I remember sitting at a party once with several of the top sales people for a large corporation. One guy in particular seemed to control the conversation. He kept reminding us that he was "Mr. PMA" (Positive Mental Attitude). And I think he believed it. It didn't matter what any of us said, he dogmatically reminded us that we would never reach the stars if we focussed on the clouds. As I watched him in action, I couldn't help but assume that he probably spent more than a few very depressed times hidden away in a room somewhere. How could anybody who constantly set their sights on the stars ever feel that jumping 3 feet off the ground was enough?

Of course, there's the other extreme.  Just this morning I did a therapy session for a real loser. No, that wasn't my diagnosis, that was hers. She walked in explaining that everything she ever touched turned to mud. Her 3 husbands had all left her because she was so sloppy and there were more loose ends in her life than she cared to talk about. I suppose when you don't believe you're capable of jumping 3 feet you can end up throwing your life away as well.
If we truly understand hypnosis, and the inherent "power" it gives us to change what we believe about ourselves, it's almost scary to consider the implications. On stage I regularly convince people they are capable of doing the impossible. People believe they can read minds, while others think they're Superman and "fly" around the room. Some become math or memory experts while others suddenly find they can't remember anything about their lives. These "mind games" are fun to watch on stage, but to be honest, they probably wouldn't make people really try to fly off the edge of buildings, but all of us have the abilities to use these same suggestive approaches in some pretty scary ways. Mr. PMA above would welcome the chance to be convinced, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he was the very best sales person and high achiever in the world. The problem is, what happens when he tries to compete with someone who offers a better product:? Or what's going to happen inside him when he tries to keep up with the guy down the hall who happens to have 2 secretaries doing his "busy work" for him? Basically, in one hour, I can set him up for years of suppressed failures. I can begin a chain of events that will ultimately lead to denial, bitterness, hidden anger, low self-esteem, and an emotionally "messy" life.

Again, the opposite kind of therapy would have the same detrimental effect. If I try to lower his expectations, he'll go through life feeling he can't achieve, feeling he's always falling short, he's never "good enough". So where's the balance? How do we reach the "perfect" center spot?
Well, we can begin with the assumption that ultimately all therapy is about self image. People change when they believe they can and don't change when they feel incapable. So it's not the "belief in myself" that's the problem, it's the level of expectation. I am constantly reminding my children that they can do anything they want to in life, provided they are willing to pay the price. My daughter wants to be an astronaut. We've been to Space Camp and she's seen the shuttle and has decided some day she's going to live on the Space Station. I've encouraged her to go for it, provided she realizes how much that dream will cost. She'll have to spend 20 or so years in training, without pay, before she can go anywhere. She'll have to excel in math and science and she'll have to stay focussed on her goal. She's 8 years old now, and has plenty of time to change her aspirations. But it won't be because she'll decide she can't do it, it'll be because she chooses another set of circumstances for herself instead. Of course, if up the road we find out that she has a learning disability and actually would never be able to keep up with the crowd, what's important is that she doesn't associate limitations with failure. Another very important fact that we consistently remind our kids of is that "The best that you can do is ultimately only the best that you can do". There's nothing shameful about knowing your limitations. A blind person should never feel bad because they can't become art critics. It's who they are, and the sooner they accept that, the sooner they can start become all that they can be.

Back when I was busy training hypnotherapists, it seemed that every class had at least one self proclaimed prophet who insisted that it was all about making people feel they could "do it", it was all about truly believing that if we can conceive it we can achieve it. Personally I'm a big fan of Napoleon Hill's and would be the first to agree that pushing our limits is essential to healthy emotional growth, but again we get back to how do we balance achievement with limitations? How do we reconcile ability with possibility? I can conceive leaping tall buildings and flying faster than a speeding bullet, but somehow I think we may be several generations away from ever being able to achieve it.
Perhaps the emphasis needs to be taken off achievement and placed instead on effort. Perhaps our goal shouldn't be so much to move mountains as it should be to dig as far as we can today. I know in my practice I stay away from "self esteem" booby traps like "you can do anything you set your mind to", or "you feel great about your ability to push your way to the top of the corporate ladder". Instead I emphasize the steps involved in reaching the goals. I focus more on "it feels great to know you've put in a complete day of work", or perhaps, "you realize that if you've done your best today, you've already won". 

