Art Series: Landscapes of Whimsy

  • The Only Prescription

    “The Only Prescription” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    Somehow, the television show Saturday Night Live took a lowly old cowbell and turned it into a pop culture phenomenon.

    The famous skit imagines a studio session with the band Blue Öyster Cult recording their hit song “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper.” Christopher Walken, as “rock legend” Bruce Dickinson (“the cock of the walk, baby!”), singles out the little-used percussion instrument, played by Will Ferrell. Hilarity ensues as Dickinson urges the band to highlight the cowbell in the song.

    Now the script was funny, and Walken and the other actors nailed their performances. But what is most interesting to me is that Ferrell and playwright Donnell Campbell, who co-wrote the sketch, first had to notice the cowbell in the original song by Blue Öyster Cult.

    They noticed something most people didn’t and saw an opportunity.

    During a family vacation in Mexico, we bought a coconut drink from a roadside vendor for about $2. We enjoyed the drink and threw out the shell. (What else would we do with it?) Then I recalled some of the restaurants we visited where frozen drinks were served in coconut shells with tiny umbrellas. Undoubtedly, those drinks sold for a higher price than the same one served in a boring old glass.

    A “useless” coconut shell was transformed into something of value. Enterprising business owners had literally turned garbage into money.

    Of course, flea markets and thrift stores do the exact same thing. And people who buy and flip fixer-uppers? Where most people see a dilapidated lost cause, they see a tidy profit and a future feature in a glossy magazine.

    The most successful people see opportunities that others miss.

    I’d argue that it’s not a talent; it’s a habit. In the middle of the Panic of 1873, a six-year recession, Thomas Edison invented the incandescent light bulb. In 1876, he established GE (General Electric Co.), which is now the third-largest company in the world.

    In the late 1970s, the United States experienced an energy crisis, and inflation ballooned out of control, causing a major recession that lasted for thirty months.

    In the midst of this economic storm, Applebee’s, Ben & Jerry’s, Olive Garden, and Fuddruckers were founded. In fact, all of the following entities were formed during a recession: Burger King, The Jim Henson Company, FedEx, CNN, Hewlett-Packard, MTV, Hyatt Hotels, Trader Joe’s, Sports Illustrated, and Wikipedia.

    The first Apple Store opened in the recession of 2001 and was declared dead on arrival. Which, of course, it wasn’t; it was so successful that in the recession of 2008, many people considered Apple Stores to be recession-proof.

    And according to Forbes, the COVID crisis was a catapult for launching over 4 million new small business ventures, the largest eruption in the history of our country.

    I remember talking to an elderly real estate tycoon during that economic nosedive of 2008. He grumbled about how all everyone seemed to do was complain about the bad economy. All he could see was an abundance of opportunities, and he lamented that he didn’t have enough years left to take advantage of them all.

    Most of the time, the difference between success and failure is determined by what we decide to see.

    Indeed, the best time to buy stock is when the market is down.

    The best time to start a business is when the economy is bad.

    The best business ideas solve real problems.

    We need you to look at the world as a child would, with big dreams, boundless optimism, and a vision of what’s possible.

    We need you to see through new eyes and find the opportunity that is right under your nose.

    We need more cowbell.

  • Insert Coin

    “Insert Coin” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 24. Oil on canvas.
    Original is available. 🟢 Shop this art!

    My Grandpa and uncle used to own a tavern. Once in a while, they’d close it to host family parties. I remember the dimly lit atmosphere and the ghosts of spent cigarettes that hung in the air, but my favorite feature was the row of arcade games lined up against the wall. They were blinking, bright doorways to amazing worlds and grand adventures. 

    I don’t remember ever being given any money from my parents to play them. But no matter. Each game had a preview segment, showing a minute or so of the gameplay to entice you to feed it some coins. I just delighted in going from machine to machine, maneuvering the joystick and mashing buttons while pretending I was the one controlling the game.

    Eventually, the novelty wore off, as the preview always ended the same way. I could pretend for hours, living in a fantasy world, which was fun for a while. But if I wanted to experience the game for real, I had to insert some coins.

