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有关于英语美文：习惯与目标

"First we make our habits, then our habits make us."- Charles C. Noble

It's such a simple concept, yet it's something we don't always do. It's not exceedingly difficult to do, and yet I think it's something that would make a world of difference in anyone's life.

Break your goals into habits, and focus on putting those habits into autopilot.

Last week when I wrote my Ultimate Guide to motivation, there were a number of questions about my belief that having One Goal to focus on is much more powerful than having many goals.

There were questions about my personal goals (such as running a marathon, eliminating debt, and so on) and how I was able to achieve them while working on different projects, and so forth. How can you have one goal that takes a long time, and still work on smaller projects at the same time?

These are excellent questions, and my answer takes a little explaining: I try to turn my goals into habits, and in doing so, I put my goals on autopilot. Turning a goal into a habit means really focusing on it, intensely, for at least a month, to the exclusion of all else. The more you can focus on it, the more it'll be on autopilot.

But once you put it on autopilot, once a habit is firmly established, you don't really have to focus on it much. You’ll still do it, but because it's a habit, you only have to use minimal focus to maintain that habit. The goal becomes on autopilot, and you can focus on your next goal or project or habit.

My Marathon Example

Let's look at my marathon goal as an example. I was just starting out in running, and I had the brilliant idea to run a marathon within a year. (Btw, that's not the brightest idea — you should run for a couple years before attempting marathon training, or it'll be much, much more difficult for you.) So that was my goal, and it was my main focus for awhile.

But in order to achieve that goal, I broke it down into two habits:

1. I had to make running a daily habit (while following a training plan I found online).

2. I had to report to people in order to have accountability — I did this through family, friends and coworkers, through a blog, and through a column in my local newspaper every two weeks. With this accountability, there's no way I would stop running.

The daily running habit took about a month to form. I focused on this exclusively for about a month, and didn’t have any other goals, projects or habits that were my main focuses. I did other work projects, but they kinda took a backburner to running.

The accountability habit took a couple months, mainly because I didn't focus on it too much while I was building the running habit. But it stuck, and for that first year of running, I would report to people I knew and blog about my running every day (this was in Blogger blog that has since been deleted), and I would write a column every two weeks for my local paper.

Once those two habits were firmly entrenched, my marathon goal was pretty much on autopilot. I could focus on my debt reduction goal (as an example) without having to worry too much about the marathon. I still had to do the work, of course, but it didn't require constant focus.

And eventually, I ran the marathon. I was able to achieve this because, all year long, I had the daily running habit and daily accountability habit. I put my marathon goal into autopilot, and that made it much easier — instead of struggling with it daily for an entire year, I focused on it for one month (well, actually two) and was able to accomplish it while focusing on new habits and goals.

有关于英语美文：另一种爱

Inside the Russian Embassy in London a KGB colonel puffed a cigarette as he read the handwritten note for the third time. There was no need for the writer to express regret, he though. Correcting this problem would be easy. He would do that in a moment. The thought of it caused a grim smile to appear and joy to his heart. But he pushed away those thoughts and turned his attention to a framed photograph on his desk. His wife was beautiful, he told himself as he remembered the day they were married. That was forty-three years ago, and it had been the proudest and happiest day of his life.

在伦敦的俄国使馆，一位克格勃上校一边吞云吐雾，一边读着一张手写的字条，这已是他第三次在读这张字条了。便条的作者不必表示遗憾了，上校这样想着。纠正这个错误其实很容易。他只要一会儿工夫便会做到。想到这里，他的脸上不禁浮现出一种可怕的笑容，他内心深处既伤感而又快活。上校从沉思中游离出来，将注意力集中到桌子上的一个像框上，他的妻子是位美丽的女人，当想起他们成婚的那一天时他不禁自语道。那已是43年前的事情了，可却是他一生中最自豪最幸福的日子。

What had happened to all that time? Why had it passed so quickly, and why hadn't he spent more of it with her? Why hadn't he held her close and told her more often that he loved her? He cursed himself as a tear came from the corner of his eye, ran down his cheek, then dropped onto the note. He stiffened and wiped his face with the back of his hand. There was no need for remorse or regret, he told himself. In a few moments he would join her and at that time would express his undying love and devotion.