When someone comes into my office for weight loss, instead of talking in terms of 6 months from now, when you get rid of the extra 103 pounds, you'll be successful, I talk instead about, "tomorrow night, when you go to sleep, it will feel so good to know you've done your exercise and stuck to your diet, you'll know you've already won and it's just a matter of time before the rest of the world sees the body of the person that now lives inside you". I emphasize the fact that true change has nothing to do with physical action. Not picking up a cigarette does not mean a smoker has stopped. It's possible for them to go a year without a cigarette and still be a smoker. If the inner triggers are still there, and nothing has been put in place to fill the emotional needs, it's just a matter of time before the person picks up a cigarette again. If, on the other hand, a person puts a cigarette out, and decides there and then to change their motivations, they are no longer a smoker. Real change NEVER takes more than 10 seconds. In 27 years of helping people work through all kinds of issues, it's never taken more than 10 seconds to make the change. It does, usually, take time to get the client mentally prepared to change. It may take 4 or 5 sessions to help them overcome the cop outs and fears and it may take another week or two to get them to believe the change is essential and wanted. But going from "I'm a loser, I'll never make it in life" to "I'm going to have a great day, every action I make will be carefully planned and reflect the new me blossoming inside" isn't that far. Not after the neurotic walls have been torn down. As soon as we realize that actions are just reflections of changes made in the thought process, suddenly it becomes much easier to go from here to there. And once we realize that Hypnosis is probably the quickest road to mental change, we realize just how effective we truly can be.

But we're still faced with a philosophical dilemma.  What happens when a person with a lower IQ decides they want to be a Nuclear Physicist?  Or how about a quadriplegic who decides to become a touring golfer? Should we discourage them? Is it my place to tell Hellen Keller to give up on her foolish notion that some day she'll be able to communicate? History is full of stories that say limits are, in more cases than not, just in the mind. So who am I to tell someone not to try? But then, if I let them set their goals too high, and encourage these "reach for the star" aspirations in my therapy room, am I not setting them up for failure?
Again we get back to a question of what we consider success. If I tell the guy with the lower IQ that he needs to push until some day he is recognized as the world's greatest Scientist, I'm probably setting him up for failure. If, on the other hand, I tell him that reaching for his highest dreams is a noble endeavor, and he needs to savor every hard working day in that direction as a success, not letting external limitations affect his spirit, I'm probably setting him up for a great year of high achievement. If we can somehow help our clients to avoid associating the Gold Medal as their only point of success, we allow them to push as far as they can, and enjoy each step of the way. We live in a society that puts a high premium on winning. Nobody even notices the "other" competitors in an Olympic competition. The goal of most teams is to win. Anything short of that spells defeat, shame and failure. 
Personally, if I could run a mile 5 seconds quicker than I did yesterday, I'd consider it a great success. Of course, at best, it would still probably take me a good 10 minutes to do it. Truth be told, I'm not anywhere near as fit as I once was, and compared to a large percentage of humanity I'd probably not do too well in a race. But that's who I am and what I can (and can't) do. For me to associate breaking a 4 minute mile tomorrow morning with success would be ridiculous. On the other hand, if I have a realistic assessment of where and whom I am, and I set realistic expectations of myself, it might just be possible for me to run a mile in less than 4 minutes some day. Of course, for me to get there, I'll need to decide right now to put most of the rest of my life on hold for probably 5 or 6 years. If that cost isn't too much to pay, then it's okay for me to reach for that particular star. 

But winners don't get there by mistake. It's a long, hard road to the top, and most who make it tell us they savored success every day from the first time they set their sights on the medal. They went to bed, while still running 6 minute miles, savoring how much better they did today. They dreamt of some day getting there, but they savored victory in what they had already accomplished. Any good coach will tell you that setting a "pie in the sky" goal will never get a team to the pendant. Making the ultimate goal pushing a bit more today than we did yesterday will, eventually, get a player to the top. Any AA member will tell you that the only way to change the rest of their life is to take it "one day at a time". And each day they go without taking a drink is a success, it's a moment of closure.

