my best life 06.028.17.238A

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my best life
the discovery of a success formula in one of
the darkest places on earth
A N D R E W
T H O M P S O N
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2017 Andrew Thompson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or
stored in any form or by any means whatsoever without the expressed written
permission in advance from the author, except in the case of brief quotations in
critical articles and reviews.
For more information on bulk orders, contact:
info@discoverpeakperformance.com
DiscoverPeakPerformance.com
Published by PEAK Performance Publishing
Printed in the USA
International Standard Book Number: 978-0-9887523-3-7
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For my mother, Dolores.
You were always my biggest fan
and my best supporter.
I love you.
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contents
04 publisher contact
05 dedication
06 contents
09 introduction
11 the fall
18 failure in america
23 a frozen exile
29 the storm
33 the discovery
42 a painful breakthrough
50 a lost formula
61 discharged
66 the process
72 is there normal
77 epigenetics
79 case study #1
81 case study #2
85 three intelligences
89 case study #3
92 the flaw in education
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7

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introduction
I had a profound experience in my life that changed it
forever. An experience I wanted to share with the world
in hopes my story would inspire others and teach that
when all seems lost, there’s a way to fight back.
Much of what I went through was unpleasant, painful and
tragic for me personally. However, while on this journey,
others were affected as well.
As much as it is important to retell this story for the
benefit of others, it’s just as important to protect the
privacy of those who were involved.
For this reason, there are some elements of this narrative
that have been modified or altered. These changes are
very minor and do not affect the core principles of the
book’s teachings and in no way discount from the true
facts of what actually happened.
Andrew Thompson
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the fall
The day I had been dreading was here, I was leaving
southern California. I’ll always remember the sunrise that
morning, it was warm and comforting as though it was an
old friend who was sharing my sadness. Time, on the
other hand, moved very slowly and it seemed to taunt me
with recent memories. My eight-year relationship and
marriage was ending and my marketing business, which
had never gotten a solid footing since our move from
Cleveland, failed. The result was a financial collapse that
took nearly everything I owned.
How the hell did I get here?
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Fifteen months earlier my wife, Cheryl, and I had made
the decision to move to California in the hopes of a better
life for our family. My wife was a Cleveland native and it
was her lifelong dream to move to sunny, southern
California. We also liked the idea of better educational
opportunities through the state’s top-rated schools for her
two young sons.
Our closest friends, who had recently moved to California
from Cleveland, invited us to come out for a visit the year
before. It was a chilly fall day when we left for a weeklong
family vacation.
The cool greys of suburban south Cleveland were quickly
forgotten when I stepped off the plane and into the bright
sunshine, green grass, palm trees and the stunning blues
of the Pacific.
We rented a Mercedes during our stay, no longer driving
around in our older model SUV. Our friends were living
in a gorgeous home with a pool in a gated, up-scale
community. They were experiencing great success and
encouraged us to make the big move. It would be great to
be neighbors again and rekindle that friendship we all
enjoyed back in Cleveland.
The more we talked about it, the more it just felt right.
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I had created a successful marketing business in
Cleveland and felt that I could duplicate that same success
anywhere we moved to.
That was my first mistake.
It took about a year to get all the details worked out and
bring closure to our life in Cleveland while laying all the
groundwork for our new life waiting for all of us on the
west coast.
Almost a year to the day from when we took our vacation
we finally arrived in California leaving our old lives
behind us. Moving into our new home felt surreal, it was
so beautiful and was three times the size of what we were
used to. We were decorating it in our minds as we walked
through it. There were so many rooms, some remained
empty because we didn’t have enough furniture to fill
them all. I can remember fantasizing about all the antique
pieces mixed with modern ones to create the eclectic
theme we both wanted. The plan was to begin filling the
house room by room over the course of the next year.
Three months later my business began to struggle and all
the emotionally based reasons to move to California
began to sour. My business suffered one set-back after
another and without the financial capital to wade through
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the small storms time was becoming my enemy. The
money was flying out the window faster than I could make
those critical business connections to grow the company
in this new environment.
I began to realize that I had bitten off more than I could
possibly chew.
As the final months played out, I made poor choices out
of panic, trying almost anything to keep my head above
water. I resorted to creative deal making for the sake of
just getting some cash flow coming in.
At one point, I would offer my services for a third of my
customary rate and in doing so two things happened.
First, not all the bills were getting paid. In addition to that,
my customer’s expectations remained high, but based on
time/effort and quality I became resentful working three
times as hard for the money I was making. I felt as if they
were taking advantage of me, not waking up to the fact
that I had brought this upon myself by lowering my fees
and not my standards. I thought if I could hang on long
enough, the tide would turn… but, it never did and as a
result my reputation suffered, my integrity was gone and
friendships were lost.
Our dream had turned into a nightmare.
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The wolf was at the door. The banks, utility companies
and multiple creditors wanted their money and clients
whose jobs were unfinished were screaming for refunds.
There was no way I was going to be able to give them all
what they wanted with the time that I had left.
On the verge of losing our home, one of my wife’s real
estate friends offered a safe haven for the family to
recover. They knew of an unused bed and breakfast just
outside of town. It was in the middle of bankruptcy which
left it available for occupancy the next 6 months. Cheryl
immediately accepted the offer and told me about it when
I got home later that evening. She told me that the offer
was conditional. Her friend insisted that my wife and the
boys move in alone. I was not invited.
“…and you accepted?” I asked.
“Yes.” She replied.
Right then I knew that our personal struggles had made
me a social outcast in the community, a man who couldn’t
take care of his family and I had even lost the trust of
Cheryl and the boys. Everything that I had cared about,
everything that I had worked so hard for was slipping
through my fingers. I knew I had made some mistakes,
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everybody does, but I felt as if my crimes did not fit the
punishments I suffered and I was becoming very angry.
I reached out to my friend, Michael in Ohio, who had been
following this story as it unfolded. He realized how
desperate my situation had become and offered a
storeroom he had in the back of his condominium as a
place to stay and recover. The decision was clear and I
accepted. My refuge was two thousand miles away and I
just needed some cash to get there. With time running
out, I began to sell my personal possessions.
Left in the house was some furniture, clothes and my
office equipment. A moment that sticks out in my mind
most is when I only had one day left and the last item was
my 27 inch iMac desktop computer.
I had originally purchased it and the business software for
nearly $5,000 only a few years before. It was in excellent
condition and I was hoping to make a good deal. With
Cheryl and the boys secured in their new home and time
running out, this forty-year Hispanic man walks in and
offers me $350 for the computer filled and all its software.
At that moment, I was knocked off my pedestal of power
and was at the mercy of this stranger. I took his cash and
watched him leave with the computer. The house was
now empty with only a few extension cords on the floor,
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half empty boxes and sand blowing in through the open
patio door.
I slowly walked among the empty ruins of what was once
a dream come true and a promising life. Except for the
cash I had in my pocket, all my money was gone, my credit
was ruined and having lived five decades, I was able to
pack my entire life’s possessions into only two suitcases.
It was time to leave.
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failure in America
As unique as I thought my situation was, I had become
part of a growing trend of failure in America.
Take my failed marriage as an example. According to the
Office for National Statistics, divorce rates saw a slight
increase in 2016. As of this writing 42% of marriages end
in divorce. Almost half of those divorces happen in the
first 10 years of marriage, and the rate is especially high
between the fourth and eighth anniversary. The average
age at divorce is 45 for men and 42 for women.
If you compare that to the divorce rate in 1960, which was
22%, it has more than doubled in the last 55 years.
Divorce rates reached their peak in America in 1985 at
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50% partly due to changes in the law that allowed a spouse
to use irreconcilable differences as a reason to divorce
making it much easier to get one. Prior to that, anyone
wanting to end their marriage had to prove the presence
of adultery or cruelty in the marriage. See Figure 1 -19
Figure 1-19
Though, I didn’t realize it at the time and what my
research later revealed, was that some people who survive
divorce go through what is sometimes called starter
marriages. They often learn things they could not have
learned in any other way – not even by cohabiting. And
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these things might help them go on to make far stronger
unions than they might otherwise have made.
Despite all of the statistics, my divorce still seemed very
personal to me and my emotions concentrated on the
pain. I may have become the latest member of a growing
trend in America, but on this day I still felt very much
alone.
One thing I couldn’t get out of my mind was the question
of whether my troubled marriage contributed to my
business failure OR did my business failure contribute to
my troubled marriage?
It’s easy to jump to the conclusion that it was probably a
little bit of both. But, is that really the answer?
In the past when my marketing business was slow, I
would often provide an excuse that my clients and
prospects were going through an economic downturn.
Once the economy picks up for them, business will pick
up for me and that was a philosophy I lived by.
The truth is, I had no idea if that was true or not.
According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics’ here’s what
small business survival rates looks like in America.
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About 80% of small businesses in America
will survive their first year in business. This is largely
against the myth that 95% of all small businesses fail
in the first year.
About 66% of small businesses in America
will survive their second year in business.
About 50% of small businesses in America
will survive their fifth year in business.
About 30% of small businesses in America
will survive their 10th year in business.
Notice that the success rate begins to drop as the years
progress… this is to be expected.
However, here is the most important part. These
rates are consistent over time, suggesting that yearover-year
nationwide economic factors—surprisingly—
don’t have much of an impact on how U.S. small business
have survived over the last 75 years.
The takeaway here is the odds are stacked against a small
business surviving over a 10 year period, regardless of the
economy.
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Wait a minute.
The number one conflict in marriage that eventually leads
to divorce among small business owners is the lack of
money. Yet, if money comes from your business and your
business outcome is not directly tied to the economy then
lack of money is not really the issue when it comes to
divorce. Lack of money is a symptom masking the real
conflict that inevitably causes divorce. It’s not money, it
never has been.
As much as I wanted to believe that the lack of money and
my failed business had caused to my downfall, that wasn’t
the truth.
The real answer was months away.
In the meantime, I swallowed the false notions of what
caused my failures and I incubated a manifestation of
