My first memory of success

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I had a time in my life when I spent my days intimately involved with a small group of people who were utterly and completely dedicated to personal development and understanding the mysteries of the universe.

It was a divine time. And a challenging one, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Their dedication, commitment, respect, perseverance and love was other worldly, and with them I found tribe and connection as I never had before.

During one particular period when we were together, I was having a slew of challenges with my own development, my ability to grasp at some of the concepts they were downloading and integrating, and, frankly, with my own dedication and perseverance.

I don’t recall the whole of the experience, but I do remember one of my clan taking me aside and asking if he could work with me on my will and determination. I said, yes.

He sat with me, quietly, and asked me to retrieve my first memory of success. When was the first time I had confidence and knew that I could accomplish something? I sat and thought and thunk. Nothing was coming up.

I often felt at a disadvantage with this brilliant group as they did many exercises–together and alone–and many of these exercises required complex visualizations. I had never been very good at that kind of work. And my relationship to memory has functional but not a rich part of my life.

But then, it happened. It came forth. I saw it! And I did not simply see my first success, I felt it surge throughout my whole being. And I began to smile and laugh.

I saw myself stand. Yes, I was holding onto something, but I stood. Me. On my two feet. Upright. And in that moment, my world had changed forever, going from a quadruped to a bipedal being. Oh, for sure, I had many more muscles to build, coordination to develop and tumbles to make before I’d be standing confidently and consistently on my own two feet unassisted. But I had stood. And, in that moment, I had been successful.

The memory shocked me. I had expected something more particular to me, something that I, Jessie Newburn, had done. But, no, it was a memory that I imagine a good 99 percent plus of humans experience. And yet it was an utterly grand moment and an utterly grand feeling of success.

Baby steps, as They say. Baby steps.

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