You know, there are a lot of directors, like Clint Eastwood (on Changeling) is one where he casts you and you know in many ways that's enough for him and so, you go, ok, well, he saw something. Ok, what is it that he saw? What is it that I brought to this and why am I right for this and not trying to double-guess it and get in your own way and get psyched out, 'cause he trusts so much.
Music can be useful during training to help get you psyched, and I still listen to music on easy climbs or in the gym. But during cutting-edge solos or really hard climbs, I unplug. There shouldn't be a need for extra motivation on big days, be it music or anything else. It should come from within.
You know what's awkward?" David asked, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Our entire existences?" Now the grin was real. "That, " he acknowledged. "And when you make a big, dramatic gesture because you think you're going to die, and then you-" "Don't die, " I finished for him, and he nodded. "Exactly. Not that I'm not one hundred percent psyched that we didn't die, but...
The state of mind of a fighter is so important. I don't like to see a fighter stay locked up in a room. Sometimes it works against them. They think and they worry. They dwell, sitting in that dark room. You come back and they're psyched out. I like to see boxers eat and then walk, mingle with people. You have to have a certain amount of movement.
The story he wrote was really good. Not about a little girl, and not one that grabs you by the nuts, but moving as hell. And when the daemon told him so, the guy was pretty psyched, and it showed. And that smile of his lingered on, even after the daemon pulled out his talent, folded it up very very small, and put it in a special box lined with Styrofoam peanuts.
Everyone wants something that'll appeal to, like, 13-year-olds to 18-year-olds. Especially working in television and trying to pitch shows, they're like, 'We definitely want something that a 14-year-old will be, like, super-psyched about.' And I'm like, 'I don't know if my reality is appealing to a 14-year-old.'
When you said younger, I almost wanted to say younger and wiser. Because there's something to be said for the not knowing thing - when you just have fuel, you don't have too much experience, you're just coming at it with some sort of - you know some sort of pure fuel, like jet fuel. You're just psyched and you're just going at it and you're not thinking too much about it. And you're definitely not factoring in all of this external perception of what you're doing. You're not feeling observed you're just - there's a wisdom to that naive - just go for it - iveness.
Realizing your goal, resolution, or transformation is a journey. Change, like any meaningful endeavor, proceeds sequentially through steps. The journey begins with the contemplation stage of specifying realistic goals, getting ready, or getting psyched. The planning stage is all about prepping. How exactly will I do this thing? At some point you will jump from preparing and planning to perspiring, the work of implementing the new, desired behavior. Getting there is wonderful, but we need to keep you there, which entails persevering through slips and, finally, persisting over time.
John C. Norcross
I can't say that I was my happiest on court, but I felt completely free. Free from family obligations, free from my own torment. In a real sense I was a different person. It was a place where I could not tolerate the idea of being beaten. I psyched myself up into a state where I felt something close to hatred towards my opponent, a state where I detested the idea of someone making his name at the expense of Jimmy Connors. I was in my element on court, measuring myself against someone else. I was not competitive for show. It came from deep within.
Jesus waited three days to come back to life. It was perfect! If he had only waited one day, a lot of people wouldn't have even heard he died. They'd be all, "Hey Jesus, what up?" and Jesus would probably be like, "What up? I died yesterday!" and they'd be all, "Uh, you look pretty alive to me, dude... " and then Jesus would have to explain how he was resurrected, and how it was a miracle, and the dude'd be like "Uhh okay, whatever you say, bro... " And he's not gonna come back on a Saturday. Everybody's busy, doing chores, workin' the loom, trimmin' the beard, NO. He waited the perfect number of days, three. Plus it's Sunday, so everyone's in church already, and they're all in there like "Oh no, Jesus is dead", and then BAM! He bursts in the back door, runnin' up the aisle, everyone's totally psyched, and FYI, that's when he invented the high five. That's why we wait three days to call a woman, because that's how long Jesus wants us to wait... True story.