    Sometimes we live “preview” lives in our own heads. Imagining what it would be like if we made the decision to ask her out. Or put the house up for sale and embark on that quest. Or ask for that raise. Or quit that godforsaken job once and for all. Sometimes those visions in our heads have amazing endings, others have disastrous results, but either way, it’s all fake.

    No matter how certain you are of the likely result (good or bad), you don’t know what will really happen until you actually go for it. Knowing for sure? That costs something.

    You have to be willing to insert the coin.

    It might be a financial investment, of course, but that’s not usually what holds us back. Not really. More often, it’s the fear of the unknown, of not measuring up, or the risk of failure (and the embarrassment that might come from it). Sometimes we shy away from the pain and discomfort it will require. We’re just not willing to put in the work or serve the time to get where we want to be.

    A few years after my grandfather closed the tavern for good, I had a friend who was great at video games. My brothers and I would sit and watch him play Super Mario Bros., delighted to see how far he’d get, fingers crossed over whether he’d be able to defeat Bowser and win the game. It too was fun, for a while. But the joy was always fleeting because his success was not ours. It was always more fulfilling to solve a level on my own, even if I never did make it as far in the game as he did.

    This painting is inspired by that original Nintendo classic. I’m intrigued by the idea of coming across one of the game’s iconic green pipes in the middle of a wide-open field. What’s it doing there? Where does it lead? And most importantly, would I have the courage to find out?

    Life is a lot like a video game. It’s filled with challenges, obstacles, and opportunities to level up. But unlike most video games in which you have a few “lives” to get it right, real life only gives you one.

    What a pity to waste it watching someone else’s game or settling for an imaginary version of your own. 

    What a shame to let fear keep you from fully owning your story and who you are meant to become. 

    Don’t miss the adventure of a lifetime.

    Insert the coin.

  • The Peach

    “The Peach” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    Eating a peach, in season, perfectly ripe, is pure magic. But also messy.

    Oh, sure, you can eat peaches before they’re ripe, and they might drip less, but they’re not nearly as good. The best peaches are always messy.

    Now I’ll admit it: I prefer tidy. I like the structure of a good plan. I feel good when the dishes are done and the counter is cleared. I’m easily disturbed when piles stay piles for too long.

    Is that an Adultitis-fueled trait? Perhaps. But I do find that I am more present, relaxed, and creative when clutter and chaos are minimised. In general, I don’t think it’s a terrible trait to have. And I don’t believe that an Adultitis-free life disregards any sense of order.

    That said, I think we can all agree that 2020 has been less than tidy. I recently reviewed a list of all the goals I’d set for the year, and I had to cross out about 80% of them because they’d become either irrelevant or impossible. This year has been a real mess of confusion, conflict, and anxiety. In many ways, it has been a bona fide dumpster fire.

    But can I let you in on a secret? We’re only halfway through, but I suspect I will look back on this year as one of the best years of my life. It might take me a few years to fully own that, but I can already see hints of its truthfulness.

    At the very beginning of the pandemic, Kim and I started doing daily live-streams from our kitchen table. We didn’t know what the future had in store for us, but the message we hammered on over and over was this: look for the opportunity. We encouraged you to ask yourself, “Now that this has happened, what does this make possible?”

    It was the advice we shared, but also followed. 

    This pandemic has strengthened my relationship with God in untold ways. It brought my family closer together. It has pushed me and Kim into making changes in our business that we’ve talked about for years, but never had the time for. It forced us into trying new things and learning new skills that will yield new fruit in the years to come. It birthed a brand new initiative – the biggest one we’ve ever undertaken – that seems destined for a time like this, but twenty years in the making. (More on that VERY soon!)

    I share this because I don’t think this can be chalked up to luck or talent. I share it because it’s a technique available to anyone and because it’s possible for 2020 to be your best year ever, too. 

    Preposterous?

    Look, we all have things outside of our control that work against us, obstacles that rise up to thwart us. But the bigger the obstacle, the bigger the opportunity. Our attitude, our mindset, the frame we choose to operate within, is entirely within our control. 

    You can feel under attack and choose not to play the role of victim.

