Expectation Therapy: Mastering Your Expectations - Softcover

Costello, Art

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1504355504 ISBN 13: 9781504355506

Publisher: BalboaPress, 2016

Synopsis

What if you could revolutionize your life from top to bottom by altering your mindset in just one way? Art Costello has the answer and it's quite simple: mastering your expectations. Through improved understanding of expectations and their bearing on every facet of life, you can expect: Increased creativity and productivity Boosted confidence Improved human interaction The ability to steer the course of your future! Costello speaks conversationally and candidly about his own experiences and how they inspired him to pioneer the original concepts in this book. He explains that expectations are not just a word, but a framework for living. When you operate through faith and not fear, you create higher expectations and create self-fulfilling prophesies for the life you have always wanted. It's simple but life changing!"

About this title

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Expectation Therapy

Mastering Your Expectations

By Art Costello

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2016 Art Costello
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-5043-5550-6

Contents

Preface, vii, 
Introduction: Expectations (The Origins of Success), ix, 
Chapter 1: Expectations and Personal Growth, 1, 
Chapter 2: What Are Expectations?, 15, 
Chapter 3: Emotional Intelligence, 28, 
Chapter 4: Harnessing Expectations and Creating Passion, 47, 
Chapter 5: Setting the Most Important Expectations: Self-Expectations!, 73, 
Chapter 6: Expectations and Others, 83, 
Conclusion, 97, 
Postscript, 99, 
Preview: Quantum Expectations, 103, 
References and Works Cited, 107, 

CHAPTER 1

Expectations and Personal Growth

Learning to Harness Adversity for the Better

The first step in the expectation therapy model is to identify and clarify your core expectations. This stage frequently involves soul searching and introspection. It is a phase many of us naturally go through as adolescents, but this reflective process can occur at any age. As I recount my journey, think about how similar formative experiences may have shaped your expectations. Also, ponder the expectations that excite your passion and stir your spirit in the present moment.

My parents didn't set high expectations for my siblings and me. I grew up in a suburban town in New Jersey, and my father was responsible and hardworking five days a week — at least with his job. However, he was distant from the family. From 5:00 p.m. on Friday until 8:00 a.m. on Monday, he was blitzed. In other words, he was what I'd call a functional alcoholic. All of us had our fair share of drama as I and my siblings dealt with the consequences of our relatively expectation-free existence. However, my grandfather also lived with us and was a very entrepreneurial man. I believe I gained some of my positive habits of mind from him.

From my birth until age nine, my life wasn't too difficult. As the middle child in the family, I had a special enthusiasm when it came to baseball. My uncles taught me the basics until I was old enough to play Little League. I practically idolized Duke Snider and the Brooklyn Dodgers. In fact, I spent every spare minute being active outside, which encouraged my grandfather's influence.

Back in the 1950s, there were ads plastered on the backs of comic books. My eyes zeroed in on a certain offer: if I mailed in a coupon, I would receive Christmas cards that I could then sell. The revenue was divvied up between me and the mail-order company. I was just shy of my seventh birthday at the time, but it was my first experience as a budding entrepreneur. The cash was mostly pocket change, but it was enough.

That experience taught me to be fearless. My parents didn't go with me when I sold. I was this cute little kid (probably missing a couple of baby teeth) going door-to-door in hopes of making a sale. I persistently walked up and down our street, zipping to and fro with optimistic hopes of making a sale.

I'll never forget one particular man. He put his hands on his hips after answering the door and said, "Well, you're a feisty little guy!"

"Yes, sir!" I went on to give him my spiel, and he bought a few boxes from me. Feeling satisfied with the day's winnings, I turned around to leave with pep in my step.

"Wait a sec," the man told me. "How would you like to have a paper route? I'm the manager of the newspaper's sales division around here, and I like your stuff."

I explained that although it sounded fun, I wasn't old enough. I had to be at least ten years old, after all.