IN 93 I HIT THE SCENE FIRST ALBUM TRUE STORY I WAS PSYCHED OFF GHETTO BOYS NO NUTS NO GLORY THEN I BOUNCED BACK WIT THE CLASSIC CHOPPER CITY HAD EVERY NIGGA IN NEW ORLEANS ROLLING WITH ME THEN I SHOOK BACK WITH THAT FUCKIN VOLUME ONE REAL STREET NIGGAS WAS RESPECCIN HOW IT COME THEN I DOUBLED BACK WITH THAT FUCKIN VOLUME TWO YOU KNOW THE NAME OF EM IT WAS ALL ON U A MINUTE AFTER THAT WAS CHOPPER CITY IN THE GHETTO I COULD'A CAME HARDER I KEPT IT A LIL' MELLO I WENT TO JAIL CAME HOME DROPPED CHECKMATE AND MADE IT OFFICIAL B.GIZZLE AINT FAKE LEFT CASH MONEY HIT EM UPP WIT LIVIN LEGEND HAD TO BUST A MOVE BABY WAS DOIN TO MUCH REPPIN NOW IM BACK AGAIN AINT A DAMN THING FUNNY THIS ALBUM NUMBER EIGHT LIFE AFTER CASH MONEY
Billy tries to imagine the vast systems that support these athletes. They are among the best-cared for creatures in the history of the planet, beneficiaries of the best nutrition, the latest technologies, the finest medical care, they live at the very pinnacle of American innovation and abundance, which inspires an extraordinary thought - send them to fight the war! Send them just as they are this moment, well rested, suited up, psyched for brutal combat, send the entire NFL! Attack with all our bears and raiders, our ferocious redskins, our jets, eagles, falcons, chiefs, patriots, cowboys - how could a bunch of skinny hajjis in man-skits and sandals stand a chance against these all-Americans? Resistance is futile, oh Arab foes. Surrender now and save yourself a world of hurt, for our mighty football players cannot be stopped, they are so huge, so strong, so fearsomely ripped that mere bombs and bullets bounce off their bones of steel. Submit, lest our awesome NFL show you straight to the flaming gates of hell!
The car drove slowly down the road, following the slow speed limit to a tee. The engine hummed almost inaudibly to the couple so used to the sound; it was practically a lullaby. The man and woman in the two front seats both struggled to keep their drooping eyes open. The man concentrated hard, with the cool air from the vents blowing on his face. Being behind the wheel of a car was always a challenge after driving for hours. The twig of a girl curled up next to him rested her black and teal hair against the window, peering out into the jet-black night. She watched the city lights pass by, so much brighter than usual against the dark sky. She read the sign that passed by ever so slowly, and smiled slightly. 'Welcome to the town of Crimson, ' she mumbled in a scratchy voice. She wasn't so excited, but at least that meant she could stretch her cramped legs soon. 'I know you don't like the idea of moving, but you'll get used to it. I promise, in a couple of weeks you'll like it here, ' the man's deep voice said, crackling with fatigue. 'I hope so, ' she mumbled. 'Hey, I promise, ' he assured her. 'Alright, ' she said, passively. She glanced over at him and gave him a small smile, taking in his details. His hair was naturally black, and the tips were red, thanks to her suggestion, and it reached down to his jaw. His sleepy eyes were green, contrasting with his pale skin. His nose was thin and rounded, but not too thin, and his chin came to a smooth point. His lips were plump and decorated with snakebite piercings. She eyed the rest of him, then, from his beautiful face, down his thin frame, over the black clothes he wore, to his thin wrists; the left covered in a tribal tattoo. He smiled back, and caressed her smooth, pale cheek lightly with his thumb. She smiled again, and looked out the window once more. She watched the town pass by agonizingly slow. At least she could take in the details. The town looked like it had come straight from the Renaissance, but modernized. Instead of candles, they of course had light bulbs. She found it kind of eerie, yet nice. The town was so active, and alive. Everyone was out, and going about their business. They seemed friendly, too. Some of them waved as the car passed by. She smiled, amused, and looked at the clock. 'Wow, this town is so active, for being 3 in the morning! You would think they'd all be sleeping, ' she said. 'We're not, ' he told her. 'They didn't travel hours to get here, ' she replied. 'Yeah, yeah, ' he said in defeat. 'We're almost there, ' he added, with an ear-to-ear grin. She knew he was excited, and suddenly she was too. She hadn't been, but she suddenly felt like she was on an adventure, and was totally psyched. She sat up with a grin almost as big as her husband's, and peered out the window into the night. He let out a soft laugh. 'You're cute, ' he told her, eyeing her up and down. She was more pale than he was, but it suited her well. Her entire frame was thin, and her face was oval. Her eyes were blue and held the look of excitement. Her eyebrows were naturally thin and the right one was pierced. Her nose was small and pointed, and she had a shiny ring through her septum. He found her the most beautiful creature in the world.