    You can feel anxious and choose not to cower in a corner and give in to despair.

    You can feel like everything is a mess and still choose to look for beauty. 

    I remember the day we let our oldest daughter take control of her own ice cream cone for the first time. It was a beautiful Madison summer afternoon, and we were hanging out at the Memorial Union, overlooking picturesque Lake Mendota. We braved the super-duper-long line for ice cream and figured that rather than micromanage each lick, we’d give Lucy full reign over her Zanzibar Chocolate ice cream cone.

    Kim handed it to her, and she gave a look of surprise and wonderment that appeared to say, “Are you serious?”


    After getting assurance that she was on her own, Lucy dove right in, her hazel eyes shining with joy. She licked. She smiled. She concentrated. She beamed.

    And she ended up with the cutest brown goatee I ever did see.

    Meanwhile, the chocolate mess invaded everywhere from her nose to her toes. Her shirt and shorts were stained. The real breakthrough came when Kim, seeing the mammoth mess unfold before her very eyes, resisted every ounce of motherly urge to wrestle the cone back from our daughter. She let go of the dirty shirt, the sticky fingers, and the crazy sugar buzz that would be left behind.

    She let it all go.

    Later, she coined a great saying: “Never let making a mess get in the way of making a memory.”

    Please note, I’m not ignoring the mess and the less-than-ideal outcomes that come from it. I’d like to offer a moment of silence for Lucy’s tank top. Several washes and stain-stick treatments later, it was unable to be revived and ended up in the trash bin of history. That’s okay, though; we’ve decided that we’d much rather have the memories of that moment than the shirt. 

    That “deciding” part is the key.

    Seeing with new eyes isn’t about ignoring the mess. It’s about choosing to sort through it to find something good.

    You may find a lifelong memory, stumble upon a new business model, or uncover the opportunity of a lifetime.

    You know how, when people are asked if they would like to change a negative thing that happened in their past, they often say they’d leave things as is, because of the good things that came from it? That’s how I feel about 2020:

    I may not want to RELIVE it, but I don’t think I’ll want to UNDO it, either.

    Sometimes life doesn’t go the way we planned, expected, or even hoped. 2020 will probably go down as one of the messiest years we’ve ever experienced. The question is: Are you improving the odds that this year will go down as one of your best?

    Adventures are rarely tidy.

    Sometimes the greatest blessings spring forth from the biggest messes.

  • Melt With You

    “Melt With You” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is available. 🟢 Shop this art!

    Well, it’s official: The end of the world is upon us.

    It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?

    2020 has not been for the faint of heart, and just when you think it can’t get any worse, well, just wait for tomorrow. The thing is, every generation fears it’s living in the last days. And so far, every one has been wrong. I’m old enough to remember some of the Cold War and the events that transpired on 9/11/2001. Things looked bleak then, too. 

    This cheerful painting was inspired by a song about the end of the world. The words are from the lyrics of a catchy tune from the 1980s by a band named Modern English. Lead singer Robbie Grey, who wrote the seemingly simple upbeat love song with his four bandmates, explained, “I don’t think many people realized it was about a couple making love as the bomb dropped. As they make love, they become one and melt together.”

    Alllllrighty then.

    On to another fun fact: This was the very first canvas I painted live during the first-ever Madison Night Market. It was also the first time I offered my art for sale to an audience that hadn’t just heard me speak. Previously, I’d only sold my art at my speaking engagements, after spending an hour sharing my art on a big screen and telling stories to a captive audience. But here, my art would be standing on its own. No explanation. No context.

    As I painted away, I was able to hear people’s reactions to the painting and the prints we had for sale. What I heard was magic. People smiled and laughed and pulled their friends over to take a look.

    Quite simply, my art made people happy. And that made me feel awesome. I concluded right then and there that if that’s all I was ever able to accomplish, it was a worthy calling, and it would be enough.

    This is kind of a big deal because, you see, in the art world, it’s not enough. An artist is supposed to make a political statement, disturb people, or question everything they hold true. Which is fine, as far as it goes. But putting good into the world, making someone happy, and bringing a small measure of joy to a fellow human being is pretty good, too.