what was to become my ultimate downfall.
Severe depression.
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a frozen exile
Arriving in Ohio was a sharp contrast to my arrival in
California. It was the second week of December and while
much of southern California was basking in 70 degree
temperatures, my destination had icy roads, 20–25 mph
crosswinds and wind chills of 7–10 degrees.
Michael was gracious upon my arrival, but much went
unsaid. This was a new situation for both of us and we
communicated mostly in a very manly manner of tough
exteriors hiding uncertainty. He took me to the back of
his condo and showed me the storeroom.
It was about 125 sq. ft. with one-third of the room filled
with boxes.
He handed me a spare key and said
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‘goodnight’ because it was getting late. Closing the door
to this small room pierced my ear with a strange silence.
I spread a towel from my suitcase onto the floor and used
it as a thin matt and I tried to get some rest.
I began crying as the reality of what felt like an exile began
to sink in. I was cold, alone and terrified.
My mother had died just 11 months before and for the
first time I was looking up at the ceiling and calling out to
her. In what I thought was an ironic twist, I was unable
to be at her side when she passed away spending her final
months in a nursing home in upstate New York drugged,
catatonic and alone. For months I carried the guilt that I
wasn’t by her side when she died and now when I needed
her most she wasn’t there for me.
It was a very long night.
Over the course of the next several weeks, the goal was to
rebuild. I didn’t have much cash and it wouldn’t last long
so my focus was to find work. I found myself in a small
rural Ohio town and employment opportunities were
scarce. Still, I traveled around and applied where I could.
I quickly found a stigma attached to my efforts.
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I had not been employed for years, mostly because I ran
my own marketing business and made a living on my own.
Over the course of the last 10 years my work was
published in the Harvard Business Review, I was
featured in an article published by the San Francisco
Examiner and my resume had an impressive list of
accomplishments that I felt any employer would love to
integrate into their business.
I soon learned the opposite and for the first time in my life
I felt the taste of discrimination.
With virtually no executive jobs available in the area I
began applying for the local blue collar work. Ready to
roll up my sleeves and begin a new life, I sat for about a
dozen job interviews.
Almost every employer who looked at my resume asked
me the same question… what are you doing here?
I remember wearing a suit at one of my interviews across
from a manager of a local auto supply company who wore
torn jeans, a wrinkled shirt and had blood-shot eyes from
the previous night’s drinking binge. He was 22 years old.
I could tell he felt intimidated by me and excused himself
to look for the owner of the store.
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After about three minutes the owner came with my
resume in his hand and gave it back to me. “You have no
work history and to be honest I have no idea what you’d
be like if you were managed.” said the owner. “This job
pays $9 an hour and the minute an executive opportunity
opens up you’ll be gone, so I’m not wasting my time,
money or energy investing in you.” Pinning his sobering
manager up with his elbow to keep him from falling, the
owner stepped aside, I took my resume and left.
Other job interviews were similar and included additional
comments such as
“over-qualified…”
“poor credit…”
“too old….”
The last comment was a landmark moment in my life, I
had never been too old for anything before. Now, I knew
about the federal Age Discrimination in Employment
Act (ADEA) protects individuals who are 40 years of age
or older from employment discrimination based on age.
As much as I felt the sting of such discrimination I didn’t
have the fighting spirit or the resources to pursue it
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legally. I was running out of time, my money was almost
gone and I was getting desperate.
Meanwhile, back in California, Cheryl was settling into
her new life. Her father had wired nearly $30,000 to help
her get back on her feet, her friends and the local
community church were excellent resources and she soon
began to flourish. Finding a new job and house within 8
months.
We were still legally married and our relationship was
ambiguous at best. But, she then took to social media and
began to boast of her newly found independence to all of
our network of friends. Some of her posts included
comments that said:
“If a man expects a woman to be an angel in his life, he
must first create heaven for her. Angels don’t live in hell.”
“A real man never hurts a woman. Be careful when you
make a woman cry because God counts her tears.”
Though my name was never attached to any of these
posts, everyone knew who she was referring to. Her
passive aggressive behavior made it clear that she wanted
the world to know I fell short of her expectations.
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Desperate, and wanting to hang on to any connection of
familiarity, I endured her posts, and repeatedly
apologized and expressed my regret. I was trying to
reconcile despite the fact that California and our ideal
lifestyle didn’t work out. But the posts continued for
months and I felt emasculated.
Eventually, I simply let go.
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the storm
It was late one night and I could hear the rumbling of
thunder in the distance as I sat on the floor of my room
back in Ohio. Spring was coming. The sign of a new
season and new opportunities. However, what filled my
room was an atmosphere of weakness, shame, instability
and desperation.
It had become overwhelming.
It was 3:30 in the morning as I sat in the dark. My chest
had become very tight and the months of sadness seemed
to manifest into physical pain. I felt as though I had
reached the end, that my life had no more significance or
influence. The world I knew continued on with the daily
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tasks of life… working, paying bills, social interactions
were now foreign to me. I felt as though I had lost the
ability to function in society, to hold a job or to make any
contribution… I no longer knew what normal felt like.
My money had been gone for weeks. I was unable to find
work and I had lost all direction and hope. With my back
against the wall and hugging my knees my thoughts
turned to the seminars I attended, the programs I bought
and the tapes I had listened to decades before on the glory
of becoming an entrepreneur. Set your own hours, make
lots of money doing what you love to do.
Now, what I really needed was a guide on how to recover
because I’ve lost my way. Someone tell me how to free
myself from this self-imposed tangle of loss, pain and
financial ruin. The darkness of the room seemed to be a
reflection of how I felt inside and I began to feel an
impulsiveness as my mind became numb.
My mother had always been my biggest fan eagerly
waiting to hear about my victories and was always there
as a comfort for my defeats. Now, she was gone and in my
mind she had moved on to a place of peace and
forgiveness. A place where I could find comfort, a place
where I could ask for forgiveness, a place where I wouldn’t
be a ruin, burden or a failure.
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I was ready to die.
I reached into one of my unpacked suitcases next to me
on the floor and found my pocket knife. I held it in my
hand as the blade gleamed with light from a street lamp
outside my window.
My instinct for self-preservation began to choke my
breathe as I held the knife in front of me. I could hear the
rumbling of thunder getting louder as the storm outside
was approaching.
I felt as though I was on a threshold and with one swift
action my emotional pain would be gone. My hands were
shaking as I thought about God, my mother, my life… I
just wanted the pain to stop.
Suddenly there was a white flash that shook the condo.
I fell to my side dropping the knife, my body shaking
violently as though I had just avoided falling off a cliff.
Lightning from the storm had struck less than a quarter
mile away and had filled my room with a blinding light.
Time suddenly seemed to slow and as strange as it may
sound, for a few seconds I couldn’t hear anything.
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Then I felt it, someone else was in the room with me. My
senses became intensely sharp as I could feel that I was no
longer alone. I lay frozen, afraid and trying to
comprehend what my senses were telling me. There was
a smell I picked up that was familiar to me and in a
weakened whisper I called out, “Mom…?” I waited, and
after a few seconds the feeling was gone.
I began to hear faint sounds around me, again. Raindrops
pelting my window, the low humming noise of a ceiling
fan and the faint bark of a dog in the distance.
I had the urge to get up and run. I opened the door and
stumbled down the hallway pressing the palms of my
hands along the walls to keep my balance. When I
reached the sink in the kitchen I threw-up. I slowly turned
and sat down on the floor. I could still taste the stomach
acid in my mouth as I was trying to catch my breathe. For
the first time a got a real sense of my own mortality and
felt it was time to handle my problem a different way.
Michael returned home later that morning after spending
the weekend with his family. I met him at the door……
“I need help.”
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the discovery
When I arrived in the emergency room my intent was to
find a someone talk to. I felt that if I could speak with
someone even just for a few minutes, I could get some
direction and feel better.
Michael asked “Do you want me to stay with you?” I told
him that I was fine. “Well, call me when you’re finished
and I’ll pick you up.” As he drove away, I was thankful to
have him in my life.
As I entered the building, the sliding doors opened and
the reception desk was just a few feet away. I timidly
walked up to the desk and asked the receptionist if there
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was anyone that I could speak with. I told her I was
feeling depressed.
She gave me a clipboard and asked me to fill out the
attached questionnaire. I took a pen from a jar filled with
coffee beans and sat in the waiting room.
The form was a standard registration document
requesting my contact information and listing a variety of
potential medical conditions. I marked the box that said
depression and answered the follow up question, Have
you had thoughts of suicide?… by marking yes.
I returned the completed form at the registration desk and
headed back to the waiting room. I was very tired and
found an empty chair in the corner. I figured this would
be a good time to catch a short nap, I’m sure I’ll be waiting
here for a while.
Wrong again.
After about 5 minutes with my hands clasped on my
stomach in a resting position and my eyes closed, I
suddenly heard a soft voice call my name right in front of
me. “Mr. Thompson?” I opened my eyes and there was a
middle-aged woman holding a clipboard with a laminated
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ID hanging from her shirt pocket. Behind her were two
large men with bad haircuts all dressed in white.
“Come with me, please.” she said.
Nervously, I stood up and was escorted down the hall into
an office and was told to wait. After about 10 minutes, a
man entered the room wearing a medical lanyard, a
pocket protector and a pair of thick glasses.
He introduced himself as a social worker and asked, “How
can I help you Mr. Thompson?”
What a relief. Someone to talk to. For the next hour, I
told him the story of how my wife and I left Cleveland, the
struggles with my business, the loss of our home, Cheryl’s
social media rants and my suicide attempt with what
appeared to be a spiritual experience.
He took meticulous notes and barely spoke. It felt good
to have someone to just listen as I bared my soul. I
became emotional at times, but overall felt much better
and was anxious to hear feedback and get some direction.
What I didn’t realize, and would later find out, was the
social worker was writing observation phrases about me
like “paranoia…” referring to my wife’s social media rants
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and “hallucinations…” when I spoke about the presence
of my mother after dropping the pocket knife.
Finishing his notes, he put the pen back in his pocket
protector, leaned forward and asked me if I would like to
speak with the head psychiatrist.
I smiled and replied, “Yes… very much so.”
Smiling back, he informed me that the doctor’s office was
on the 7 th floor in a secured area of the hospital and would
require my signature to enter. He passed me a pen and
clipboard with a form attached.
I signed the document not realizing at the time that it was
a voluntary commitment form.
“Wait right here Mr. Thompson while I arrange for an
escort to take you up.”
Sitting there in his office I felt a sense of relief, the heavy
weight I had been carrying was lifting and I knew the
psychiatrist was going to help me get my life back on
track.
Things were not as they appeared.
36

