Latest news with #RiseAbove
RNZ News
27-05-2025
- Health
- RNZ News
Feature interview: How to overcome a victim mindset
Newsflash. No one's life is perfect. But we've managed to turn everyday suffering into social currency and being a victim into a competitive sport says renowned psychologist Dr Scott Barry Kaufman. In the age of TikTok therapy, typical difficult feelings are treated like a diagnosis. Dr Kaufman says that while some adversity is real, it can be the start of the story not the end of it. His new book offers insights about taking personal responsibility and embracing the idea that our greatest challenges can result in our greatest victories. The book is called Rise Above: Overcome a Victim Mindset, Empower Yourself, and Realize Your Full Potential. To embed this content on your own webpage, cut and paste the following: See terms of use.
CNBC
19-05-2025
- General
- CNBC
Ivy League psychologist shares his No. 1 key to success and happiness: 'We have to choose a different way of living'
Often, people's biggest obstacle to success and happiness is their own fear — of failure, rejection, or uncertainty, to name just a few — says psychologist Scott Barry Kaufman. You can overcome it with a process called "unlearning fear," says Kaufman, an adjunct associate professor of psychology at Columbia University's Barnard College. By doing so, you can become more resilient and, ultimately, more successful by developing an ability to identify your self-imposed obstacles and think objectively about how to move past them, he adds. "Fear is automatically learned" from people's past experiences and traumas, Kaufman writes in his latest book, "Rise Above," which published in April. "And fear must be actively unlearned: We have to choose a different way of living, and we can start by taking responsibility for the fact that unlearning fear — or any past patterns — can take a lot of inner work." Avoiding something that scares you is a normal reaction, says Kaufman. Maybe you're afraid to ask your boss for a promotion or apply for a new job, because you don't want to suffer the disappointment of rejection. Or, maybe you fear failure too much to take the risk of launching your own business. The easiest thing to do in those situations is typically nothing: "Our default state is to have a sense of helplessness when we get overwhelmed," Kaufman the key to "unlearning fear" is to reframe what frightens or worries you as an opportunity to learn or try something new, and potentially unlock a greater level of success than you'd previously thought possible. Kaufman calls this "learning hopefulness," he says: "You can, in any moment, decide to live and make the fear decision or make the growth decision. You have more control over that than you realize." Try asking yourself "What" questions instead of "Why" questions, Kaufman recommends. He offers this example: Your boss gives you more work than you were expecting, leading you to feel overwhelmed and frustrated. "You can go from 'Why am I feeling this?' to, 'OK, what am I feeling? What would make me feel better?'" Kaufman says. "Asking, 'what' questions — 'What do I need right now, in this moment?' — these lead to a whole upward spiral of productive questions." The result: You might end up talking to your boss about setting realistic expectations for how much work you can get done in a set amount of time, so you can prioritize your tasks together. Asking why can lead you to "a dead end" for identifying possible solutions, Kaufman says. Asking "what" helps create distance and objectivity, making it easier for you to recognize harmful patterns and come up with solutions to break them — ultimately helping you build the mental strength and resilience you need to overcome obstacles and become more successful. "If we approach life with a sense of flexibility and embracing all that life has to offer, we learn that everything can teach us something," says Kaufman. "Going into any situation with curiosity and an openness to learning is a much better way than leading with your fear." Other experts recommend similar strategies to overcome fears, particularly fear of failure. Most successful people can reframe their failures, identifying them more as learning opportunities, rather than falling into the trap of a "fear-based fixed mindset," psychologist psychologist Jenny Wang wrote for CNBC Make It in May 2022. Failure is "a pitstop where you refuel your journey and redirect your approach," Wang wrote, adding: "Failure can be a tool to help hone your skills, understand your obstacles, and realize that you have it within yourself to stand back up and keep pushing." ,
Hindustan Times
26-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Workout tunes: Sanjoy Narayan puts together a playlist to help you flex
I know this will sound sanctimonious, but the gym is my temple (there, I said it). It's a sacred space where sweat and steel forge resilience. For 28 years, I've leaned on the barbell. I'm a 65-year-old devotee still hitting the iron three to four days a week. This journey began in my late-30s, as a tentative flirtation with weights. It was, in part, a response to an early health warning, but the weights soon became a full-blown obsession. From the raw grit of 1970s classic rock to the cerebral pulse of modern jazz, I've scoured genres for the perfect sonic fuel to power my lifts. Here's how I went from punk rock deadlifts to squatting with Miles Davis — and why jazz became the ultimate soundtrack for strength-training. My lifting odyssey began at 37. In addition to my health warning, I was inspired by the musician Henry Rollins's visceral essays on weightlifting. ('The Iron never lies to you,' he writes in one. 