    Which brings me back to this song about apocalyptic hanky-panky.

    While we wait to see if the world is going to end, let’s do something productive with our time. It seems like we can find better options than rioting in the streets, cowering in fear in front of our TVs, and ranting on social media.

    Instead, what’s ONE thing you can do today to make someone’s day just a teeny bit brighter? How can you use one of your gifts to make someone happy? It might not seem like much, but it’s enough.

    Regardless of when the world ends, we all have a last day coming. I can’t say for certain that I’ll spend it in the fashion described in the aforementioned ’80s song. But if I can make someone happy on my last day (and on many of the days between now and then), I’m good with that.

    How about you?

  • Hope in the Darkness

    “Hope In The Darkness” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    It was a dark and stormy night…

    …that lasted for months. 😳

    That’s the season we found ourselves in, when a pandemic descended and darkness filled the entire world, and months felt like centuries.

    As I think about darkness, I can’t help but think of a strange quality we humans have. Whether it’s a handful of birthday candles in a darkened room, the glowing embers from a campfire in the woods, or the flickering stars in a night sky, we can’t help but be drawn to the light.

    Throughout this pandemic, a particular phrase resurfaced again and again during my morning quiet times: fix my eyes.

    I encountered it so often, in songs, books, and videos, that I was curious to look it up and see if I might glean some deeper understanding. According to one dictionary definition, this version of “fix” means to direct one’s eyes, mind, or attention steadily or unwaveringly towards something.

    I immediately thought of a story in the Bible in which Peter, one of Jesus’ most lovable and bone-headed followers, gets to walk on water. The thing is, when he’s focused on Jesus, all is well and he is able to do the impossible. But when he shifts his attention to the raging waves, he’s swallowed by fear and begins to sink.

    The only difference is where Peter has chosen to fix his eyes.

    Back to this peculiarity that human beings are born with an innate attraction to light. Spend any time at sunset on any beach in the world, and you will find every single person staring at the sun. No one is facing the opposite direction.

    It’s not that we don’t notice the darkness. There were times during the pandemic when I was sucked in by it. It’s a scary place to dwell. During those times, my anxiety levels increase. Fear grows.

    But then I notice it.

    My attention is pulled away by something else…a tiny firefly, glowing amidst the expansive backdrop of black. Before long, I see another, and then another.

    These fireflies are the helpers. The people who have decided to help where they can. It’s the same light, but expressed by individuals in different ways.

    The high school principal who visited over 600 graduating seniors. 

    The woman delivering donuts to her staff who are working from home. 

    The DJ leading dance parties in the street. 

    It may be just as dark at one in the morning as it is at three, but only one of them is two hours closer to dawn. For most of us, it’s still night. But sunrise is closer than it was a month ago.

    The fireflies are hope in the darkness that we will see the light.

    Until morning comes –  which it will – may we continue to fix our eyes on the humble lights pulsing with hope all around us. 

    And may we flash our own light for others. 

    Process Video

  • Ring of Fire

    “Ring of Fire” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    Everyone thinks the excitement that accompanies the start of a relationship is the best. 

    Granted, it IS intoxicating. Everything is new and mysterious. You’re wondering if the other person just likes you or actually “likes you” likes you. A simple touch ignites an inferno of passion. There’s so much to talk about as you’re constantly learning new things about one another. That way he chews, and that way she steals your jacket when she’s cold, is still cute and endearing.

    There’s no doubt about it: The beginning of a new relationship is pretty great.

    But then again, in the beginning, you’re just two separate entities. Like bread and cheese. Cheese is good. Bread is good. Put them together and you have a cheese sandwich. Also good.

    But Johnny Cash was right when he sang that love is a burning thing. It doesn’t get really good until you’ve gone through some fires together. That’s when you really get to know what you’re made of, as you melt together and you become one. That melty, gooey goodness is where the magic’s at. And have you ever tried to separate a grilled cheese sandwich? It’s not easy. Which is how it should be. 