The man smiled, undeterred. "Eh, we can overlook that. You obviously have the drive and enjoy what you're doing. Tell ya what — I can start you up with ten customers, and we will see how you do."

With hard work, he explained, I could build my route to encompass more homes. In fact, in my first year, I took my route from 10 customers to 165. I was positively ecstatic about it, even hiring my brother (who was eight years my senior) to help me out on Sunday because the newspapers were so heavy and bulky. He didn't complain — I was paying him. Even from a young age, I was somewhat of a visionary.

In those days, time seemed to move more slowly. When I was nine, Mom sold our house, and we moved into a dilapidated farmhouse in the New York countryside. It was difficult for me to move from everything I knew. I watched the scenery of my hometown shrink in the distance as we drove away. With each mile we traveled, I felt pulled in two different directions. My heart tugged at the skyline that faded behind us.

When we arrived, we were considered outsiders. Longtime rural dwellers eyed us suspiciously and greeted us with stone-cold expressions. We didn't know anybody, and neighbors didn't make an effort to introduce themselves or welcome us. Compounding matters, there was a void in my life where baseball had been. School didn't interest me; there was nothing challenging about it, because I was not a rote memorization type of person. I've always processed information differently. I was very lonely, bored stiff, and disheartened.

However, there was a huge hill next to our house. For me, it was the guardian that kept our farm under its watchful eye. Whenever I looked out my window at the stars, I saw its silhouette (which looked like a reposing giant) on the horizon. Somehow, I felt the familiar tugging sensation I'd felt when we moved from the city. That hill became both my sacred place and my solace.

Whenever I needed to think, I'd hike up that hill, drop down, and sprawl out on my back. It was my special place. While I stared at the azure sky, I felt compelled to speak my heart. It was organic and felt so natural. I began to listen to an inner voice. Having grown up as a Catholic, I knew I was conversing with God — just God and me, close and intimate.

I stared at the wispy cotton clouds lazily floating by, and I asked, "What am I going to become? What will my life be like? Will I get married and have children?"

That hill became the silent witness to my self-awareness. It saw me develop from a boy to a man of faith. It was my portal to a transcendent power. It was a sacred place that seemed to nourish my inner being, strengthening my belief in God, myself, and life. I felt great things were going to come, if I had faith.

Needless to say, it's challenging to have faith when life isn't going one's way. Even though ages nine through sixteen weren't my favorite years of life, they did not leave me bitter. It's during the worst times of life that we have the potential to be tempered into the person we're meant to become. A quote on the website Beyond Ordinary says it well: "God often uses our deepest pain as the launching pad of our greatest calling."

Even negative situations can yield positive lessons. You gain perspective from setbacks, and so much of life is how you perceive it. When you seek to learn from experience, as opposed to cursing your fate, you better yourself. The more you glean from self-reflection and honest examination, the higher your expectations become across the board. You come to love the learning process because of the wisdom and value it has. You also come to realize that with enough self-knowledge and understanding, anything is possible.

Ultimately, the probability of your dreams coming to fruition is a choice you make. Will you put forth the effort to make it happen? I did, in no small measure because I looked at everything as a lesson ("Never a failure, always a lesson," as the phrase goes). With that perspective, even the toughest times fit into my high expectations because of the benefits that inherently accompany learning experiences.

My childhood was difficult, but my tribulations contributed to a strong work ethic. In turn, I instilled the values of a hardworking spirit in my children, and as I always told them, "You can't take shortcuts in life." Embrace the fact that life is hard. Paradoxically, recognizing this truth makes things easier. Moving through everything in faith helps too.

As I grew older, I came to realize that God did listen to me, but the reality of life was that he allows people to make choices. He expects them to make choices. I always loved my parents very much, but their parenting skills were lacking, to say the least. They would do anything for my brother, sister, and me, but they never verbalized any higher expectations for us.

