Page 63 - 100 Ways to Motivate Yourself

Terry Hill is a writer who has lived all over the world and has been a friend

of mine since we met each other in the sixth grade in Birmingham, Michigan.
His short story, “Cafes Are for Handicapping,” features an intriguing character
named Joe Warner who likes to tell stories about horse racing.

Joe Warner tells the story of being in the press box at Belmont when
Secretariat put away the Triple Crown by 31 lengths.

“And I looked beside me when he was coming down the stretch at all these
hardened, cigar-chomping New York newspapermen and they all had tears
running down their cheeks like little babies. ‘Course I couldn’t see too clear
myself for the tears in my eyes. I was 23 at the time. And it was the first Triple
Crown in my lifetime. Imagine that.”

That story brought me even closer to a question I’ve been asking all my life.
Why do we cry when we see huge accomplishments? Why do we cry at
weddings? Why do I cry when the blind girl jumps with her horse in the movie
Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken? Or when the Titans win the game in Denzel
Washington’s Remember the Titans? Why did those sportswriters cry to see that
horse win by 31 lengths?

This is my theory: we weep for the winner inside of all of us. In these
poignant moments, we cry because we know for a fact that there is something in
us that could be every bit as great as what we are watching. We are, for that

moment, the untapped greatness we are seeing. But we get tears in our eyes,
because we know the greatness isn’t being realized. We could have been like
that, but we aren’t.

Terry Hill also gives public talks on creativity. His own work in advertising
and public relations throughout the years has won countless awards and, as one
might expect, he presents some learned and sophisticated formulas for
“creating.” But he finishes all his talks by saying it is really a simple thing to be
creative—all you do is “get your stars out.” That’s how you tap into the
untapped you.

His reference is to Seymour: An Introduction by J.D. Salinger. Seymour is
writing a letter to his brother Buddy, who has chosen to become a professional

writer. Seymour tells his brother that writing has always been more than a
profession, that it has been more like Buddy’s religion. He says that Buddy will
be asked two very profound questions when he dies about the writing he was
doing: 1) “Were most of your stars out?”; and 2) “Were you busy writing your