As of 2018, I have a little over eight years left before I go before the board of parole and potentially release back into the community. Although I’m admittedly a bit apprehensive, I do feel prepared. I’ve put in considerably effort improving myself not only psychosocially and spiritually, but also relationally. It is extremely important to me that I not impact others negatively.Â
Previously, I was ludicrously self-centered, focused only on what I could get in life and out of life, with very little regard for the struggles and feelings experienced by others. Rather than positively impact the lives of others, I was hurting virtually everyone with whom I came into contact. Once I finally realized how I was affecting the people around me everyday, I was able to choose how I impacted others. It was because of this revelation that I decided to pursue a career in counseling.Â
I’m currently enrolled in a Ph.D. program (having earned a Master’s degree in 2017), and by the time I go before the parole board, I will have my Ph.D. in Counseling. For my certification, however, there are some additional requirements. I must complete 300 CEUs (Continued Education Units) in counseling and log 4000 clinical hours of actual counseling. While I have met the required 300 CEUs by taking several counseling courses in addition to my degree program, I have been unable to log any clinical hours. But I do have an opportunity to do so, which presents a dilemma.Â
I expect to finish my Ph.D. program by mid-2021. At that point it will be possible to transfer to another facility and participate in an alcohol & drug treatment program that will help me log my clinical hours, allowing me to secure a CADC I or II (certification) prior to going before the parole board, and, I believe, increasing my chances for release. Having my certification will also make it easier to enter the workforce with a felony conviction on my record.Â
On the other hand, once I complete my Ph.D. program I could go to work in one of the industry jobs that pay around $150 per month, allowing me to save a considerable amount of money for my release, and, I believe, increasing my chances for successful re-entry into society. Money is a critically important aspect of security as I acclimate to a totally new culture â I came to prison prior even to 9/11! Being able to save around $2500 can go a long way toward helping me get established.Â
My dilemma lies in the fact that I cannot do both. If I enter the A & D program in order to log my clinical hours, I will be unable to save any significant amount of money for my release. And if I go to work in a job that pays enough for me to save real money, I’ll be unable to log any of the clinical hours I need for certification. It’s a difficult decision, and I haven’t made up my mind yet. I still have a couple of years before I have to decide, but it’s still an ever-present, anxiety-producing hurdle in my path that I know is coming. I think about it often. I’d be lying if I said I don’t long for some guidance, but in prison, rehabilitative guidance simply does not exist.
I won’t lie, I was shocked to see ABC cancel their highest-rated sitcom over its star Roseanne Barr’s racist tweet against former Barack Obama cabinet member Valerie Jarrett. In this day and age, where money seems to rule the day, it was both courageous and refreshing to see a Hollywood entity that is in business to make gazillions of dollars actually sacrifice the Almighty Dollar to uphold its principles.
Roseanne Barr is a staunch supporter of the current president â thatâs her business. She has aligned herself with many of his views on race; again, that’s her prerogative. She has peddled in racism and bigotry for years before this costly tweet and has gotten away with it because, well, she made a lot of money for the networks she worked for. She then re-established her larger than life character with the reboot of her record-breaking sitcom this year and received a boost of support from the president the day after her relaunch success. Roseanne was untouchable â or so she thought.
In the current climate, some people now feel empowered to spew bigoted comments â once reserved for private conversations â publicly on social media. The impetus for this can be debated â but not with me. The point I’m making is although people, especially those in the highest positions, feel they can unleash their intolerance and hatred toward others without consequence, they may want to think again. Our society still has much work to do, obviously, but due to the evolution of race relations and treatment of people in general, there are now many in high positions that will not tolerate such primitive behavior. With this in mind, I don’t think it was a coincidence that this groundbreaking decision was made under the watch of Channing Dungey, the first African-American (woman) to head programming at a major broadcast network. The more diversity there is in powerful positions, the more we will see unambiguous messages sent that intolerance of people based on race, religion or other biasses will not be tolerated â even if it costs millions of dollars. This was not about political correctness, it was about values over money, right over wrong.