On the other hand, I knew my heavenly father expected great things from me. I believe individuals are blessed when their earthly parents set high standards and encourage them to dream big. But whatever your upbringing or childhood circumstances, I'm convinced that you are called on to better yourself and apply the divine gifts of creativity and freedom toward noble and lofty aims. When you establish worthy goals and work hard to accomplish them, you attune yourself to the intelligence and nature of your creator.

We lived on a farm and did not have television. I'd meander through the house, trace my fingers along the dusty tables, and scan through the list of titles on our bookshelves. Nothing gave me more pleasure than devouring one of the classics — except perhaps the short story The Secret Life of Walter Mitty by James Thurber. That memorable tale was all about Mitty's dreams and fantasies. As I curled up in an armchair and thought about the importance of dreams, I knew I had ambitions of becoming a pro baseball catcher. That vision sustained me and played an important part in my development as a young person. Mitty had his daydreams, and my fantasies of being a ballplayer nourished my being. But these daytime reveries need not be idle imaginings. They can be the fertile inspiration for productive action. For instance, I did go on to be a respectable semipro baseball player.

The years passed, but I didn't measure my life in terms of each candle added to the birthday cake. Instead, I measured growth in terms of learning experiences. High school was nothing special for me — a social gathering that I took to high levels of frivolous enjoyment. But too much silliness can lead to staleness and aimlessness. There was something inside of me telling me that structure and discipline were needed to fulfill my destiny. Still sustained by dreams, I made the decision to join the marine corps. That was where I "aged" the most as my eyes opened.

As I said, I've always worked hard. But in the marines, I quickly discovered the true meaning of hard work, structure, and discipline. Even though we performed seemingly insurmountable tasks in the blood, sweat, and dirt of boot camp, one of the greatest lessons of my lifetime became glaringly apparent: the phrase "I can't" only exists in my mind.

For example, I performed physical tasks that I would never have thought I could accomplish. The trick? Putting my mind to it! That was when I realized the limitless bounds of what I could achieve. During this time, I gained invaluable lessons about the importance of discipline, dedication, and perseverance. I learned that the human mind is a more powerful organ than one can grasp. It not only controls the body, but it also determines one's destiny.

Lessons from the Frontlines of Life and Vietnam

The Vietnam War broke out shortly after I enlisted. My lessons were put to the test, but my learning wasn't over, because learning never is. My fellow marines and I would be walking on a rice paddy, and in a split second, a marine behind me would lose his life. I learned that life was a gift and that there were no guarantees. It was a huge, tough concept to accept, but through it I experienced the brotherhood of being a marine. In the service, I learned about sacrifice, dedication to my comrades, and the importance of having a cause beyond myself. As a teenager and child, it was all about me, me, me. Nothing could teach me more quickly than my experiences in Vietnam that it isn't about me. It's about others and what you do for others to help them improve their lives. It's also about becoming more than you currently are.

Art and Youn 1966

In 1966, Vietnam was war-torn and a very dangerous place, but my worldview shifted when I saw Youn. A little orphan girl of about nine years old captured me with her moon-shaped, sparkling black eyes. They were beautiful. From the moment I beheld her, I was driven to do whatever it took to make her lot in life easier. As soon as I could, I wrote my mother at home to help the effort.

"Mom, we had a dinner with orphans here, and I met the most beautiful little girl, Youn. She and these kids need clothes, toys, anything." I thought about the deplorable conditions during this war. What could I do to change another life, even when it was surrounded by such death? Without hesitation, I told Mom to take the money from my savings and donate it to the cause if need be. As it turned out, this was a fruitful endeavor.

The Most Important Lesson: Helping Others

Youn had a profound impact on me. For the first time in my life, I felt deeply responsible for the well-being of someone else. Like most orphans, she had a tough lot. As a result, I did what I could to provide her with life's necessities. I wrote my mom about this little girl.

The Marines and I were chosen to escort the children around the base and to chow. I got the cutest little girl. I wish you could have seen her. She is nine years old, and her name is Youn ... I bought her a toothbrush and soap and a washcloth and a couple of towels. We ate at the mess hall — turkey and ham and all the goodies that go with it. She had a ball.

