* Promise Nothing Just do what you most enjoy doing. Hidden benefit: You will always over-deliver. * Offer Nothing Just share what you have with those who express an interest in it. Hidden benefit: Takes the pressure off of wanting other people to see you as valuable or important. * Expect Nothing Just enjoy what you already have. It’s plenty. Hidden benefit: You will realize how complete your life is already. * Need Nothing Just build up your reserves and your needs will disappear. Hidden benefit: You boundaries will be extended and filled with space. * Create Nothing Just respond well to what comes to you. Hidden benefit: Openness. * Hype Nothing Just let quality sell by itself. Hidden benefit: Trustability. * Plan Nothing Just take the path of least resistance. Hidden benefit: Achievement will become effortless. * Learn Nothing Just let your body absorb it all on your behalf. Hidden benefit: You will become more receptive to what you need to know in the moment. * Become No One Just be more of yourself. Hidden benefit: Authenticity. * Change Nothing Just tell the truth and things will change by themselves. Hidden benefit: Acceptance.
I was calling Sleets because I wanted to talk to the man who invented the high five. I’d first read about him in 2007 in a press release from National High Five Day, a group that was trying to establish a holiday for convivial palm-slapping on the third Thursday in April. Apparently, Sleets had been reluctantly put in touch with the holiday’s founders, and he explained that his father, Lamont Sleets Sr., served in Vietnam in the 1st Battalion, 5th Infantry — a unit nicknamed The Five. The men of The Five often gathered at the Sleets home when Lamont Jr. was a toddler. They’d blow through the front door doing their signature greeting: arm straight up, five fingers spread, grunting “Five.” Lamont Jr. loved to jump up and slap his tiny palms against their larger ones. “Hi, Five!” he’d yell, unable to keep all their names straight.
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips’ red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask’d, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.