described and analysed as a special condition rather than a completely natural way for a person to express themselves, even if it appears odd.

Because if you ask someone if they have time, the response is either “yes” or “no”. If this wasn’t the answer you were after, ask them what time it is.

Whether it is a society myth, or something we embed into our minds as we contemplate the lives of artists, but one things is certain: finding inspiration is a massive task for most of us.

The world’s greatest, being human after all, admitted that there were days when they couldn’t work. Tiredness settled in, creditors kept banging on the door, the loved one either died or eloped with a lover – there were plenty of reasons to “lose the attitude” for one’s preoccupation. But that was in the days before the telephone and the Internet. As the world grows older, so grows the number of reasons to not be able to find inspiration and motivation. Suddenly, no matter how strong is your vocation, it fades in the background of the lack of inspiration.

The key to finding inspiration is not to look for it. When I planned my day for yesterday I dedicated 2 hours to spend on several things for this blog. What happened instead is that I crossed out a couple of items on the list rather quickly that then allowed me to write this post. And the inspiration for writing came from the moment.

Inspiration is born in the moment. True, you have to create that moment, perhaps by studying your subject and thinking about your project. But you cannot plan the moment. This is why so many good ideas are jotted down on napkins, not neatly written in the private notebook.

In my present work environment we talk a lot about “losing the attitude“. Usually it means that your spirits sink so low that you cannot motivate yourself to do the job.

I have realised the other night, however, that “losing the attitude” means – and should mean – a completely different thing. The loss of attitude is not caused by the lack of sleep or the frustration that things aren’t moving as fast as you’d want them to. The loss of attitude is the symptom of how you feel about people around you.

You are surely familiar with the concept of the law of attraction: what you focus on you get more of. The concept was massively popularised by the film Secret that illuminated how focusing on your wishes can make them come true.

When I look at everything I’ve achieved so far I know it is all the result of my precise unhindered focus on what I wanted to attract. But there is an area where I have been treading unconsciously rather than with a good understanding of its importance. The area is instrumental in one’s individual success or the success of a group of people.

To succeed, you’ve got to be comfortable with the success of others. 

It is logical: if you want to attract success in your life (wealth, love, and other goodness also count), you’d better get excited when others around you become successful. It makes no sense to only be happy when good things are happening in your life while the rest of the world lies in misery.

Paradoxically, the majority of people only get excited when they achieve things for themselves and maybe a few loved ones. They almost consider themselves as the only people out there worthy of achievement and recognition. When others are recognised and become successful, a lot of people go out of their ways to belittle, bemoan and deplore the others’ achievement.

It doesn’t mean that these people can never become successful just because they’re inviting success to themselves while resenting other successful people. What it does mean, though, is that whatever success they find will not be enough to make them happy or truly rich: because they’re taking pleasure not in Success as such but in an infinitely small part of it.

When people lose their attitude to the job they effectively lose positive, comfortable attitude to life and to people. They no longer focus on the abundance of opportunities to succeed that make success accessible to just about anyone. Instead they concentrate on that share of universal Success that can enter their own life, and this share will always be too small not to care about it. Suddenly they’re dominated by a poverty conscience rather than move forward guided by the knowledge that there is always more than enough for everybody.

In case you are wondering if this can really be true, I have just tried this on myself. A month ago at one huge meeting I had the opportunity to open my inner gates to the universal flow of success and achievement. I was incredibly happy for everyone’s achievement even though my own achievements have so far been modest. The result didn’t keep me waiting, and within days I stunned myself with what I was able to do.

I was in Buxton recently, it was my first time in the town and in Derbyshire. One Englishman-turned-Canadian didn’t hear a trace of foreign accent in my English, so he was genuinely surprised to hear that I wasn’t originally from the UK.

A couple of other people were able to spot some “foreigness” but certainly didn’t trace it all the way back to Russia.

I’ll be hitting the first “round” birthday this December, but most people who meet me think I’m 22 or 24. Which is great, of course… as long as they don’t assume that my mental age and experience are those of a 22-year-old.

And still even a larger number of people think I am French. This has to do primarily with dress sense, as it seems. Apparently, if you dress distinctly and in style, with statement accessories, in classy leather, you’ve got to be from Paris. So, the goal for me is to go to Paris to see how many French people would take me for their compatriot. For all I know, they’ll be thinking I’m from New York.

Jokes aside, I’ve recently realised two things. One, I’ve spent all of my twenties in England. I met my late English husband in 2000, visited the country for the first time in 2002, and since 2003 I’ve been living in the UK without travelling anywhere, except within the country. So, out of nearly thirty years I’ve spent (roughly) 20 in one country and 10 in another. The goal is to make sure that the next 10 years are spent in travelling worldwide, so by the time I’m 40 I can confidently choose the place “to settle down” (and continue travelling).

Two, everyone asks me what made me come to Manchester. They don’t usually know the story, so the question is correct from their side. For me, though, the question is different, and this downed on me in Buxton. It’s “what made me stay in Manchester“, for sure. And if I’m honest with myself, then I must admit that at times I was too inert and didn’t take enough control of events in my life. I didn’t always listen to what intuition told me; I tried to win the battles that were not worth fighting; and little by little all the above began to make me feel helpless. After all, it’s hard to carry the whole world on your shoulders.