'You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you're a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal.') His punk-rock ethos — raw, defiant, transformative — spoke to me as I navigated the chaos of midlife. I dove into punk, blasting the Black Flag album Damaged through my headphones as I tackled my first bench presses, Rise Above fuelling my fledgling grit. The Ramones' Rocket to Russia powered my early lightweight deadlifts, its relentless simplicity a match for my debutant's zeal. Punk was loud, unpolished and urgent; perfect for a beginner finding his footing in an intimidating Mumbai gym. As my commitment deepened in my 40s, so did my musical explorations. Punk's raw energy gave way to 1970s classic rock, the soundtrack of my teens. Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti became a staple, Kashmir driving my squats with its hypnotic cadence. Deep Purple's Machine Head pushed my bench sessions, Highway Star coaxing one more rep from weary muscles. These bands, with their towering riffs, turned workouts into epic clashes, making each set a tiny bit easier to tackle. For a while. I also dabbled in psychedelic rock, drawn to that genre's experimental edge. Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon lent a surreal calm to warm-ups, while Jefferson Airplane's Surrealistic Pillow added a trippy vibe to accessory work. But psychedelia lacked the punch required for heavy lifts. Waylon Jennings's Honky Tonk Heroes had a rugged charm for kettlebell farmer's walks (that's one kettlebell in each hand), yet country felt too mellow. I tried folk, and found that Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks suited recovery sessions, but not the demands of a PR (personal record) attempt. In the 2010s, I began to expand my playlists to include late-'80s and early-'90s gangsta rap. NWA's Straight Outta Compton hit like a sledgehammer, the raw aggression perfect for psyching up before a set. Public Enemy's It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back brought raging fervour to my squats, Chuck D's voice slicing through the clank of plates. Wu-Tang Clan's Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) fuelled tough pull-ups, its gritty beats and sharp lyrics egging me on. Rap's unapologetic edge mirrored the defiance I felt, pushing my body through middle-age. As I crossed into my 60s, though, my training crystallised. Compound exercises (a mix of squats, deadlifts, benches and overhead presses) became my mantra in my temple. They were frill-free exercises that build on decades of effort. With this clarity came a new soundtrack genre: jazz. I started with the masters. Miles Davis's Kind of Blue flowed through my warm-ups, its modal coolness setting a meditative tone. John Coltrane's A Love Supreme accompanied my squats, its spiritual depth echoing the focus of a heavy set. Charles Mingus's The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady brought frenetic energy to heavy deadlifts, while Ron Carter's bass lines on Speak No Evil anchored my dumbbell bench press. Jazz isn't just music; it's a conversation. Its improvisational flow syncs with my lifts, the changing notes mirroring the instinctual adjustments of a well-executed rep. A great lift, like a great solo, demands precision and freedom, discipline and daring. Modern jazz has deepened this connection. Kamasi Washington's The Epic brings cinematic grandeur to my sessions. Shabaka Hutchings's We Are Sent Here by History matches the fire of my heaviest days. Vijay Iyer's Break Stuff adds intellectual rigour to warm-ups, while André 3000's New Blue Sun offers meditative calm for cooldowns. The new British jazz scene — Nubya Garcia, Moses Boyd, Ezra Collective — infuses my workouts with vibrant, relentless grooves. Why jazz? Because it's not just about adrenaline (though jazz delivers that too). Lifting has its rhythm — inhale, brace, lift, exhale — and jazz, with its syncopated pulse and unpredictable turns, mirrors that perfectly. In my mid-60s, I'm not chasing the reckless intensity of my 40s. I'm pursuing zen and the quiet power that a body can achieve. Jazz is the soundtrack for that pursuit, complex and soulful; a reminder that strength, like music, evolves. (To write in with feedback, email
Forbes
15-04-2025
- Health
- Forbes
4 Ways To Overcome Victim Mindset At Work
You can overcome a victim mindset at work. getty You've probably seen the victim mindset at work, both in yourself and others. The team member who blames every missed deadline on "impossible expectations" rather than looking for solutions or figuring out how to prioritize. The manager who says their team underperforms because "HR sent me bad hires" instead of looking at their leadership style. The colleague who believes "the boss plays favorites," without considering how they might better demonstrate their value and advocate for themselves. Maybe you've even caught yourself in this pattern too. You might not even realize you're doing it until you're deep in a spiral of negative thoughts. Falling into a victim mindset is actually quite natural—it's our brain's way of protecting us from perceived threats and preserving our self-image when things go wrong. When we face challenges or criticism, our minds instinctively look outward for causes rather than inward for solutions. While this self-protective mechanism may feel comforting in the moment, it can ultimately hold us back from growth, resilience, and taking productive action. Luckily, this mindset isn't fixed. It's something we can recognize and change with practice. Psychologist Dr. Scott Barry Kaufman has studied this pattern for years, drawing from both research and personal experience. His new book, Rise Above, offers evidence-based insights on how to shift from feeling powerless to taking meaningful action. Here are key takeaways from his work that