He had returned with an armed security guard, two
orderlies and a wheelchair. He told me to remove
everything from my pockets and handed me a hospital
gown to change into.
Reality sat in very quickly. I suddenly felt a rush and
realized that my signature on that form had erased any
power I may have had to change the situation that was
unfolding.
I looked at the counselor and said, “I think there’s been a
mistake…” The orderlies, sensing some resistance, moved
closer with the counselor replying, “Mr. Thompson, put
on this gown and remove your personal items.”
I put my personal belongings into the clear plastic bag,
changed into the gown and sat down in the wheelchair.
The security guard then pulled out these large, wide zipties
and restrained my forearms tightly to the arms of the
wheelchair.
“Is all this really necessary?”
No one responded to my question. The dynamics had
changed drastically in those few moments.
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The gang of us made our way down to the elevator at the
end of the hallway. Once inside, the orderly turned me
around to face the doors as they closed. There, staring
back at me from the chrome plated reflection, was a man
I no longer recognized. It was ugly to look at.
Panic set in.
Ding…the elevator doors opened and I was wheeled down
another hallway to a set of double doors.
Figure 1-38
The counselor waved his badge in front of an electronic
locking mechanism on the wall and the double doors
slowly began to open. We crossed over the threshold and
into the inpatient psychiatry unit. I could hear the
hydraulics of the automatic doors slowly closing behind
me. A creeping shadow towered over all of us as the doors
slowly blocked the light from the outside hall. The sound
of the automatic lock engaging was sobering.
Michael was not going to be getting that call to come pick
me up anytime soon.
38

Like stepping in hidden quicksand, I was almost
effortlessly admitted into a mental institution.
Historically, millions of Americans have fallen through
institutional cracks much easier for benign reasons, by
today’s standards.
In her 2001 book Parental Kidnapping in America: A
Historical and Cultural Analysis, author Maureen
Dabbagh compiled a list of how easy it was for anyone in
the latter half of the 19th century to be admitted to an
insane asylum.
imaginary female trouble
jealousy and religion
laziness
masturbation for 30 years
medicine to prevent conception
novel reading
parents were cousins
political excitement
asthma
death of sons in war
superstition
egotism
false confinement
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Of course, we’ve come a long way in the last 150 years.
However, mental illness is still a very serious problem and
has not gotten the attention it deserves. It has a direct
negative impact on millions of lives, education, the
economy and how we’re projected as a nation on a
worldwide stage.
According to NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness)
in 2015 the statistics on mental illness in America are
staggering:
Approximately 1 in 5 adults in the U.S.—43.8 million,
or 18.5%—experiences mental illness in a given year
Approximately 1 in 25 adults in the U.S.—9.8 million,
or 4.0%—experiences a serious mental illness in a
given year that substantially interferes with or limits
one or more major life activities
1.1% of adults in the U.S. live with schizophrenia
2.6% of adults in the U.S. live with bipolar disorder
CONSEQUENCES OF LACK OF TREATMENT:
Serious mental illness costs America $193.2 billion in
lost earnings per year
Mood disorders, including major depression,
dysthymic disorder and bipolar disorder, are the third
most common cause of hospitalization in the U.S. for
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oth youth and adults aged 18–44 costing billions of
dollars every year
According to a study done by Emory University in
2015, the two most common reasons adults ages 18 –
55 in the U.S. do not receive mental health treatment
were ignorance and lack of money. This
demonstrates a lack of understanding and
seriousness of the problem both from the patient’s
and insurance company’s perspective.
41