I made the case in a recent blog post that the NFL’s decision to ban its players from kneeling during the national anthem was not a First Amendment violation. The same is true in this case, but what we say and do in public can have severe consequences. If you post something on social media that your employer deems offensive and antithetical to the company’s values, he or she has every right to fire you without recourse. In the same way, Roseanne found out the hard way she is not above others who espouse such rhetoric on social media. The only difference is she had more to lose â a lot more! Many will inevitably complain that her First Amendment rights were violated â good luck with that argument. The fact of the matter is she exhibited abhorrent behavior that violated her company’s model of inclusion, equality, and values of diversity.
So, what does this mean for our culture going forward? Does it mean people will now carefully consider the consequences of their actions and refrain from publicly stating their personal views about others? Does it mean we will collectively demand a higher standard from those with large public platforms? I don’t know the answer to either of these, nor does it matter. The most important thing I took from this news is that no amount of celebrity or money justified such intolerable behavior. In the past this may have been acceptable; and had there been someone else heading ABC today, perhaps Roseanne would still be employed. But she crossed the line. She and those who choose to publicly espouse their offensive opinions about race and religion will likewise have to live with the consequences. I strongly applaud this decision as it was great for ABC, reflective of America, and well deserved for Roseanne.
In our youth obsessed culture, Jewels: 50 Phenomenal Black Women Over 50 by photographer Micheal Cunningham and novelist Connie Briscoe is an inspiring treasure. This book of photo-essays contains portraits of celebrities andnon-celebrities alike, who overcame tremendous barriers to successfully raise children (some as single mothers) and have careers. These are warrior women who have fought for equal opportunities in education, business, and society as a whole.
With age comes wisdom, but it is much more than that that makes each one of these fifty women attractive. It’s the strength of character, the “I am my own me,” that gives each one their regal bearing. This differentiates between true beauty and petty prettiness that is sold by many media as the epitome of feminity.
I found myself personally drawn to MĂźtter Evans, the second black woman to purchase a radio station in the U.S., and the youngest at age 26. Ms. Evans speaks of the fear and challenge of coming up with the funds in the 1970’s, dealing with not just racism and sexism, but a whole host of other isms. However, she knew the impact the media would have on her community. Then there is Ruby Davis-Jett who started her own online travel agency as well as a real estate conglomerate, despite getting pregnant at the age of 16. A few other jewels are actresses Ruby Dee and S. Epatha Merkerson, singer/songwriter Nona Hendrix, television news executive and author (and the great-great granddaughter of Madam C.J. Walker) A’Lelia Bundles, and Representative Alma Adams. You can judge a society by how it treats its’ women and mature members, as well as the feminine participation in said society. Like with many groups, America still has a ways to go; however, with Jewels one can see the many beautiful stitches in this great American tapestry.
The NFL has easily been America’s favorite pastime for the past couple decades. The Superbowl is by far the largest televised, most profitable sporting event every year, and its players offer the greatest athleticism and skillset in the sport around the world. We love our football, but we cannot tolerate the players we love to watch display personal opinions on the platform they built. Shut up, play football, and entertain us!
The NFL is a private corporation that is free to do what it pleases so long as it operates within the United States constitution â fair enough. When its owners voted to now sanction players with a fine for kneeling during the national anthem in protest of a flag that doesn’t represent a “land of the free and home of the brave” for millions of its marginalized citizens, it’s well within its right to do so. But what message does that send to those players and the millions of black and brown people they are kneeling for who suffer from police brutality with impunity? What message does it also send to those who wish to maintain this abhorrent status quo of bias and unmitigated prejudice that permeates our penal system, education system, and unfair employment practices? I’ll tell you what the message is to both groups: none of those issues matter; all that matters is that you players perform at a high level, entertain our country, and be quiet.