    Combined, my parents and Kim’s parents have been married for over 90 years. They have struggled and endured many, many fires. But through it all, they’ve stuck together. In today’s day and age, that’s no small feat. Is there a secret? I don’t know. I’m sure there’s luck involved, but I know that it’s not all luck. I know communication is really important. And mutual respect. And a willingness to give more than you get.

    But I think the real secret is that it comes down to a choice to stick together, no matter what. Infatuation is a feeling, but love? Love is a choice. When my parents exchanged vows on their wedding day, promising they’d be there for each other no matter what, in sickness and in health, through the good times and the fires…they meant it. For reals. 

    And when I married Kim, that’s how I looked at it too. Death will have to break us apart; it’s the only option. We have not left an escape hatch for ourselves. The ships back to a world where we go our separate ways are smoldering sticks of charcoal. When disagreements emerge, a fight erupts, and feelings are hurt, Plan A is to work it out.

    There is no Plan B. 

    When you don’t burn the ships, there’s a very high probability that someday, you’ll use them to sail away from one another. 

    Of course, you can throw all of this out the window if both people aren’t on board. If one flakes out or doesn’t live up to the promise, it all falls apart. And that is nothing short of heartbreaking.

    I write this to give hope to the newlyweds, to the people thinking about giving this love thing another go, and to those who are in the middle of one of those scary fires right now. 

    As James Blunt sang, “Everybody wants a flame, they don’t want to get burnt.”

    It’s true: once you get past the lovey-dovey stage of a relationship, and experience the fires that flare up when things get real, you will come out a little charred. 

    But that char – the battle scars from a life lived together – add a richness, depth, and magic that a regular old cheese sandwich can only dream about. 

  • Hope in the Desert

    “Hope in the Desert” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is available. 🟢 Shop this art!

    When Kim and I started this adventure, we were optimistic. Very. When we decided to abandon my career as a freelance illustrator and designer, we felt very strongly that my comic strip, Kim & Jason was going to hit the big time. We planned to live on Kim’s kindergarten teaching salary, which we knew would require sacrifice, but we were fairly certain that within a year, Kim & Jason would take the world by storm and we’d be exchanging phone calls with Oprah and her people.

    We had no idea it would take five years before we’d be able to earn a living with our business. And by earning a living, I mean simply replacing Kim’s robust $23,000 teaching salary. 

    It didn’t take long for the optimism that launched our big dream to fade. For much of those five years, it felt like we were living in the desert. Any encouraging email from a reader, or an order on our store that didn’t come from someone we knew, were like drops of water on a parched tongue.

    The dream never died, but we wondered at times if it was merely a mirage. Every so often, we’d lie awake in bed, wondering if we were officially crazy. We certainly felt like the whole process of scraping to pay bills while struggling to turn a profit was driving us mad.

    The truth is, I had a lot of dreams that never came true.

    We lived in an apartment for eight years, which is exactly seven years longer than we planned. We went to an open house in a trendy, developing neighborhood for a condo we wanted, just to get photos for our vision board (which I thought was a pretty clever way to speed the process along.)

    Long story short, we never got into that condo. Kim & Jason never hit the big time. It never even hit the medium time.

    But I stand before you today to let you know that Elizabeth Barrett Browning was right: God’s gifts do put man’s best dreams to shame.

    During those early days, speaking was not on the radar. Giving a TED talk wasn’t on my vision board (mostly because TED didn’t even exist yet). But shortly AFTER Kim retired, speaking emerged as a big driver of our business model and enabled our family to visit some amazing places I never could have imagined.

    We never got the condo, but that was because we were led to a house instead, which we bought just as the condo market in Madison was cratering due to oversupply. And a hotel with a big parking lot got built right next to the condo we had pined for.

    Bullet. Dodged.

    I meanwhile, I retired Kim & Jason in 2007. But I still make art, I think it’s even better, and it’s definitely more fulfilling. And it led to an evening like this. 

    Like an explorer marooned in a desert, life can be a struggle. Things can seem bleak, desolate, hopeless.

    Maybe this feels a lot like you, right now.

    During these times, a simple glass of water seems like a priceless treasure.

    But keep going. Have faith. Stay the course.