a painful breakthrough
The armed security guard returned to his station and the
orderlies put me in a small in-take room, removed the zipties
and left.
Across the desk was a middle-aged, stereotypical nurse.
White shoes, uniform and hat. Her clothes made the
nylon swooshing sound when she walked around the
room.
She took my vitals and then handed me a medicine cup
containing five little pills of various shapes and colors
without saying a word.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry…,” I said, “I think there’s been a big
mistake.”
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“Mr. Thompson, you need to take these. It will help you
relax.” she replied. I was quickly realizing that I had no
rights. It would be useless to resist or refuse. I knew that
if I did, it would sound like any other patient refusing to
cooperate and I could make things worse for myself.
I found out later that the pills were designed to counteract
any ill effects from any recent alcohol or drug
consumption. A large portion of the patients who are
admitted to the psych ward are under the influence of
some reality altering substance. It was standard
procedure.
She began to enter my medical history into the computer.
The questions were routine and my answers were brief.
Finally, she left the room and returned with a hospital
issue of four hand towels, a pair of yellow pajamas, rubber
flip-flops and a robe… with no belt.
The nurse then escorted me to my room accompanied by
an orderly. As we walked down the hallway I had my first
opportunity to observe other patients.
In one of the hallways, a man resembling a thin Italian
was pacing up and down. Facing the wall, his hands flat
against it, he was rubbing and searching for an opening in
43

the wall that was not there.
another dimension.
He was trying to step into
Coming from some of patient’s rooms were voices. I
couldn’t quite make out what they were saying and
wondered if they were actually talking to someone or just
to themselves?
I knew the answer.
Some men were sitting in chairs, others were wandering
aimlessly. They all shared that look on their face as if they
were someplace else. I had never been in a place like this
before.
When we got to my room the nurse suggested that I take
a shower and change out of my gown. Dinner would be
served in about an hour. She closed the door behind her
and I was alone.
As I placed my belongings on the end of the bed I noticed
that it was bolted to the floor including the nightstand.
Looking around it was virtually impossible for you to hurt
yourself with any instrument. Everything was attached to
something else.
44

I took off my gown and threw it on the bed, picked up one
of the hand towels and walked into the bathroom. It was
not a private bathroom but shared with the adjacent
room. There were no doors so any patient could walk in
from either room, it was all open.
I got into the shower, lukewarm at best and little more
than a trickle. No shampoo or soap, toiletries would be
issued later. I was standing there with my eyes closed
letting the stream of water run down my face when I heard
a disturbing mumble. It was the patient from the next
room. Looking through his doorway I could tell there
were no lights, so whatever he was doing it was in the
dark.
I didn’t know who he was or his condition so turned the
water off and looked around for a bath towel to dry off
with.
There were no other towels, only the hand towel.
Frustrated, I dried off as best I could and walked into my
room to get dressed. Looking at the bed I noticed my
pajamas, robe, towels and shoes, were gone. The only
possessions I had left in this world were gone.
Everything was gone. I became enraged.
45

I stormed out of the room holding the only possession I
had left to cover the most private part of my body. With
determination I stomped down the hallway leaving wet
footprints on the tile. Some patients looked up and others
seemed unfazed that a naked man would briskly walk the
halls. This was an uncommon act in a place where
uncommon acts were common.
I was leaving a trail of onlookers behind me. John, an
African American patient who would later become my
friend, was standing just inside his room finishing a
nutrition bar when I passed his doorway. He would later
confess to me that all he saw was “some naked white guy
walking down the hall who looked like he was on a
mission.”
I made my way to the nurse’s station located at the center
of the ward. I stood in front of the window holding my
hand towel with both hands in front of me, with water
droplets still clinging to my hair I was mad as hell. I no
longer concerned myself with procedures, protocol or the
basic manners my mother taught me. A large African
American nurse, named Loretta, was in the nursing
station typing on a computer and she suddenly stopped.
She rolled her eyes up and saw me standing there through
the glass partition window in distress. The hint of a smirk
46

curved the corner of her mouth. She took her long
fingernail and slid the glass window open slowly.
“Did you lose something, Mr. Thompson?” she asked.
“Yes!” I said in a very loud and stern voice with tears
streaming down my red face.
“I’ve lost my house,
my family,
all my possessions,
a pair of cotton pajamas,
a matching bathrobe
and….three of my embroidered hand towels!!!”
My commanding voice echoed through the corridors.
Nurses, patients and staff stood in silence and watched
how this twenty-seven year veteran nurse was going to
respond to my outburst.
She spoke softly, “Did you lose anything else?’
“Yes I have!” I shouted.
“My sanity!! What the fuck am I doing here!!!”
47

Removing her fingers from the keyboard slowly and
clasping her hands together, she responded…
“Well, Mr. Thompson, we’re waiting for you to tell us.”
Her response hit me and shook me to my core. I stood
there as my eyes welled up with tears delivering a blank
stare back at her as my mind began to process a reality.
If they were waiting for me to tell them why I was there…
that must mean I have the answers. And if I had the
answers, I must have control.
All this time when I thought I became a victim of
circumstances beyond my control, a recipient of a bad
karma and unfortunate events feeling powerless, I
actually had the power to change everything at anytime.
My business did not fail because of the economy. My
marriage did not end because my business failed. I did
not lose everything because of chance, circumstance,
destiny, consequence, divine will or intent.
I lost everything because that’s what I chose to do.
48

Let me say that again…
it’s because of what I chose to do.
I chose to move to California.
I chose to take that risk without enough financial capital.
I chose to reduce my fees.
I chose to be resentful.
I chose to try and take my own life.
I finally realized that I was here in this place because of
the choices and decisions I made.
I had the power of choice all along,…..
the only problem was I just didn’t know how to use that
power.
49

a lost formula
Feeling completely numb, I slowly turned and saw the hall
filled with onlookers. I cautiously and very slowly began
to take steps back to my room. Retracing my wet
footprints, I walked past other patients feeling unable to
look at them. Most stared at me with an understanding of
my pain… they too, had been there.
An orderly shadowed my steps to make sure there
wouldn’t be any more trouble, but kept his distance.
I slowly walked past John’s room as he stood in his
doorway, finishing what was left of his nutrition bar. We
made eye contact, but said nothing.
50

When I arrived at my room, a nurse was there holding a
brand new pair of folded pajamas and robe. They were
colored light blue and she said, “Here you are Mr.
Thompson, a fresh pair. I’ve even laid out a new set of
towels on your bed.”
“Thank you.” I replied. I felt her tenderness was genuine
as I walked in my room and closed the door behind me.
Once dressed in my clean pajamas I sat on the bed and
began thinking about my entire life and the decisions I’ve
made. I remembered when things were going well in my
life I was making good choices, and when things went bad
I was making bad choices. It seemed so simple and
obvious and though I understood I couldn’t control
destiny or fate… I could control how I reacted to it.
I thought to myself… I just had a major breakthrough
moment in understanding who I am and how I got here,
but I still didn’t understand why I made the bad decisions
in my life.
I wasn’t aware of it, but that answer was coming very
soon.
Then, I received a knock at my door, it was John.
“Come in.” I responded.
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He entered my room in his yellow pajamas with a giggle
under his breathe. “You made quite an entrance today…”
he said sticking his hand out as he introduced himself.
“My name is John, I just wanted to make sure you were
alright.”
Standing up, I shook his hand and said “Thank you.”
He proceeded to tell me he was a three year veteran of the
institution and had seen it all. Laughingly, he said my
performance today was entertaining and told me that he
had never seen a white boy move so fast.
That made me laugh. I had a small tear, but John helped
me transition my anger and it was suddenly in the past.
He put his hand on my shoulder and walked me to dinner.
When we arrived in the dining area, we found a table in
the corner and sat together. I learned that John suffered
from seizures and had a history of emotional outbursts
that kept him unemployed and alienated from his family.
John was taking lots of medication and it helped, most of
the time. He seemed to calmly accept the fact that this
institution was likely going to be his home for the rest of
his life.
52