Remember when I said the NFL has a right to do anything they want as a private corporation as long as no constitutional rights are trampled on? I’m referring to the same constitution that also protects one’s right to freedom of speech. Now, before I get lambasted by those constitutional experts out there, let me explicitly say I understand the difference between one being sanctioned by their employer and one facing penalty by the government for their peaceful protest. I’m not asserting that the players’ rights are being violated â they are not. But when they take a knee to peacefully protest injustices occuring in this country they love, are they not acting within the spirit of the First Amendment? Are they not exercising their civic right â and many would argue a duty with such a large stage at their disposal â to protest in the manner the constitution encourages when they feel aggrieved? Oh, this only applies when it doesn’t infringe on our Sunday afternoon entertainment? I’m sorry, I failed to read that portion in the constitution â it must be in the fine print section of the First Amendment.Â
Granted, I understand with all the political backlash and public outcry from those who, frankly, are not subjected to being beaten and killed on a daily basis for the mere color of their skin, the NFL felt the pressure to do something. And they could have done many things â other than what they did last week in an attempt to silence their employees and ignore the critical issues that plague our society daily. They could have met with the players and come to a compromise to alleviate the issue. They could have partnered with the players’ initiatives to address some of the issues the players care deeply about. They could have hosted a solutions-oriented forum that included many who have an interest in the subject, then put forth some of the capital from their massive account (the commissioner makes 40 million a year!) to fund some of the smartest solutions-oriented initiatives. Instead, they ruled with the iron fist that most powerful entities do when they want to silence an “unruly bunch” who dare to make their audience or clientele uncomfortable in order to make a valid point.
I purposely did not assert whether I personally think the form of protest is agreeable, proper, or preferable â thatâs not my point. I will also not entertain the argument that the players are purportedly disrespecting the military by taking a knee â I have no interest in that either. I am merely stating that what the NFL did last week in changing its policy to sanction its players for kneeling in protest during the national anthem was a contradiction of the principles it claims to uphold: inclusiveness, equality, fairness, and many more ideals that apparently are easier to espouse than to practice. Instead of acknowledging their employeeâs grievances and working collaboratively with them to find solutions, it jettisoned all its supposed values and deferred to the use of punishment to suppress the First Amendment right of its players. With so many alternative options and plentiful resources at its disposal, the NFL failed to explore any of them. It failed to treat its employees like citizens; it failed to rise above the pressure from those who will oppose change at all cost; it failed to exemplify the values and principles it claims to operate under; and it failed to exercise the same leadership it expects its players to uphold on and off the field.
These days people can be quick to tell you what’s wrong with our society, and we all have canned solutions to almost every problem â just add water and simmer for 15 minutes… problem solved. I do it myself all the time. Give me a half-an-hour, and I can tell you how to solve healthcare, poverty, mass incarceration, you name it, and I have no doubt you have some good ideas yourself. But being passionate in the abstract is easy. What counts is how we deal with them when we actually are blessed with the opportunity to do something real.
See, doing something about the seemingly insignificant injustices we encounter in our immediate environment is risky, and therefore … more difficult. Affecting change universally brings negative blowback, whether from skeptical friends, ignorant or frightened colleagues, or the generally unforgiving social environment. However, the question for all of us echos throughout time: Do the changes we seek in our country matter more than any potential repercussions we may experience as a result of a decision to challenge the injustices we see? And if the answer is no, then stop telling people what’s wrong with the world. The opinions of those unwilling to change the world when given the platform and opportunity are like the sound of flatulence â humorous at best, but generally disgusting, unless of course, they’re your own.
Let me give you an example. This prior week, I was at work when another inmate, a young, black man and co-worker, asked me for advice. He then described a situation that made him uncomfortable (and me somewhat angry): One of his supervisors, who is not incarcerated, made an inappropriate and racist comment to him, framed as a joke, but in front of several other guys of all races. He explained that the comment not only perturbed him because of its inaccuracy and stereotyped underpinnings, but also made his job more difficult because he still was required to work with all those who heard it.
I gave him what I thought was sound advice. I encouraged him to speak with a staff member I know to be generally receptive and sensitive to issues like this. However, the person whom I thought would be willing to stand up against racism … simply wasn’t. The staff member described feeling uneasy about disrespecting the other staff member (the one who made the racist comment) by getting involved. In fact, in this meeting the young man was actually accused of a prior lack of professionalism, implicitly suggesting he somehow deserved the racist comment. Basically, the young black man was told to go to someone else if he wanted help, which saddened me, but I’m not naive about the prison environment.