I know it’s changing, and it is amazing just how far and how rapidly you can go when you commit to your vision. I’m currently sitting in the living room in a big house, in pleasant and peaceful silence (although I’ve just finished listening to Dire Straights’ “Sultans of Swing“). It’s my day-off, and I’m doing what I want to be doing. I walk home from work which takes me 45 mins; the area is leafy and calm, there’s a park nearby where I should be going for a walk with my friends tonight; two of the people from the house went to celebrate the Summer Solstice at Stonehenge on Monday. The river is flowing just outside the house, and everything feels bright…

It is a commonplace among psychologists to say that people often find it difficult to say “no”.

I propose to revise, in fact to refute, this point of view. It is erroneous because this is the easiest thing to do for a lot of people.

There are many ways of saying “no”. If you don’t like the sound of “no”, “nein”, “non”, or “нет”, then you’re in for an arsenal of ways to let the other person know you’re negative.

“I’ll have a think about it ” is the most common one. People usually say this in full confidence that by the time they accidentally remember your proposition you will have completely forgotten about it.

“I need to discuss it” is another ways of saying “no”. You imply that you’re not a decision-maker. Even if you have to discuss something with your inner self, you’re still admitting that the inner you wears the pants at all times – even if you’re in a skirt (or kilt).

“I don’t want to do this today”… By George, I heard this so many times from different people. I live for the day when I will be surrounded by people who are dying to do it today. “It” obviously has to be something above and beyond the average list of things we do on a daily basis. It cannot be eating, taking a shower, or having sex. It has to be: sending an important letter, making time for a worthwhile task, breaking out of the routine.

As you can see, it is easy for people to say “no”. We all say “no” for this or that reason. Whenever there is a challenge, the first thing the majority of people think, say and do is “no”. There is “no” change, “no” progress, “no” happiness, “no” prosperity because all of these involve a huge risk of saying “yes” to the unknown, to the opportunity. They want to think about it, to discuss it, to postpone it – until the time the opportunity is gone.

Psychologists are fundamentally wrong assuming that it is difficult for people to say “no”. They misinterpret the chain of thinking when a person says “yes” to his oppressor. In reality, the person is saying “no” to his real self who would gladly refuse to be obliged. But because the person is afraid of what may follow he says “yes” to what he perceives as the real power, the dominant force.

So, next time you have to say “no” think exactly what, or whom, you are refusing. Perhaps, it is high time to say “yes”.

There is a post on Seth Godin’s blog that I thought was worth copying here:

Here’s the mistake we make in high school:

We let anyone, just anyone, judge our work (and by extension, judge us.)
Sue, the airheaded but long-legged girl in Spanish class gets the right to judge our appearance.
Bill, the bitter former-poet English teacher gets the power to tell us if we’re good at writing.
And on and on.
The cheerleaders are deputized as the Supreme Court of social popularity, and the gym teacher forever has dibs on whether or not we’re macho enough to make it in the world. These are patterns we sign up for, and they last forever (or until we tell them to go away).
In high school, some people learn to ship, they learn to do work that matters and most of all, they learn to ignore the critics they can never possibly please. The ability to choose who judges your work–the people who will make it better, use it and reward you–is the key building block in becoming an artist in whatever you do.

There is always a slim chance to fall prey to people who may appear helpful but who in fact are most concerned about keeping you in their shadow. Make sure you admit this is the fact, and move on to people who can provide you with constructive advice on how to improve your work.

A part of my day-to-day work is to ask people how big their telephone bill is. I’ve lost the count of how many times I heard this answer: “I have no idea, my partner pays it“.

Not only does the partner pay it, it is not uncommon to learn that the partner in question is also the one who knows the telephone provider. Effectively, the partner I am asking about the bills and telephone company has – apparently – no foggiest idea about the other half’s choice and/or expenses.

Before I go any further, let me tell you that in 2006 BBC ran a campaign promoting a booklet under the name “How to Have a Good Death“. As with many things like this, it made sense for someone to write such a booklet because a lot of people do take their life planning seriously. One section that attracted my attention touched on the necessity to let your family and relatives know about how your finances were organised, what services providers you had, etc.

As you can imagine, when I hear this “my partner pays the bill” response I instantly remember the BBC booklet. I also remember the time when my father-in-law died, and the family had to go through a period of finding out what he owed, and to whom. I truly don’t understand women who tell me: “I’m the lucky one because my husband pays the bill“.

But it’s not just about the postmortem finance management that may befall any family out there. It isn’t about it at all. To me, this is about the nature of marriage, that very “together forever” that we utter both in civic and church ceremonies, as well as in intimate setting with our partner.

Yes, there is something sweetly patriarchal (or matriarchal, depending on exactly who pays the bill) in the fact that I’m leaving it to my partner to manage the family finances. Besides, family budget is like a kitchen: it makes sense to only have one person there at any given time. But, as there is no harm in checking out on pans with boiling water, so with the family budget there is no harm in knowing how much the partner is paying, and to whom.