The dining area was a collection of tables and was used for
multiple purposes. It was a place to come for your meals,
but also a recreation area that had a large flat screen TV
on the wall, reading books, magazines and board games.
It also served as a classroom for group sessions.
The food cart had arrived and the patients got in line to
receive their trays. Each tray was assigned to an
individual patient based on their diet requirements.
My name was called, and I received my tray. Salisbury
steak, green beans, mashed potatoes with a pool of butter,
a Jello cup and a small carton of milk. I felt like I was in
high school all over again.
While using my plastic fork to cut into the steak, there was
a sudden disturbance at the far end of the dining area. A
patient had gotten up yelling, tossed his tray across the
room and walked over to the large screen TV, pulled it off
the wall and threw it against the metal mesh that
protected the windows.
Other patients stood up and began yelling at the top of
their voices at the staff demanding Angela Lansbury’s
phone number. Apparently, now that the TV was
destroyed, they wanted to know who the killer was on
53

Murder She Wrote. Milk cartons and food were being
thrown as the orderlies charged in to restore order.
My body was pumped full of adrenaline, I stood up not
knowing whether to run or find cover. John, continued to
eat, oblivious to the chaos in the room, he had seen this
many times before.
Then, his hand started shaking and he clutched his fist
tight around his plastic fork. The stress of the situation
had triggered one of his seizures. His whole body had
become stiff and was falling out of the chair. I caught him
as he fell to the floor, his cheek slightly smeared with
mash potatoes he began making a choking sound.
“Orderly!!” I shouted.
“Orderly!! Come quick!!” the chaos in the room
overshadowed John’s plight. “Hang on buddy……”
I whispered to him as I held him tight, his eyes rolling
back into his head. I had no idea if he could hear me.
“Order---uhh….!!!” Just as I shouted for help again, an
orderly grabbed me from behind mistakenly thinking I
was assaulting John as I knelt over him.
54

Pinning me to the floor, I tried to tell him that John was
sick, but the weight of the orderly compressed my chest
and it was difficult for me to catch my breathe.
The room began to fade and turn dark as I felt a pain in
my arm. I don’t remember anything after that.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself in bed in my
room. I had a terrible headache, and my cheekbone was
sore and slightly bruised from the commotion. I got up
and slowly walked out into the hall, order had been
restored. Patients again, were wandering the halls
aimlessly and there was peaceful music playing on the
intercom system.
I walked to the dining area and the table and chairs were
back in place and the TV was back on the wall. It had a
massive shattering crack across the screen and there was
no sound, but it still worked as a small cluster of patients
were watching Judge Judy. The sun was shining through
the window, it was the next morning.
I then heard a voice, “Mr. Thompson…”
I turned, and walking up to me was the head psychiatrist,
Dr. Montgomery. He introduced himself and said,
55

“Let’s walk to my office and have a chat.” I followed him
reluctantly.
As we walked into his office, he said “Have a seat, I’m
sorry about the disturbance last night, things can get
stimulating around here from time to time.”
His demeanor was pleasant. He looked like the typical
Freudian doctor wearing a white beard, wool vest and
jacket with a dangling chain from his pocket watch.
He had been a doctor for nearly 40 years and was a
collector of psychiatric antiquities. He showed me his
collection in his office of pieces he obtained throughout
his travels from around the world. Old photographs of
patients, instruments, surgical tools and books. His wall
was crowded with certificates, awards, plaques and
framed letters of recognition. His most treasured
possession was a signed antique baseball from Tommy
Tucker, first baseman of the Cleveland Spiders from the
1890s. He said his grandfather, who attended a Spiders’
game as a young man, gave it to him.
He seemed very approachable and trusting.
56

“Please, Mr. Thompson,” he said. “Tell me your story…”
Sitting back in his leather bound chair he was eager to
hear what I had to say, so I indulged him.
For the next hour I told him the story of how my wife and
I left Cleveland, the struggles with my business, the loss
of our home, Cheryl’s social media rants and my suicide
attempt with what appeared to be a spiritual experience.
Unlike the social worker from before, he seemed
genuinely interested.
I also told him about a breakthrough moment I had with
Loretta at the nurse’s station the day before. I had
mentioned to him my realization of life’s choices and
though I chose to be here… I didn’t understand the power
of choice.
He was impressed.
“Most of my patients don’t fully understand why they’re
here and it usually takes several sessions before they
learn about effects of choices and consequences. What is
your academic background?” he asked.
I told him that I didn’t have a formal degree but became a
student of human psychology to gain a better
understanding of my field in marketing and advertising.
57

I felt comfortable enough at this point to tell him that I
felt it was a mistake I was admitted to the ward. Expecting
further resistance, I was shocked by his response.
“I agree…” he said. “I don’t think there is anything
wrong with you. You’re articulate, intelligent and you
made a mistake. You slipped under an intense set of
circumstances and voluntarily sought professional help.
You don’t belong here.”
I began to get emotional and was relieved that someone
understood what I had been through.
“I do have one question, Doc.” I said. “Why do people
make the wrong choices? Where does that come from?”
He smiled, and leaned over to unlocked a drawer in his
desk and opened it. He pulled out a very old leather
notebook. It was the personal notes of an unknown
doctor, written in Latin over 200 years ago.
While most notable doctors during that time, including
Benjamin Rush, John Conolly and Phillip Pinel, focused
on the diseases of the mind and philosophy, this unknown
doctor made an extraordinary claim in his notes.
58

He theorized that vitae (life) is comprised of corporis,
animo and sensum (body, mind and feeling)
He implicated that they were all connected.
Dr. Montgomery explained to me that the POWER OF
CHOICE, to choose that which results in good
consequences OR to choose that which results in bad
consequences, comes from your mind AND body AND
emotions. The doctor thought this was one of the first
times the word sensum (or feeling) was used to describe
a person’s emotions; which was another term that would
be more commonly used to describe a person’s feelings by
the early 19 th century.
This formula fascinated me. It was so simple, yet it was a
guide that seemed to explain much about our complex
world. I didn’t understand it completely yet but my
interest was piqued to learn more and perhaps I could use
this to turn my life around.
The doctor noticed I seemed to, now, have a purpose, a
direction, a goal… a task. What he didn’t realize at the
time was the value of the gift he had just given me.
59

After copying the formula on his legal pad, he tore the
paper from the pad, stood up and handed it to me. I
shook his hand and thanked him.
ORIGINAL FORMULA
“Good luck, Mr. Thompson.”
Figure 1-60
After closing the door behind me, he immediately
contacted social services and made arrangements for my
discharge the next morning.
Later that evening Michael finally got that phone call.
60

discharged
Folding my pajamas, I laid them on my bed. My clothes
and personal possessions had been brought to my room
early that morning and I was fully dressed. Last night was
the first time I slept well in months.
I was going to be discharged that morning at 9:00 o’clock
and anxious to get on with my life.
A nurse stuck her head in my room and told me that
breakfast was ready and to come to the dining room. I
checked around the room one last time to make sure I
didn’t leave anything behind. ‘Wallet, keys, watch,’ I
thought to myself… and there lying on the bed was the
folded piece of paper from Dr. Montgomery.
61

I picked it up and stuck it in my back pocket.
Standing in line in the dining room, I waited for my tray.
I was looking around for John. I hadn’t seen him for a
couple of days and wanted to make sure we had a chance
to say goodbye. I also was anxious to tell him what I had
learned yesterday in hopes that it might inspire him in
some way.
“Thompson…” my name was called.
I walked forward to collect my tray and asked the orderly,
“Have you seen John?” He handed me my tray and
looked at me with a silent stare and said nothing. Our
eyes remained connected for a few seconds as I slowly
turned and walked away with my breakfast.
I think he knew, but either he couldn’t tell me OR he
wouldn’t tell me. I sat down at the table and pulled
another chair close to me hoping that John would walk in
at any moment and sit with me.
Other patients walked slowly by, some staring at me as if
they had something to say, but never did.
It was clear to everyone that I was going home.
62

I waited about an hour, slowly sipping my juice cup and
finishing the soggy bran left from the raisin cereal in my
Styrofoam bowl. I looked at the clock, and it said 8:50.
10 more minutes.
I cleaned off my tray and headed to the nurse’s station to
pick up my discharge papers. When I arrived, I saw
Loretta sitting at the computer through the glass
partition.
Glancing up, she saw me standing there wearing a
crooked smile knowing our last encounter left me
speechless. Tight lipped, she got up from her chair,
picked up a yellow envelope and walked into the hall
through a side door.
Walking up to me slowly with an intense look on her face,
my smile quickly faded as I flattened my lips and tucked
in my chin, preparing for what I thought was going to be
a good tongue lashing for my rudeness the first day.
Standing right in front of me she whispered, “Do you have
everything, Mr. Thompson?” her lips began to slowly
bend upward as if she was holding back her laughter. I
immediately picked up her vibe of forgiveness and we
simultaneously laughed and hugged each other.
63