The feeling I had for her was love and compassion, the protective and nurturing instinct a father has for his daughter. I encouraged my parents to send clothes, raise donations, and even take money out of my bank account to help her. My mom didn't need to tap my savings because the aid appeal she organized at home was so successful. As a result, she sent plenty of clothes and essentials for Youn and other orphans.

Eventually, I ended up adopting Youn and funding her as well as her orphanage. Through the length of the war, I saw her when I could. Unfortunately, the orphanage was destroyed in the war, and the children were lost. Sadly, though I presume Youn perished, the exact circumstances surrounding her fate remain a mystery.

It is a blessing to live in a country like the United States. If you visit less developed parts of the world, it quickly becomes obvious that their citizens have fewer opportunities; their lives are often a matter of survival. However, I believe the human spirit can endure and transcend any situation; as I learned in the marines, you can push your body past what is conceived of as possible. It goes back to mind over matter. I had the conviction that what I was doing was right. I learned compassion for other people.

My experience in Vietnam was life-altering. I learned to empathize and to love others more than myself, and I also learned the importance of living in the moment. Indeed, discovering that life is a series of moments was a huge influence on my development. After I came home from Vietnam, I worked another year and a half in the marine corps. When I got out, I decided to go to college and further my education. During college, I managed rock-and-roll bands and worked at a mental health center. Each day was filled with character-forming events and learning experiences.

However, my experience in Vietnam and my life in the marines taught me the most. While living moment to moment, the important aspects of life became more evident. The most vital part of living is this very instant in the present. "Seize the day," as the ancient aphorism says. Also, expect the unexpected. Obstacles are only as big as we make them. Whether or not I was in uniform, I took pride in being a marine. I believed that whatever I did with passion and conviction, I could achieve. I would believe and expect myself to do great things.

What "What Ifs" Mean for You

The realizations from my years as a marine opened up a floodgate of growth in my young adult years. For me, the best method of learning is through experience. I liked to read and write, but getting immersed in the immediate here and now was what motivated me. My time in the marines got me pondering.

What if my parents had set high expectations for me? How would that have changed my path? Would I have become the professional baseball player I always desired to be? Or could I have been the president of the United States and changed the path of history? What would I have become?

Ultimately, these questions are unanswerable, at least intellectually. Other possibilities came to fruition; these did not, and there's no point in dwelling on a past that can't be changed.

I call this line of questioning and reasoning the "What Ifs." I can remember my very first "what if" moment. When I was around five or six, my mother and I were driving down a road, and there was a truck in front of us. The vehicle ahead carried long sections of pipe around two inches in diameter, and all of a sudden a whole section of the pipes came loose and flew through the windshield of our car. To put it in perspective, it didn't just come through the windshield — it came through the windshield, front seat, back seat, and the trunk, impaling the entire length of the car! The fact that my mom and I managed to escape injury is something I can only describe as a miracle.

Here's my "what if" moment. My mother and I had been talking, as we often did on our car rides back in those early years. I would snuggle up to her, put my head on her side, and listen to her breath and to her heartbeat. For whatever reason, right at that moment, I slid over to the passenger window to look at something outside. If I hadn't moved over those few inches, my life would have ceased — I'd be dead and gone, buried for the rest of time. That experience impressed upon me how gripping and powerful "what if" moments and questions can be.

We all have had these moments. "What if I had done this, or what if I had done that? Would life be different than it is now?" You bet it would. Looking back, I had many "what if" moments in Vietnam. For example, while on patrol, one of my fellow marines walked ten yards back over the same piece of terrain on which I had just traveled. He stepped on a land mine. It was only natural to ask, "What if it had been me instead of him?"

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Expectation Therapy by Art Costello. Copyright © 2016 Art Costello. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: BalboaPress
• Publication date: 2016
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1504355504
• ISBN 13: 9781504355506
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 122