Yet, I can’t help but find it disheartening. Picture a dog kennel, rows of dogs in cages and several dog handlers performing the duties of their jobs, feeding, cleaning, and otherwise caring for the animals. If one dog handler were verbally abusing one of the dogs, the other handlers would not hesitate to speak up. But incarcerated human beings apparently are often not as worthy of advocacy as dogs. Unfortunately, the very concept of rehabilitation will remain a farce until the men and women in prison are viewed and treated as human beings with inherent dignity and worthy of respect, regardless of their past mistakes, and dealt with as people who will one day return to the community.
I could allow myself to feel depressed and wallow in the injustice of it all, but I’m very mindful of the fact that I put myself here. I’m not the victim; I’ve hurt a lot of people. But even still, I can learn from those unwilling to use their power and platform to make positive change when called upon by the powers of fate.
The same night I experienced that unfortunate situation at work, I saw a gay kid being picked on by someone I know. I thought of what I witnessed at work as an example of what not to do, so I stepped in to stand up for the kid. Sure I took a little heat, and I’m sure it won’t be the last time that kid is picked on. And I certainly can’t be there for him everytime he has a problem. But I was able to help him that time. I did the right thing because I could, even though doing the right thing ain’t easy. But changing the world will never be easy, even if we all pitch in, which clearly … we don’t.
It’s no secret that most of us in prison (about 80% in fact) have been involved with and/or addicted to drugs and/or alcohol for many years, eventually leading us to where we are today. Manyâ if not virtually all of us â neglected our familial responsibilities, job obligations, parole or probation requirements, and essentially any expectations one would have for someone who desires to live a quality life in the free world.
For the myriad loved ones who have suffered unspeakable pain as we have continually let them down â most notably our children â while chasing and abusing our drugs of choice, it is often thought that we “chose” drugs and/or alcohol over our loved ones; after all, they’ll say “Why would you do it when you know it’s going to cost you everything?” They’ll reason that anyone can quit anything “if they really want to.” On its surface, this makes perfect sense, but underneath â in the realm of addiction â it’s much more complex.
Without getting too scientific, allow me to make a basic distinction: our rational thoughts (i.e. considering consequences, planning, goal-setting, restraining from instant gratification for delayed gratification, etc.), occur in the prefrontal cortex part of our brain. Addiction, however, manifests in the lower, most primitive part of our brain known as the limbic system. This is where our fight-or-flight system is, where our sexual appetite derives, and where our “pleasure pathway” is located. A hamburger is enjoyable because when we eat it, chemicals in this part of the brain are released, and the connection is made that hamburgers taste good. The next time we see or smell a hamburger, this part of the brain is ignited, and we feel drawn to eat the hamburger. We are inclined to engage in behavior that yields pleasure, thus we have a chemical/neural circuit known as the pleasure pathway.
This primitive part of the brain is where addiction becomes deeply rooted. The chemicals released from drugs and alcohol flood our pleasure pathway and have a very strong impact on the limbic system, but for the person who is more likely to become addicted due to a genetic predisposition, for instance, this reinforcement is much stronger. The reasons we use (i.e. to be more sociable, numb negative feelings, etc.) also factor into our likelihood of becoming addicted. What this reinforcement looks like in the brain of a non-alcoholic person who drinks an alcoholic beverage is, say, only four parts of the limbic system will be affected, whereas the alcoholic who drinks will experience a much stronger effect because nine areas of the brain are affected. Moreover, once the disease (it is a medical disease because 1) it has an onset, 2) it’s progressive, and 3) it can kill) sets in, the addict is triggered in the craving part of the limbic system when they see, smell, or are reminded in some way of their drug of choice. This is tantamount to someone who is very hungry being intensely stimulated when they walk down the street and smell barbecue smoke. Again, the pleasure pathway in the brain is more sensitized to drug and alcohol cues than someone who is not an alcoholic or drug addict.
Back to the rational part of the brain. When our “addicted brain” (limbic system) has been triggered by stimuli, our rational brain is chemically suppressed, severely reducing our capability of making logical decisions. Studies have shown the more emotional we are (taking place in our fight-or-flight system), the less we are able to use our rational brain. Therefore, when we’re angry we often do and say things we later regret. In the same way, when our addiction is ignited, we don’t have full access to our rational brain. Bypassing that liquor store in order to be home to eat dinner with the wife and kids makes all the sense in the world, but the brain chemistry that has been aroused by passing that liquor store makes that decision much more complex. Getting high to avoid stress spurs our brain in a way that makes us ignore any possible consequences that may come tomorrow or next week. Make no mistake, this is not to skirt responsibility or accountability for the damage and harm we’ve caused countless people who love us, but merely a brief explanation into what is underway in the brain that makes decision-making processes for the addict much more complex than the non-addict.