“I’m so sorry…” I told her with a smile. “I didn’t mean to
yell at you… I hope you can understand.”
“Honey,” she responded, “I have been a nurse for twentyseven
years and have heard and seen a lot worse. You’re
a good man, I could tell that the first time we met.”
“Thank you.” I told her.
She handed me the envelope with my discharge papers
inside. “Good lucky, honey.” she said, “…you’ll do fine.” I
began to walk towards the ward entrance and then
stopped. I turned, and walked back to Loretta and asked,
“What happened to John?”
Her face suddenly turned serious. Pausing for a moment,
she said “I don’t know Mr. Thompson.” Listening to
heard words did not give me an answer, but looking into
her eyes she was trying to tell me something.
Her experience and professionalism would not allow her
to speak but she sensed my genuine concern for him and
did her best to relay a feeling with her tone and look of
sadness in hopes that I would understand.
I asked her for a pen, and she handed me one from her
pocket. I reached into my back pocket and got the folded
64

paper. I scribbled a quick note on it and put the pen and
paper in back in her hand. “If you see John,” I said, “…can
you please be sure that he gets this and tell him it’s from
me.”
“I certainly will, Mr. Thompson.” she replied.
I turned and headed for the double doors. An orderly
passed his fob key over the electronic locking mechanism
on the wall and the doors slowly opened.
With the formula securely etched in my brain, I left,
hoping John would get my note as a momentum of our
time together and a small piece of inspiration hoping that
someday it may have a positive effect on his life.
To this day, I’ve never heard from him.
Standing out in front of the emergency entrance I waiting
for Michael. I felt anxious to get back to my room and
begin to further research the formula. After about 15
minutes, Michael pulled up in his truck. He smiled and
said, “It’s good to see you again.” “Thanks.” I replied. As
we drove off together and I felt like I was leaving my
private hell with a weapon.
I would spend the next 6 months learning how to use it.
65

the process
Once we arrived home, I headed to the storage room and
quickly set up a makeshift work area. Michael had set up
a card table for me and using some boxes with an old
footboard from a bed frame I was able to make an
extended desk and cardboard drawers.
I reached into my one of my suitcases and pulled out a
$300 laptop that that I had brought from California.
Michael had upgraded his cable TV package to give me
access to high-speed internet. Once I plugged in, I had
access to a world of knowledge and I was ready to begin.
66

First, I took the original formula and created a visual code
much like an equation that would be easy to understand.
Vitae DEDUCTIS Corporis + Animo + Sensum
Figure 1-67
Next, I translated the formula into modern English using
directly translated words.
Life EQUALS Body + Mind + Feeling
Figure 2-67
The transformation process was beginning. This formula
was so simple yet, I could feel that there was much more
meaning behind the words. If I wanted to apply this
formula to my own life and succeed, I would have to have
67

a deeper understanding of the formula’s origin and its
intent.
With little to work with, I started at the beginning of the
formula and took a closer look at the word LIFE.
Since the original formula was written in a notebook by
an unknown man of medicine or science, it’s not
immediately clear which context was intended.
Did LIFE mean the biological state of life? That would
make sense if you included BODY and MIND, but the
third element of FEELING doesn’t easily fit.
Even by today’s standards, the most accepted definition
of this form of LIFE throughout the scientific community
is organisms which are composed of cells, will
successfully grow, adapt, thrive and reproduce in their
own environment. The term FEELING doesn’t have an
obvious place in that context.
Or, did LIFE mean the experiential state of life? That
which we experience from the time of our birth. This
made more sense and all three elements - BODY, MIND
and FEELING participate in one’s experiences
throughout LIFE.
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However, I realized that the original formula, which was
written before 1817, likely used a term more closely
related to a context relevant at the time in which it was
written. So my research took me back in time.
The notebook’s geographical origin was unclear and
written in Latin. The language was originally developed in
the Italian peninsula, giving me one location. Using the
term Vitae (Life), which has Old English origins, the
original location of the author may have been somewhere
between Italy and Britain during the late 18 th or early 19 th
centuries.
Figure 1-69
During that timeframe, Latin eventually developed into
other languages including Italian, Portuguese, Spanish,
69

French and Romanian which seemed to narrow the list
geographically.
According to literary etymology, a common use for the
term LIFE spoken in that part of the world between 1750
and 1820 was “…a clear and visible active part of human
existence, pleasures or pursuits of the world or society.”
It became clear that the unknown doctor, likely began the
formula with a description of human experience from the
time of birth and the duration of your existence.
The author also seemed to write this formula as a
statement of fact, not a solution. I wanted this formula to
be less of a definition or explanation and more of a useful
process that could give guidance to anyone that may have
become misguided.
In order to do this, I had to change the format of the
formula from an equivalency to a process. That involved
changing LIFE, the beginning side of the original equation
to BIRTH, the beginning of a process.
Then, replacing the symbol of equivalency, EQUAL SIGN,
with a directional symbol of process, or an ARROW.
Keeping the three main elements that make up one’s life,
BODY, MIND and FEELING, the process must include a
70

esult. From a psychiatric perspective, most of us who
successfully function within society are regarded in the
eyes of science as NORMAL.
Figure 1-71
I looked out the window and saw that it was night. I had
worked for several hours not even realizing I had missed
dinner. I turned off my computer and laid down onto the
floor to get some sleep.
71

is there a normal
I spent the next two weeks talking on the phone, writing
several emails and became active within a dozen
psychiatric based blogs online speaking with
professionals and experts on the topic of what is
NORMAL.
I needed I clear and precise definition of how we define
NORMAL in our society today. I found that the matter of
what is NORMAL, can't be defined in singular terms or
that which we see in our society as common.
72

Specifically, NORMAL can't mean what we see all the
time or what we see the most of the time.
To be NORMAL isn’t Christian just because 95% of
your community is Christian.
To be NORMAL isn’t to be attracted to someone of
the opposite sex just because 90% of the general
population is heterosexual.
Even during the time of the notebook’s unknown
author, to be NORMAL isn’t to own slaves just
because all the landowners in your state are slave
owners. .
Nor can it mean free of discomfort, as if NORMAL were
the equivalent of a life free of emotional pain and you were
somehow abnormal when you made a mistake or slipped
as I did… it just made me, human.
This, however, is exactly the game played by the mental
health industry. In the eyes of the social worker who
evaluated my story of loss, misdirection and a spiritual
experience, I expressed my feelings of discomfort and I
was labeled abnormal in his mind as he observed me. He
equated abnormal with unwanted, and turning "I don't
73

want to feel sad" into "I have the mental disorder of
depression, paranoia and hallucinations."
Hospital procedure then dictated a formal request by the
social worker to be made in writing for involuntary
commitment and that a follow-up examination by a
certified clinician or doctor be performed to verify the
probability or likelihood of a mental disorder.
The social worker instead chose to falsely represent the
use of the voluntary commitment form and telling the
enforcement division to assist him because I was acting
unstable and may have to be restrained.
It was later found out that the zealous behavior on the part
of the social worker was motivated by a tragic incident at
the hospital only months before. A patient entered the
emergency room looking for someone to speak with about
her depression and after hours of waiting finally
committed suicide in the public bathroom.
Yet, only days later when my exact storyline was repeated
to a veteran psychiatrist, Dr. Albert Montgomery, the
observations were changed back to NORMAL and I was
discharged. An investigation into the conduct of the social
worker and a legal review of the hospital’s intake and
commitment procedures is ongoing.
74

According to a new study published in the journal BMJ
Quality & Safety in 2014, 12 million Americans on
average are misdiagnosed every year in the health
industry. The malpractice documented in that study
helps create the social stigma of mental health that effects
our society and dims the light of awareness.
Why is it such a big problem?
Most psychotherapists and psychologists are not doctors,
and most general practitioners aren’t qualified
to diagnose a mental illness. Plus, there is no definitive
medical test for any mental illness, and most mental
health professionals don’t have the time or resources to
dig as deep as they wish.
Figure 1-75
75