can help you transform your approach at work. Being victimized by unfair circumstances is different from adopting a victim mindset. As Kaufman explains, you can face real challenges, biases, or difficult systems without letting them define your outlook. Acknowledging barriers while still taking personal responsibility allows you to maintain agency in challenging situations. This distinction is crucial in the workplace. You might genuinely encounter unfair treatment—discrimination, working under a difficult manager, or dealing with unreasonable deadlines. But the problem arises when these experiences become the lens through which you view your entire work life. Try a "yes, and" approach, acknowledging the reality of challenging systems while still asking yourself, "How can I as an individual make the most of my situation knowing I have to live within that system?" This doesn't mean accepting unfair treatment or not working toward systemic change. Rather, it means refusing to surrender your agency and joy while navigating difficult circumstances. For example, if you're facing a biased performance review system at work, you can simultaneously acknowledge this unfairness while also advocating for better processes,, focusing on showcasing your achievements, or building relationships with allies. When you catch yourself blaming external factors for your workplace challenges, create psychological distance from these thoughts. For example, when thoughts like "my boss is always creating problems" cross your mind, try: You can also use a technique from psychologist Tasha Eurich of swapping why questions for what questions. Instead of asking, "Why does my boss always do this to me?" or 'Why am I never recognized for my work?' to 'What am I feeling right now, and what's driving that feeling?' or, "What opportunities exist within this challenge?" This earned hopefulness pairs perfectly with building emotional resilience. Many of us have become victims to our own emotions, believing we can't take action until we feel comfortable or confident. But as Kaufman points out, 'Sometimes the only way out is through.' Learned hopefulness can be developed by: When one person or situation disappoints you at work, it's remarkably easy to spiral into catastrophic thinking. A single critical comment from your manager can transform into "I'm never appreciated here." One missed opportunity can become "I'll never advance in this field." Kaufman illustrates this with a personal example: "I've taken up magic lately and I go around to restaurants and do mentalism. The manager at one restaurant was clearly not into magic and was being dismissive. It would be very simple to overgeneralize and think, 'No one wants me here,' but the kitchen staff and bartenders were saying, 'Wow, it's amazing, do more!'" This example highlights a crucial truth: most people aren't actively conspiring against you. As Kaufman puts it, "The truth of the matter is that people just don't care about you. They're not actively conspiring against you. They're just in their own worlds." Notice when you use absolute language like "always," "never," or "everyone" in your internal dialogue. These words are red flags that you're overgeneralizing. When you catch yourself thinking "My team never appreciates my contributions" after one person overlooks your work, pause and challenge that interpretation. Ask yourself if there's evidence that contradicts your sweeping conclusion. Perhaps other colleagues have expressed appreciation recently, or maybe the person who didn't acknowledge your work was distracted by other priorities. The next time you feel yourself slipping into victim thinking, remember that you have choices. You can choose to see multiple pathways forward. You can choose to hold both frustration and hope simultaneously. You can choose to view setbacks as temporary rather than permanent. These choices won't magically transform difficult workplace situations, but they will transform your experience of them.
Japan Times
10-04-2025
- Sport
- Japan Times
Augusta National celebrates legacy of Black caddies at Masters
Thirty years ago this week, on the 18th green of the Augusta National Golf Club, a caddie comforted his weeping player, hugging him tight and supporting him. It was their second Masters victory together — 11 years after the first one. The player's tears were of joy, but also of relief after a week where emotion off the course had been running through the tournament. Ben Crenshaw, the 19-time PGA Tour champion, and Carl Jackson, among the most famous Augusta National caddies, were that pair. Jackson had been on Crenshaw's bag at the Masters since 1976, and the pair had been in contention several times since their first victory in 1984. But that week was different. The tournament started just days after Crenshaw's mentor and teacher, Harvey Penick, had died, adding an emotional weight to what Crenshaw called his favorite tournament. The image of a tall Black caddie supporting a bent-over white golfer showed more than victory and relief. It captured the bond between two men who had become friends. "Ben was hovered over,' Jackson said in an interview last month. "I said to him, 'It's going to be OK. You just won the Masters.' He had a lot to carry on his mind during the tournament that week, thinking about Harvey Penick.' Crenshaw said that the two were in sync at the 1995 Masters. "We've been in the heat many, many times,' he said in an interview last month, referring to that feeling of being close to victory. "It's just so much fun. It's what you strive for. To have pulled off winning the Masters twice, and with Carl, is one of my warmest memories.' By that point, they had developed trust over 20 years together. It was Jackson, after all, who noticed something