For the first twelve years of my incarceration I was convinced I had done everything I could to atone for my crime by honoring my victims’ lives as I had promised their families during my sentencing hearing. I had earned a BS in Sociology and MS in Psychology in pursuit of becoming a certified alcohol and drug counselor, just as I had vowed. I was proud of what I’d accomplished, yet I was profoundly mistaken in thinking I’d done all I could to honor my promise while in this circumstance. After getting involved with a new program offered here, I quickly learned there was much more I could do.
In October of 2015 I was approached by an inmate who mentioned he had “heard what [I] was in for” and wanted to know if I’d be interested in participating in an impaired driver victim impact panel. I eagerly agreed, knowing this would provide me with a rare opportunity to help others through highlighting the immense pain of my victims by sharing my story.
During our first panel there were approximately 40 inmates in attendance and two volunteers from the outside who had both been personally impacted by drunken drivers: one had lost her 28-year-old son and the other had been injured by a drunk driver. I sat and listened to these two courageous women speak to a room full of convicts about the unspeakable losses they’ve endured as a result of their tragedies. I simultaneously found myself stricken with shame to think about the painful scars I’d left on the survivors of my victims. Yet I felt humbled and encouraged to hear these women also speak about their ability to forgive the people who had taken so much from them. One woman expressed, “I can wake up and hate the man who has done this to me, but who does that really hurt? So instead, I choose to forgive and live.” It was silent in that room but for the intermittent sniffles from men who futilely tried to stifle their emotions. This was the first time I had come face-to-face with people who are living with the ever-present impact and trauma of losing someone dear to them, or surviving a drunken driving collision themselves. But there was another side.
Because I was recruited to participate in this inaugural meeting, I was also asked to share my story. I prepared intensely and meticulously for three weeks to ensure I didn’t fumble my words and could deliver them fluidly and clearly. Thankfully, I was able to meet my mark, but the true satisfaction came immediately afterward. The two women who had shared their powerful stories thanked me for telling mine. They told me that they wished more of “us” told our stories at impact panels because people outside need to also hear our perspective, especially when we are extremely remorseful and seek to make amends by spreading awareness. To know the victims of crime would be eager to work side-by-side with those of us who have victimized them, leaving them in unfathomable pain, was remarkable and humbling. It was in that moment that I came to understand the necessity of coming full circle in my own rehabilitation. Honoring my victims and collaborating with other victims is the most powerful way to further our shared goal â preventing further crime and victimization in our communties.
During my twelve plus years of incarceration I have seen many programs accesible to inmates: education, cognitive restructuring, substance abuse treatment, religious services of all kinds, etc., but all of these combined could not have brought me to fully reconcile what I’d done with where I wanted to go. There is no substitute for hearing, feeling, and witnessing the severe impact our actions have had on victims, their families and friends, and our communities. As grateful as I am for having had the rare opportunity to earn a formal education to aid me in becoming a productive, impactful member of my community, the empathy and insight gained from sharing my own story of tragedy and destruction has done more for my recovery than I ever imagined.
View Martin’s DUI Victim Impact Panel Speech below.
I’ve been a longtime doormat â I’m the youngest of nine. If someone tells me I’m being untruthful I can show them my scars. It would help me greatly to write appropriately, but I would rather my pieces be a place where I can bleed my abstractions. I’ve been abused by the hierarchy of those around me, as I grew up. I think I made a damn good punching bag too. Somewhere along middle school I found it was just easier to be walked on â obviously the root of the cuddly welcome-mat reference.Â
To set a premise you deserve to know: I’ve committed offenses to potentially put me away for life. I based my choices on the rate in which my tragedies moved through my pain and immaturely blamed my pain like I never had choice. I grew my first teeth amongst torture and beatings, I was a lowlife walking in circles until I came to prison. On my own accord I committed crimes that I deserve to be here for, no excuses. I am a more responsible person now, and this, my nakedness, is a step towards accountability â I’ve changed my trajectory. I am someone different and I’m telling the truth.