With all that being said, the process must include varying
degrees of NORMAL because we are progressing as a
society and have become more accepting to change in the
last 50 years. However, there is an obvious question…
Why are there varying degrees of NORMAL?
In other words, why are there varying degrees of an
outcome in the process from birth?
We’re all different, of course.
But why?
Well, we all start the same by entering the world through
our mother’s womb and our differences begin moments
after birth as our bodies begin to adapt to our surrounding
environment. Sights, sounds, parental nurture, food,
shelter all begin to shape who we will eventually become
and it’s a belief that has been accepted by science and the
medical profession for more than 500 years.
76

epigenetics
All of us are a genetic consequence of our parents. At the
moment of conception, we each receive a set of twentythree
chromosomes from our mother and father as seen
in Figure 1 - 78. Within these chromosomes are genes,
and within the genes are strips of coded DNA.
Until recently, science assumed that once you received
your DNA, it was locked inside every cell in your body and
would remain unaltered, unaffected by your life choices
and experiences. The food you eat or the stress you
endure during your life would have no direct effect on
your genes and DNA which make you unique.
77

These same rules applied to your parents, your grandparents
and your great-grand-parents and as far back as
you can imagine. Their genes were simply passed on to
the next generation and the experiences they accumulated
in their lifetimes (food they ate, stresses they endured,
toxins they may have been exposed to) were never
inherited. Those experiences were lost forever as the
genes pass unaltered, generation after generation.
Figure 1-78
78

