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A Ghost Story About Blame


I used to go to work each day blaming my boss, my team, my husband, anyone really, for the situation I was in.


Day in and day out I would walk around as a victim of circumstances out of my control.

Each day I drove to work I would also drop my daughter at daycare. On our route we would pass a graveyard. I never thought much of the graveyard until my daughter began talking.

Everyday as we passed the graveyard she would inevitably mention something about dead people and what all the cement statues were for.


On one particular day we talked about what the tombstones represented. A person’s name and something they contributed to the world. On this day I wanted to give her a real example so as we waited to turn onto the road across from the cemetery I picked out a headstone to talk about. Except the headstone I picked out had my last name written on it in big bold letters. There was no first name. Chills ran down my spine as I thought about what this represented.


What would be written on my tombstone if I died that day? What value had I added to the world?


In that very moment all I thought was “she blamed everyone but herself.”

Since then I have made a complete 180 in my thinking. I left my corporate job to teach others to grow and own their lives.


I still pass this cemetery daily with my younger child and I still see the Hawkins grave marker, but now I smile because if today happens to be my last day, I’m living my life in ownership and living my passion.

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