That’s actually generic for a prisoner to proclaim, so I can see someone outright saying in their mind ‘he deserves to be there and he’s deserves to die in there.’ I don’t blame them. Some might even think ‘he’s the same person, and he’s lying,’ but think about it. If I outright said ‘I’m the same person,’ and I was telling their truth, I’d be lying. That’s a seperate article, and only mentioned to reveal my mentality â this essay is to support ideas that I am someone different, representing a new avenue for rawness to read.
To brace that argument even more, I’ll begin again with a softer start: if you decide to dig deeper, you’ll find out, I am not suppossed to be here anyway. I am not supposed to be allowed to practice my culture and celebrate my identity, I am not supposed to know this language, these words, their syntax, or any other composite extractions of voice by the systematic mechanisms of language arts. This government had tried to exterminate any chance of my existence, so I am an all-around contradiction.
My name is Isadore Stanislaus White II. I am part of a large tribe spreading into two countries, across two provinces and two states, maybe more. I was born in the boondocks, Creston, British Columbia. I am named after chief Isadore White, my great-uncle of the Lower Kootenai Band. A problem I have with that is no one ever stopped and thought that maybe telling a child that they are named after someone who was great might turn that child into a problem himself. That stabbing title has always been a burden to me. I use to cry over it when I was alone as a child. I remember hiding in closets or under stairs and sobbing to be anyone different, because I hated my name. It was as if I’d have to be somebody, whether I wanted to be â or not to be. But is that not the question? Oddly, I was raised in the most desperate parts of Seattle, Washington. I followed a yellow-lined road to the Northwest, on Christmas Eve of ’94, where I found, in the emerald city, more details on my becoming.
In reality I don’t want to be significant I just want to be thrown enough disgust from fate to say my peace, turn society in a better direction than yesterday, earn my trust back, and when I’m ready to die, bow out with whatever dignity the universe has to spare.
As a natural inhabitant of this continent, I am a Grassdancer, my Father was a Grassdancer, My namesake was a Grassdancer and, his father’s father’s father was a Grassdancer. It is a vital role â to be one said charmer of grass, in my culture. A grassdancer is to go ahead of the tribe into unknown circumstances, to pave the way, scout the herds of game that sustain the tribe, to tend the lands by flattening the grass so that when the elders, men, women and children arrive, they can set up their tipis. That embodies where I am at in life â to venture forth into unknowns, to see what lies in my people’s future, to make a choice of growth, not on behalf of what I am part of, but, in sacrifice âof my pride, my ego, my honor, anything that would urge me to base my decisions on my hypersensitivity â to learn to be a device of something bigger than myself. That is my fate as a Grassdancer. My diplomacy is fact, that is the way of it.Â
Being dealt adult situations from a tender age of wonderment had traumatized me. I’ve walked through life knowing I am even more of a punching bag, not just from my bloodline, but for American culture â just look at what people wear on Halloween. Being a seed from those treated as something less than human, of those murdered by terrorism in an attempt to cut the chain of my genetics and having those dossiers kept from history books, by government, in the beginning of a story I am of, changes a child’s dreams. I hope to alter the justification of this society miseducating of western culture’s largest genocidal slaughter before I am laid to rest.Â
Beyond 1491, my gamble on existing had been logarithmically whittled down, by 1745, on this soil, ironically proclaiming equality. Seeing that publicly walked over like a sidewalk, being too dirty for the sandals of the statue of liberty to touch, and watching that display hide that constitutional slight of defiling blood across entire tribes of natural inhabitants of this continent buried by aristocratic business transactions carried out by religious deserters mutilating my probability to be, in plain sight, as a star-spangled banner of liberty and freedom â that is my reality.
Who the hell am I, but a prison anyway? This is not to answer my own rhetorical kindling, here. My intentions were only to vibrate your energy â this is my flavor. Thank you for reading.