All the more so, if they are paying from their earnings, or if they use your earnings to pay it.

Some may say: this is called a blind faith, and it’s great if your partner is so trustworthy. I have no question with it: if I am with someone, it is exactly because I absolutely trust them. But is it not indifferent of me to not know how much our bills are, especially if I am using the service provider, too? Is it not indifferent of me to not know what service provider we use for our TV, or phone, or electricity? Doesn’t my indifference run against the grain of what marriage is about: living a life together?

This is a very personal post. The month of March appears to be rich in dramatic experiences.

I have just been told that Daniel Michael Kevin Jones (13 November, 1981 – 22 March, 2010) has died today at 12 noon in St James’s Hospital in Leeds. He was 28, he wanted to be a writer, and he was born with a liver condition that, sadly, could see him struggling through life. And he was my de jure husband.

We met online on 29th of August 2000. We were one of the first couples to have found each other via the Internet. A good proof for those who wonder if or not the web is a good place to find your other half. Neither of us was prepared for it, but we both embraced the change. A little over a year later – in November 2001 – we got married in Moscow. We separated in December 2006, a week after my birthday. In May 2008 I finally moved out of their house. He fell ill in late December 2009; he was taken in to Manchester Royal Infirmary in February 2010. I visited him twice there, and I even considered going to Leeds with him, even though he was no longer my husband. But certain things changed, including my financial circumstances, and I didn’t go. They were planning to give him the liver transplant, but I was told the operation never went through: he was too ill.

It was the first relationship proper for both of us, and it was always difficult to manage. We’d have fantastic times together, and then we’d have really hard, hard times. It wouldn’t be wrong to say that living with parents, first mine, then his, didn’t help things.

We owe a few important things to each other. I owe Daniel my British degree, living in another country, and all the experience I’ve gained that made me rethink certain things about how we approach life, people, goals, and relationships. He owes me the desire to be a writer, visiting new places, and the experience of breaking out of the rut. I’m not as strong as a bull when it comes to health. However, my parents always encouraged me to push the envelope. His family was much more cautious, and this would inevitably cause friction between us once we started living in his house. But when we met he did the impossible: he came to visit me in Moscow. He found a girl he’d fallen in love with, and he overturned every obstacle his parents or doctors tried to put in his place.

Truly, when we are in love, we do the impossible. Love doesn’t mean lust on this occasion, but rather this commitment and dedication to the object of your love (a person, a subject, a project, etc.) that sees you going for it with all ardour and vigour. In these ten years we undoubtedly have discovered a few things about each other that we didn’t like, but him going and getting me, against all odds, is likely to remain a benchmark of how much a man can do for a woman. Obviously, there are always other ways of showing love and appreciation, but one of the things I will always remember about Daniel is that first visit.

We separated after 5 years of trying. It was a hard work for both of us. I was too ambitious and, honestly, too different from him. Secretly, we both realised it quite early, but none wanted to admit that we wouldn’t be able to work around it. As for him, he turned out to not be as independent and go-getting, as it seemed at first. And this is how I learnt the lesson in the importance of your circle. There was a marked difference in Daniel who came to visit me in Moscow; Daniel whom I married and with whom I lived in my native city for over a year; and Daniel whom I found upon my arrival to England, after he’d spent 9 months living at home.

He changed in some ways in the years since we split. He regularly went out of his house to read and write; recently he’d grown a beard and had his hair down most of the time. We would meet occasionally, and the last time I saw him healthy and walking he was wearing a top hat. He had plans and dreams, and even though he was still too lenient to himself in going about them, it felt as though he was definitely getting there at last.

When I visited him in hospital in February, it hit me hard. I may not have had any feelings for him as a man any longer, but as a person who’d been in my life for nearly 10 years, he was dear to me. He looked dreadful, but I felt how much he feared. To think that his father died from ulcer nearly 4 years ago, in 2006, was terrible. Two days after that visit I was in the hospital again, seeing him going into a severe nervous breakdown, fighting all of us, not recognising anyone. But the most bizarre thing was that his mother wasn’t there. When I arrived, he was asking her to not talk to him. In the end, she took it really personally and left, saying to him: “It is because you’re like that with me that you’re in hospital”.

I was by his side all this time, but immediately as they gave him sedative and I had the chance to sit down and compose myself, I realised that this was the pivotal moment. In fact, my real self threw it upon me, and I had to accept. I realised that, as far as his mother was concerned, I was his wife; in fact, I wasn’t. I realised that there and then, by his bedside, I had to make a choice between my past and my future. The truth was that my present was ridden with problems, mostly financial, and by committing myself to the past I was to make them even more severe. And I would get even further away from the future.

I know it sounds almost heartless. It isn’t. It is not heartless to accept the fact that you are following your heart when you have every reason not to, while at the same time those who must be much more committed and passionate turn their backs on you and the person you care for. When I explained to my ex-mother-in-law that his son and I weren’t together any more, and that was the reason why I didn’t want Leeds hospital to approach me as the first contact, she asked: “So, you don’t love him anymore?” “I do”, I said, “but as person who did a lot to me, as my dear friend, not as my husband”.

I’m not sure she understood…