In 1996, Dr. Marcus Pembrey, a British clinical geneticist
made an incredible discovery when studying two very
different genetic diseases.
He noticed that children who suffered from Angelman
Syndrome, a genetic disorder that retards the child’s
intellect and strangely promotes excessive happiness
with the child’s emotions, was a result of a sequence of
genes in chromosome 15 that were switched off.
Then, while studying Prader Willi Syndrome in children,
which is a genetic disorder that causes a child to have an
insatiable appetite, he noticed that the genetic cause was
exactly the same gene deletion in chromosome 15.
See Figure 1 – 79.
Figure 1-79
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How could this be?
This was impossible as he understood science.
How could the exact same gene sequence in chromosomes
15 be switched off resulting in two completely different
kinds of genetic disorders?
The breakthrough came when Dr. Pembrey discovered
that if the gene carrying the deletion came from the father,
the child would inherit Prada Willi Syndrome. If the
deletion of the gene came from the mother, the child
would have Angelman Syndrome.
This breakthrough is significant because science had
discovered that our genes can be “tagged” with the
memory of where they came from, the mother or father.
Dr. Pembrey continued his research and also discovered,
that other sequence deletions and other genetic disorders
could be passed down through generations.
How are these genetic disorders and gene deletions
created?
By the experiences your ancestors had during their
lifetime. What this means is an environmental exposure
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that your great-grand-mother had in her lifetime could
cause a disease in you, generations later, even though you
never were exposed to that same toxin.
These sequences were also found to be linked as a transgeneration
adaptation for survival. He found that
mothers from generations past who lived through periods
of brief hunger which resulted in smaller pelvises and a
narrower birth canals do to poverty, were somehow
genetically sending a messages to future generations of
children not to grow so large in utero so they could fit
through smaller, genetically altered, birth canals to
maintain a higher survival rate at the time of birth.
This resulted in a trans-generational coordination of
information effecting both generations.
This same form a genetic communication has been found
to create mental disorders in the areas of depression,
anxiety and suicide.
Psychologist, Dr. Rachel Yehuda heads up the Mt. Sinai
Health System in New York City and has been studying
for years the emotional effects of descendants from the
holocaust survivors.
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Here studies show that when a person is exposed to a
stressful event, the body produces cortisol, a steroid
hormone in the adrenal gland, that helps regulate the
body’s response to that stress.
If Cortisol levels are too low, a person finds it very difficult
to cope with that stressful event and is very susceptible to
PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Such an experience can create a genetic mutation
resulting in a sequence of genes being turned on or off to
create a stress related disorder sequence in the genes.
Dr. Yehuda, is studying the links between potential gene
sequencing related disorders from WWII holocaust
survivors and their decedents.
Incredibly, the Nazi atrocities still are effecting modern
generations because the gene mutations from ancestors
living during the 1940s have been passed down and
remain in the biology of young descendants today more
than 70 years removed from the actual events that took
place.
As a result, descendants today are living with mental
disorders that include depression, anxiety and suicide.
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So, how does all this effect the process?
Figure 1-83
It means that at BIRTH, you’ve already been “tagged” by
the experiences your ancestors had in their lifetimes which
resulted in the sequence of your genes and will, in turn,
affect how you live your life.
The reality is that BIRTH is not a beginning, but a mere
link within a continuum of life that began thousands of
generations ago and could continue for thousands of
generations into the future.
It’s important to remember, using a poker vernacular, that
you still must play the hand you are dealt. Almost any
predetermined sequence of genes DOES NOT condemn
you to a less substantiated existence or a life plagued with
disadvantages. You still have the POWER OF CHOICE and
it’s that power which will determine how meaningful your
life can be for yourself and others you influence.
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When you examine the process, as it has been built to this
point, by adding your genetic history you’ll begin to see the
potential of how your NORMAL can be affected by several
factors including your genetic history, your environmental
upbringing and how your BODY, MIND and FEELING
play a role as well.
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three intelligences
When the original formula was written, it stated that LIFE,
or the experiential state of our existence from the time of
BIRTH, equaled BODY, MIND and FEELING.
When I looked at the original intent of the of the formula,
which was written as a statement of fact, it determined that
LIFE was meant as an experiential state. However, if LIFE
was equivalent to the three elements that make up our
existence, BODY, MIND and FEELING, it would make
sense that those elements were meant as an experiential
state as well and not just the biology.
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Throughout our lives we are very reactive. Our senses,
sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch give us feedback to
the world around us. In addition to the five senses that are
commonly known, we also have the senses of balance, pain,
pressure and motion.
All of them work together to coordinate how we react to the
experiences we have in our lives. Not only do those
experiences get recording and stored in our memory but
they can create actual adaptive biological changes at the
genetic level as was discussed in the previous chapter.
According to the Oxford Dictionary of Terms, if you look at
the definition of intelligence, it states that, intelligence is
the ability to acquire and apply knowledge and skills.
Knowledge is defined as facts or information acquired
through experience.
It would follow then that our intelligence is not limited to
just our MIND but our BODY and FEELING as well. Our
state of biology, who we are, through our senses has the
ability to acquire and apply intelligence in a highly reactive
environment and even become adaptive at the genetic level
to promote the survival of our species.
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Referring back to CASE STUDY #2 in the previous chapter,
the descendants of the holocaust victims of WWII, who
inherited a mutated genetic sequence from their ancestors
causing cases of depression, anxiety and suicide.
The genetic mutation was caused generations before by an
atrocity for which, at the time, the victim’s cortisol levels
were insufficient to regulate the stress of the situation and
on a genetic level recorded the moment by creating an
adaptive change for future generations.
Unfortunately, for some of those descendants who
inherited the genetic mutated sequence caused by the
atrocity generations before, they are now susceptible to
increased cortisol levels that can create symptoms such as
depressions, higher levels of anxiety and even suicide.
In addition to the higher levels of cortisol, studies have
shown that there can be reduced levels of serotonin,
effecting mood and social behavior often referred to as the
happiness chemical in our brain.
Other neurotransmitters in the brain have shown reduced
levels including dopamine, often referred to as the
chemical of reward, making you feel good after an
accomplishment or act of love.
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Our biology has an intelligence.
The original formula divided the equivalency of LIFE into
three categories of MIND, BODY and FEELING. My
intent to modify the original formula and create a process
would require a more accurate description of the three
elements. Therefore:
MIND = INTELLECTUAL INTELLIGENCE
BODY = PHYSICAL INTELLIGENCE
FEELING = EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE
Figure 1-88
Looking at this process it becomes clear. From the time
of BIRTH, your biology of PHYSICAL, INTELLECTUAL
and EMOTIONAL intelligences become reactionary and
adaptive to the environment you live in. Resulting in a
degree of NORMAL as defined by our society.
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Certainly, what you receive at BIRTH from your
GENETIC HISTORY will influence your reactive
behavior, which is likely what causes different outcomes
when two people are raised in identical environments.
John Foster was a successful lawyer in New York City in
the 1960s. He and his wife Maureen raised two sons,
Jeremy and Jacob in SoHo, an upper class neighborhood
in Manhattan.
Jeremy, eventually graduated from Harvard University
and become a lawyer like his father and today owns a
successful international law firm based in Boston, MA.
Jacob, on the other hand, struggled as a child. He got
poor grades in school, hung out with the wrong crowd and
eventually abused drugs and alcohol.
Jacob died in December of 1985 at the age of 25 of a drug
overdose. Despite all their best efforts, John and
Maureen could never understand why Jacob never had a
better life.
If you study this case using the process, both Jeremy and
Jacob started at BIRTH and were exposed to virtually the
same environment when raised as children. Their
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PHYSICAL, INTELLECTUAL and EMOTIONAL
intelligences received, with some varying degree, the
same parental nurture, sights, sounds, smells and tastes
for years not to mention access to the same financial
resources provided by their father.
Yet, where Jeremy flourished, Jacob struggled.
Why? What is the variable?
According to Dr. Desiree Jabin in a study she conducted
in 2013, how the parent raises a child has less to do with
the formation of the adult personality and more with the
genetic make-up and socialization process of peer
influence.
This means that Jacob’s genetic sequence was different
then Jeremy’s and would be responsible for half of the
reactionary behavior in an identical environment shared
by his brother. Also, Jacob’s peers were able to influence
him more than his parents when it came to developing his
character, traits, habits and overall personality.
The bottom line, much of your character, traits, habits
and personality which make up your LIFE as an adult are
largely influenced by your genetic sequence and your
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peers. Parental nurturing has less to do with the result
according to genetic behavior experts.
It’s called the 50-0-50 rule.
Roughly 50% of the variance in personality, behavior,
and other traits is heritable, influenced by your
genetic sequence.
Roughly 0% by the shared environment. What
happens within the family and is experienced by all
siblings.
Roughly 50% by the non-shared environment What
happens inside and outside of the family, not shared
by any siblings.
Of course, this isn’t meant to get parents off the hook for
raising a bad child, but it is designed to show that if you
struggle as a parent there is much you’re up against.
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the flaw in education
We’ve all heard the phrase, we are creatures of habit.
It’s very true. We are reactive to our environment and
increase our intelligence as we grow using all of our
elements of biology - INTELLECTUAL, PHYSICAL and
EMOTIONAL.
You would think with the advances in the areas of
psychology, psychiatry, medicine and behavioral
sciences we would have learned about ourselves enough
to integrate this knowledge into our school systems.
Think again.
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There is so much that needs to be done to fix our schools
that it’s difficult to know where to start. Let’s first begin
with where we rank in the world in the areas of math,
reading and science.
PISA (Programme for International Student
Assessment) is a worldwide exam administered every
three years to students in the areas of math, science and
reading. The exam is given to 15-year-olds in 72 countries
with about 540,000 students that took the exam in 2015.
According to the testing results for 2015 the United States
finished 41 st in math, 24 th in reading and 25 th in science.
On the surface, when you see those rankings you would
think that this would be evidence that our school systems
are struggling. The truth is that you have to look deeper
and realize that the test is flawed with the perception it
creates around the world. That your ranking is somehow
equivalent to opportunity, culture, economy, finance,
progress or student demand.
The PISA tables seemingly tell us everything about the
relative skills of teenagers around the world in reading,
math and science, and are commonly used to name the
nations with the 'best' education systems. However,
much is left out.
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The country that topped the list in every category in 2015
was Singapore. A sister city to Hong Kong, Singapore has
the largest gap between the rich and the poor in the world.
Poverty is rampant throughout the country. It has
restrictions on freedom of speech, one of the highest
prisoner rates and possibly the highest level of mental
disorders and suicides that go unreported in the world.
Another country that consistently ranks high with this
exam is China. It’s education system is the envy of
many Western governments, who are keen to replicate
the nation's high test scores and levels of discipline in
their own schools.
However, the realities of schooling in China, looking
beyond the exam results of pupils, often prompt Western
critics to say the tests ignore cultural backdrops to
students' learning (such as the heavy pressure to perform
placed on many Chinese pupils), neglect to take into
account civic, artistic and moral development, and
encourage short-term fixes such as rote learning
(memorization and repetitive technique) that help
nations and schools climb league tables, but don't
necessarily provide education to students.
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In China, when the students come to the classroom, you
have to tell them you must learn something - it is your
duty to the country, to the nation, to your family.
The only people who believe the PISA league tables is the
Department for Education. This isn’t about education or
preparing our youth for life experiences, this is about
scoring.
However, let’s not lose sight as to why we go to school.
The purpose of school is not just to learn to read and to
study science and mathematics.
It’s to prepare you for LIFE.
In the United States, the first schools began in the 13
original colonies in the 17 th century. The earliest schools
focused on reading, writing, and mathematics… but they
also taught morality and discipline giving students the
principles of right and wrong as it applied in LIFE. It was
often required that you attend church with your parents
and study the principles in the bible and apply them to
everyday living.
Students in the colonies during the early and mid – 1700s
learn about loyalty to the crown (politics) and eventually
changed those teachings to patriotic beliefs after the end
of the Revolutionary War.
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Teachers in those days were often mothers who took in
neighborhood children.
Credit for our modern version of the school system
usually goes to Horace Mann. When he became Secretary
of Education in Massachusetts in 1837. He set forth his
vision for a system of professional teachers who would
teach students an organized curriculum of basic content.
Today’s school system no longer teaches morality,
character or ethics and the differences between right and
wrong have been politically ostracized. The pressure for
standardization have pushed these principles out of the
classroom, yet 19 states still allow discipline in schools
though these methods are rarely used.
Schools no longer teach religion, patriotism or even civics,
the theoretical, political and practical aspects of
citizenship that guided our founding fathers to form a
more perfect union.
Recent budget cuts in school systems around the country
are eliminating art and music classes, including many
athletic programs and even recess for kids in grade school.
The widely unpopular Common Core system that has
been implemented in recent years has teachers struggling
with student’s grades are falling.
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Want to know how we are doing as a country when it
comes to education?
How do we really rank as a country when it comes to
educating our citizens?
Let’s look at what’s really important.
Figure 1-97
There are fifty students who attend this class in the
diagram above. Figure 1-97.
Twelve students in this class won’t graduate high
school on time or ever. Every year, over 1.2 million
students drop out of high school in the United States
alone. That's a student every 26 seconds – or 7,000
a day. About 25% of high school freshmen fail to
graduate from high school on time.
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Thirty of these students will never go to college. In
1975 it cost $10,000 in college tuition fees and
room/board. In 2015 that figure has inflated to
$45,000 for private colleges and $24,000 for state
colleges. According to Edvisors.com 64% of college
students will run out of money to pay for their
education before they graduate. Reduced financial
aid, expensive textbooks and parents shrinking
savings.
Forty-two of these students will have changed jobs 8–
15 times by the age of 48. Average amount of time
they hold a job will be 5 years or less.
Twenty-six of these students will receive some form
of government assistance. Ranging from medical
coverage, veteran benefits to real estate programs.
Seventeen of these students will have criminal
records. Nearly 100 million Americans have a “rap
sheet” which averages just under 1 in 3. Average age
for their first arrest – 23 years old. Nearly half of those
that go to prison will have gone for a violent offense.
Three students will make at least a $100,000 annual
salary or more in their lifetime with only one student
making more than $200,000.
Thirty-two of these students will be clinically overweight
with 16 of these students diagnosed as obese.
Twenty-one of these students will meet with an
untimely death due to heart disease, cancer, stroke,
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espiratory disease and unintentional injuries. One
student will be murdered.
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