Isadora Whitee was born in Canada and raised in America. He’d been a person forgotten by his cultivation: physically, verbally, emotionally, and sexaully abused throughout his life. He escaped his pain and his confusing surroundings through drugs and alcohol, and became a full-blown alcoholic at the age of fifteen. Through his conviction and sentence, the only way that he sees justice for his mistakes is to take ownership for himself and all his actions by inwardly growing. Izzie has received a formal education during life as state property, and has now taken many programs. Objectively, he sees prison as a beacon of enlightenment to show him how to he accountable. In contrast to a majority of his poverty-stricken life, he carried the beneficial need of writing with him âthese are his writings.
Weâre excited to offer the last in Eric Burnhamâs five-part series on “The Four Agreements,” by bestselling author Don Miguel Ruiz. In the book, Ruiz reveals the source of self-limiting beliefs that rob us of joy and create needless suffering. Based on ancient Toltec wisdom, The Four Agreements offer a powerful code of conduct that can rapidly transform our lives to a new experience of freedom, true happiness, and love.
Always Do Your Best
Everyone loves success, and deep down, everyone knows that success, real success, doesn’t just happen. It’s earned. If you want to shine while everyone is looking, you’ve got to polish when no one is looking. You’ve got to do your best at all times, but what does that mean? Are there any limitations?
I think success means being your best self and applying your best self to everything you do, and I think there are some limitations. But those limitations actually liberate a person to focus mental and emotional energy on the task at hand in a more targeted way. It’s kind of like addition by subtraction. The primary limitation of doing your best carries a “being” element, which requires integrity, humility, and attention to detail.
Integrity involves honesty of word and deed and authenticity of motive, even when it’s uncomfortable and arduous. Integrity is a character trait displayed as a pattern of living, rather than a momentary decision. It is the pursuit of what you know to be the right thing regardless of how you feel.
Humility, that most slippery of character traits, involves a natural willingness not only to make mistakes, but to easily admit them as well. To be humble means having a total lack of pretense and self-centeredness, a concern for others before oneself. In a word, it means being selfless, not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less.
Attention to detail is paramount. It involves, well, paying attention to the little things. An NFL coach once said, “See a little, see a lot; see a lot, see nothing.” The little things inform and direct the bigger things. Most have heard of the 80/20 rule: 80% of all production is accomplished by 20% of all resources. Attention to detail requires prioritization, applying a counter-intuitive shift in focus. An emphasis on the little things will bring about profound improvements in the bigger ones.
A secondary limitation of doing your best involves a three-pronged framework of activity, the “doing” element: preparation, execution, and maintenance. The pursuit of success is not a chaotic, haphazard hope of finishing in the top tier. It is a goal-setting/goal-achievement progression.
To do your best, you must prepare. Gather information, accumulate resources, and organize effort. Preparation sets you up for success ânever rely on luck alone. Then execute your plan. Do what you set out to do, and do it with a flexible but durable implementation of your plan. Finally, maintenance work may need to be done along the way to preserve gains. Success is not a one-and-done endeavor. It requires diligence and constant reassessment.
These four agreements may seem like common sense, and perhaps they are for some. However, they have helped me achieve a measure of success, even though I’m incarcerated. I may be in prison, but I’ve made the successful transition from gangster to scholar, achieving my Master’s degree in 2017 and even beginning my PhD program. I’m not saying you should listen to an incarcerated man. After all, I’m just another inmate. I’m only tellin’ you what has worked for me, and if I can do it, you can do it. Make these agreements with yourself and stay committed.
We’re thrilled to congratulate our friend Martin Lockett on the publication of his second book, My Prison Life: A Blogger’s Insights from the Inside. I was honored to write the foreword, and so grateful to be involved in some small way in this project. You can find Martin’s book here on Amazon.
If you haven’t already read Martin’s first book, which I highly recommend, it is also available on Amazon.
Watch this space later this week, for a video of Martin, telling his moving and powerful story.
In 2013 Martin L. Lockett published his memoir, Palpable Irony: Losing my freedom to find my purpose. During his incarceration, he has earned a Certificate of Human Services  from Louisiana State University, AA from Indiana University, BS in Sociology from Colorado State University â Pueblo, and an MS in Psychology from California Coast University. He continues to tutor in the GED program at the Oregon State Correctional Institution in Salem, Oregon, and co-facilitates an impaired driver victims impact panel. He aspires to counsel adolescents who struggle with substance abuse.
In 2013