那些时候都发生了什么?为什么时光流逝得如此之快?为什么他没能将更多的时光用来陪伴她?为什么他没能将她搂紧，更多次地告诉她他爱她?他于是开始诅咒起自己，泪水也忍不住夺眶而出，流过面颊，最后滴落在字条上。这时，他板起了面孔，用手背揩去了眼泪。已经没有必要来自责与悔恨了，他对自己说道。很快他不就会与她团聚了吗?到那时，他将再向她表达他永恒的爱与忠心。

After setting the note ablaze he dropped it into an ashtray and watched it burn. For a time the names cast moving shadows on the walls of the darkened room, then they nickered and died out. The colonel dropped the cigarette to the floor and ground it out with his heel, then clutched the photograph to his breast, removed a pistol from his pocket, placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. In the ashtray a small portion of the note remained. Where it had been wetted by his tear it had failed to bum, and on that scrap of paper were the words "died yesterday."

他点燃了字条，将它扔进了烟灰缸中，看着它慢慢地燃烧起来。在火苗的映衬下，这间漆黑的屋子里的四壁一时变得影影绰绰。不一会儿，火苗成了星星点点，渐渐地熄灭了。上校把香烟扔在了地板上，用后脚跟碾灭，随后抓起照片放在自己的胸前。他从衣兜中掏出了一把手枪，将枪筒放进自己的嘴中，接着扣动扳机。在烟灰缸中还残留着一小片字条，由于被上校的泪水浸湿而未能燃尽。在这块残片上有这样几个字“昨天去世”。

有关于英语美文：A Plate of Peas 一盘豌豆

My grandfather died when I was a small boy, and my grandmother started staying with us for about six months every year. She lived in a room that doubled as my father's office, which we referred to as "the back room." She carried with her a powerful aroma. I don‘t know what kind of perfume she used, but it was the double-barreled, ninety-proof, knockdown, render-the-victim-unconscious, moose-killing variety. She kept it in a huge atomizer and applied it frequently and liberally. It was almost impossible to go into her room and remain breathing for any length of time. When she would leave the house to go spend six months with my Aunt Lillian, my mother and sisters would throw open all the windows, strip the bed, and take out the curtains and rugs. Then they would spend several days washing and airing things out, trying frantically to make the pungent odor go away.

This, then, was my grandmother at the time of the infamous pea incident.

It took place at the Biltmore Hotel, which, to my eight-year-old mind, was just about the fancies place to eat in all of Providence. My grandmother, my mother, and I were having lunch after a morning spent shopping. I grandly ordered a salisbury steak, confident in the knowledge that beneath that fancy name was a good old hamburger with gravy. When brought to the table, it was accompanied by a plate of peas. I do not like peas now. I did not like peas then. I have always hated peas. It is a complete mystery to me why anyone would voluntarily eat peas. I did not eat them at home. I did not eat them at restaurants. And I certainly was not about to eat them now. "Eat your peas," my grandmother said.

"Mother," said my mother in her warning voice. "He doesn‘t like peas. Leave him alone."

My grandmother did not reply, but there was a glint in her eye and a grim set to her jaw that signaled she was not going to be thwarted. She leaned in my direction, looked me in the eye, and uttered the fateful words that changed my life: "I'll pay you five dollars if you eat those peas."

I had absolutely no idea of the impending doom. I only knew that five dollars was an enormous, nearly unimaginable amount of money, and as awful as peas were, only one plate of them stood between me and the possession of that five dollars. I began to force the wretched things down my throat.

My mother was livid. My grandmother had that self-satisfied look of someone who has thrown down an unbeatable trump card. "I can do what I want, Ellen, and you can‘t stop me." My mother glared at her mother. She glared at me. No one can glare like my mother. If there were a glaring Olympics, she would undoubtedly win the gold medal.

I, of course, kept shoving peas down my throat. The glares made me nervous, and every single pea made me want to throw up, but the magical image of that five dollars floated before me, and I finally gagged down every last one of them. My grandmother handed me the five dollars with a flourish. My mother continued to glare in silence. And the episode ended. Or so I thought.

My grandmother left for Aunt Lillian's a few weeks later. That night, at dinner, my mother served two of my all-time favorite foods, meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Along with them came a big, steaming bowl of peas. She offered me some peas, and I, in the very last moments of my innocent youth, declined. My mother fixed me with a cold eye as she heaped a huge pile of peas onto my plate. Then came the words that were to haunt me for years.

"You ate them for money," she said. "You can eat them for love."

Oh, despair! Oh, devastation! Now, too late, came the dawning realization that I had unwittingly damned myself to a hell from which there was no escape.

"You ate them for money. You can eat them for love."

What possible argument could I muster against that? There was none. Did I eat the peas? You bet I did. I ate them that day and every other time they were served thereafter. The five dollars were quickly spent. My grandmother passed away a few years later. But the legacy of the peas lived on, as it lives on to this day. If I so much as curl my lip when they are served (because, after all, I still hate the horrid little things), my mother repeats the dreaded words one more time: "You ate them for money," she says. "You can eat them for love."