I remember several years ago watching a group of Tibetan monks at one of the Los Angeles museums finishing a masterpiece. For 30 days the 4 guys had worked in shifts, 24 hours a day carefully pouring sand to create a circular mural on the floor about 10 feet wide. The mural was full of intricate and elaborate detail. Dragons and religious symbols blended together in a truly amazing tapestry. The mural was placed on the floor of a central gallery, surrounded by balconies. 
There must have been 300 of us gathered to watch as the last monk carefully dropped the last few grains of colored sand on the art piece. I couldn't help but wonder at how it must feel to finally finish such a project. It must feel incredibly satisfying to be able to stand up and look at the completed fruit of your labor. The monk announced, through a translator, that there was one line left to do. He knelt down with the last dab of sand placed inside a folded piece of paper. But before he could finish pouring, a second monk unceremoniously entered the room from the side door carrying a broom. You could almost hear the silent gasp of the crowd as he quietly started sweeping up the tapestry from the far side. Hundreds of hours of hard, skillful labor were quickly reduced to a pile of dirt in the middle of the floor. The monk on his knees, with a few last grains of sand remaining seemed to be undaunted. He quietly rose to his feet and poured the remaining grains into the pile of waste. And then, without ceremony, the four monks quietly walked out of the room.
I don't think I've ever heard 300 spectators stand so quietly. It was almost as if everybody, on cue, had stopped breathing. The translator looked up with a simple matter of fact expression on his face and explained, "true satisfaction is found in the journey, not the destination." And then quietly followed his colleagues out the door. A couple minutes later someone broke the silence with a slow, uncertain applause. Soon the spell was broken as all joined in in their appreciation.

Isn't that what our therapy should be about? Shouldn't we be selling the sights along the way instead of the view from the top? If we can get our clients to focus not on "someday getting there" but instead on "getting on the right path and doing the best I can to keep moving", we're soon going to find individuals looking for new goals to savor and exciting obstacles to overcome. And we need to teach our clients to savor their victories, no matter how small. It's the fact that they're moving forward that counts, not that they've earned the crown.

I was once hired to do a magic show in the "Celebrity Tent" during the national finals of the Special Olympics in Los Angeles. For a week disabled athletes had been competing in events designed specifically for them. As I set up my props and organized the backdrop to my stage I couldn't help but feel a touch of nobility glowing deep down inside. I was glad that I was able to find the time to help these unfortunate kids.
The music started and I walked on stage. Years of practice helped me make every move on cue. Doves appeared at the flick of my finger and ropes were properly restored. And the 200+ people watching were captivated by my dexterity. This is what happens when you fine tune a show for 20+ years. And I had them under my spell, or at least I thought I did. Directly behind my audience was the Quarter mile track on which most of the longer races had taken place. As I performed, I noticed a group of runners lining up to start a race. I could see the spectators lining up around the track, but smiled inwardly at how oblivious my audience was to the goings on. They saw nothing but my performance. But then the gun shot. As the runners started running, my entire audience turned around to watch. Suddenly I found myself staring at a tent full of backs. Not knowing what to do, I decided to wait till the race was over to proceed.
As the runners took off, it was obvious who was going to win. One guy actually sprinted forward about twice as fast as the rest. It was also obvious who would come in last. A guy who must have had Downs Syndrome or severe arthritis seemed to be dragging his left leg behind him. It was obvious that his journey was going to be the longest. The entire race involved a single lap around the track. The sprinter made it around in no time at all, but as he passed the finish line a very strange thing happened. Nobody seemed to notice. Even the sprinter turned and watched as the other runners approached the finish line. The actual applause didn't even start until about half the runners had passed. But as they did, I noticed the guy dragging his leg still had a half a lap to go. It was almost painful watching him putting his all into getting there. You could see the determination in his face as he gasped for air with each step. As he approached the finish line, you would have thought he had just won the gold medal. The other runners all lined the track to cheer him on as the crowd went wild. As he crossed the finish line the crowd broke through the ropes to congratulate him, and I realized, probably for the first time in my life, that it's not achievement that matters. What really matters in life is the effort we make along the way. It's learning to make the most out of the next 5 minutes, and then keep on doing it for the rest of our lives.
As soon as the race was over my audience all returned and sat quietly waiting for me to finish my show. Fortunately I had already done the bulk of it, because nothing I could do could possibly compete with what had just been done by a severely handicapped little boy.