I died three times just after being born. Got last rites (Catholic, almost automatic). Later got baptised Methodist. So that’s:
Oh, and I got christened in the Eastern Orthodox (among Ruthenians) at age 24.
1: Womb-me died when umbilical cord cut.
2: Outside me died. Came back.
3: Came back me died, was born-again in Christ.
4: born-again in Christ.died, came back
5. came back born again in Christ died, came back.
6. came back came back born again in Christ was born again in Christ.
7. Adult came back came back born again born again me died and was born again in Christ.
So, 7 times according to Christian logic.
It’s good motivation, although it’s not universal. What doesn’t kill you can make you weaker, suffer pain and anguish, reduce you to a shadow of your former self.
But for everyday transformation, it’s good stuff. I don’t apply it to people who suffer from issues that I can’t begin to fathom but I think it’s good for mid bell curve
If you get into the spirit of it, motivation is fantastic stuff. Optimism, positive thinking, “I can do this”. Find like-minded folks and it amplifies.
BUT, always hold in your head that you’ll encounter folks for whom this stuff is ineffective. They’ve been there, done that. For them, it’s like holding out a bottle of aspirin when they need morphine.
I’m not diluting the amazing transformational power of properly timed motivation. Just a note of self-awareness.
That said: Be Stronger Than Your Excuses.
Now to finally answer:
“Where did that old you die?”
8 yrs old. Walking home from school. 3rd grade.
I chanted to myself: “Sticks and Stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me.”
Through tears and sniffles. Name-calling hit me. Teachers got meaner, friends turned to bullies or fair-weather friends. I had hit the “socially aware” age and it SUCKED.
I knew it was a lie. Names hurt. They sting. They STICK.
But I had to develop a shield around my heart, around my outer perimeter.
It wasn’t developing strength. Oh no. It was learning to protect my core from outer influence.
BUT: I didn’t die that year. I created a “public me” that year.