different about Crenshaw's swing on the range during that '95 Masters week and suggested a change. "He knew me very well,' Crenshaw said. "He knew how I was feeling. What my shots were like. He just had a wonderful intuition. I depended on him a lot.' Their win opened up interest into Jackson's bigger story and Augusta National's all-Black caddies. Now, three decades after the image from that victory, the role of those caddies is being celebrated in Augusta, Georgia, with a sculpture in the Sand Hills neighborhood, where Jackson grew up, and with a documentary based on his life, "Rise Above,' released late last year. Until 1982, every golfer playing in the Masters had to use an Augusta National caddie. Hord Hardin, the chair at the time, changed the rule, and the next year, golfers were allowed to bring their own caddie. It marked the start of a very different caddie corps at the club. "What a lot of these caddies knew was how to read people,' said Ward Clayton, author of "The Legendary Caddies of Augusta National' (2024). "They had a smorgasbord of skills. One guy might be the best green reader they ever had. Another guy is the best yardage guy. Another might be able to read the personality of who he was caddying for.' And many of them were known by colorful nicknames. Willie Perteet, known as Cemetery, was President Dwight Eisenhower's caddie. Nathaniel Avery, known as Iron Man, caddied for Arnold Palmer when he won Masters titles in 1958, 1960, 1962 and 1964. In 1971, when Charlie Coody won the Masters, he had caddie Walter Pritchett, known as Cricket, who hadn't told his day job that he was at Augusta National. As Coody played himself into contention on Saturday, Cricket began to worry about the TV coverage. "Cricket looks at Coody and says 'What time does CBS TV start today?'' Clayton said. "Coody says, 'Why do you need to know that?' Cricket said, 'I drive a bus in Atlanta, and I said I was going to visit my sick aunt, and I didn't know you were going to play this well.'" So on the holes with TV cameras, Cricket covered his face with a towel. "Charlie Coody insists that in the final rounds, every time he looked up he laughed when he saw Cricket with the towel over his head,' Clayton said. "It kept him relaxed.' Jackson, whose nickname was Skillet, is among the last surviving members of those Augusta National Black caddies. He said the caddies worked to memorize the course and its greens; they succeeded by knowing how to size up the player they had that day. "We had to learn how to caddie just by eyesight,' he said. "I would take a guy, watch him hit a 7-iron that was a decent shot, and from that point on your instincts picked up on just how far every other club goes.' Dropping out of school to support his family, Jackson began working as a caddie at 14. His first break at Augusta National was with Jackson Stephens, who was known as Jack, an investment banker from Little Rock, Arkansas, and the future chair of Augusta National. "He was a great putter. He made as many putts around Augusta National as Ben Crenshaw,' said Jackson, who began to caddie for Stephens in 1961. "He thought I was the best reader of the greens, even before I was 20 years old. I got to be with him every time he was there at Augusta. Then he hired me, and I moved to Arkansas. I was always traveling back and forth. He trusted me and got me ready for Ben Crenshaw.' Because Augusta National is a winter club that closes in May and reopens in the fall, the caddies would go elsewhere in the summer. Jackson worked and lived with the Stephens family, where he helped manage their properties. In the early 1980s, Stephens took Jackson as his partner in a friendly match at Augusta National. At that time, it was a rarity for a Black golfer or caddie to play the course. In 1975, Lee Elder became the first Black man to play in the Masters. (The club would not admit its first Black member until 1990.) "It surprised me,' Jackson recalled. "He was the last member at the course that particular weekend. He said, 'Carl, you and I are going to play golf today.' He said, 'Go over to the pro shop and tell Bob Kletcke [the head pro] that we're going to play him and his partner today.'' Jackson said it was as much a surprise to him as anyone else. "I had to go find shoes and clubs and get ready myself," he said. "By the time I was ready, it was all over the golf club that I was going out to play the course with Jack Stephens. All the caddies were out there. All the people who worked in the clubhouse came out." Jackson remembers hitting a perfect drive off the first tee, a shot he had advised players on for decades, but had never hit himself. His lone birdie that day came on the 15th hole. Overall, Jackson caddied in 54 Masters tournaments, 39 of those for Crenshaw. Other players included Gary Player and Charlie Coe. Today, he's still consulted. He has shared his knowledge of the greens with Jordan Spieth and his caddie Michael Greller and with Scottie Scheffler and his caddie Ted Scott. "I figured out the greens,' Jackson said. "My book is different than the Augusta National book. Ben knew I had figured it out.' Even the greatest caddies understand that the final decision on a shot is up to their player. On that 72nd hole in 1995, Crenshaw needed a bogey to win. He'd missed the green short and chipped up safely per Jackson's advice. He had a putt for par. "I told him it would break left,' Jackson recalled. "He played it to break right, and it broke left.' The ball stopped about a foot from the hole. Crenshaw tapped it in for the victory. "He got away with not listening to me on that one,' Jackson said, "because we won.' This article originally appeared in The New York Times. This article originally appeared in The New York Times © 2025 The New York Times Company