    What you ultimately encounter may end up putting your original dreams to shame.

  • Time For S’mores

    “Time For S’mores” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 30. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    The background of this painting comes from a photograph I took during a family trip to the Pacific Northwest. It captured a holy moment.

    You see, in our family, when the sun has taken its final bow for the day, and the moon is set to take the stage, it’s time for s’mores. 

    I suppose you could have s’mores during afternoon tea, and of course, there’s no rule against having them for breakfast, but it just doesn’t seem right.

    You may disagree with me on the proper time for s’mores, but one thing is certain: making s’mores demands that you make time for s’mores. 

    It’s not something you just throw together. You have to gather the chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows, which aren’t as conveniently handy as eggs and milk. You have to build a fire, which requires wood and kindling and matches, and the patience required to nurse a spark into a full-blown fire, especially if the wind is conspiring against you. You have to get the sticks for roasting said marshmallows. And most importantly, you have to set aside the space to make all of this happen, because it won’t schedule itself, and there’s no rushing it if you want it done right. I’m first in line for a burnt marshmallow, but a perfectly toasted one takes no small amount of time and patience. 

    Time and patience.

    Two rare and very limited resources in our fast-food, drive-thru society, where we pack our vacations so full that upon our return home, we exclaim our need for another vacation.

    To make time for s’mores, you must be willing to put down your mobile devices. You have to turn down invitations to partake in other, more thrilling activities. You must set aside time for what seems like nothing. 

    And once you do all that, the real magic happens. Your heartbeat slows. You notice just how many stars are in the sky (have they been there this whole time?!). The smoke from the fire seeps into your clothes and your bones, making you feel like you lived this day well. Stories begin to emerge from the past, followed by laughter, and content smiles savoring good memories. New legends are born, while old legends grow mighty in stature. Talking about the olden days often leads to dreams for the future, and those stars suddenly become pretty handy for wish-making. 

    This, to say nothing of the s’mores themselves, which are deliciously gooey and sticky sweet, but nothing compared to the benefits they brought forth, in the form of conversation, contemplation, and connection.

    In a world that feels like it’s bursting at the seams, too rushed, too noisy, and too demanding, it’s always time for s’mores. 

  • C Plane

    “C Plane” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴  Shop this art!

    Remember alphabet soup?

    I ask you to remember because the last time you had it probably wasn’t yesterday or last week. It may have been a decade or four.

    Something about alphabet soup brings out a sense of wonder and curiosity in us as kids. We stir it around to see if any secret messages emerge randomly, like a vegetable-fueled Ouiji board. We use our spoon to carefully arrange our own words, spell our name, a simple sentence, or maybe a dirty word…Just me?

    But then we outgrow alphabet soup. Why?

    Are we afraid our sophistication will be challenged? That we’ll be considered immature? That people won’t take us seriously?

    In a seemingly unrelated note, it’s impossible for me to see an airplane and not think of my father-in-law, Gary. He loves airplanes. He used to drag his wife and four daughters to air shows. Their reviews of the regular excursions are mixed, but one thing was constant: it was always an opportunity for Gary’s inner child to soar.

    I had the pleasure of attending the Oshkosh Airshow with him a few years ago. According to him, it’s the Super Bowl of air shows. He may have technically been sixty at the time, but it seemed more like he was six. His passion for airplanes has never faded.

    Recently, he took my kids to watch sky divers jump out of planes and land safely a few feet from them on the ground. You might think he wanted to share a passion with his grandkids. You’d be partly right, but let’s be honest, it didn’t really matter if there was anyone else around. It was merely an excuse to indulge in a little bit of wonder.

    When we are kids, we are drawn to wonder, and there are so many things that light us up and get us excited.

    Too often, like our declining consumption of alphabet soup, we neglect or hide the things that light us up.

    Maybe it’s because we are afraid our sophistication will be challenged. Or that we’ll be considered immature. Or that people won’t take us seriously.

    There is a phrase we often use: guilty pleasures. They are things we enjoy but feel guilty for doing so. Usually, there is no real reason we should feel guilty; it’s just that they threaten our carefully curated likes and dislikes that fit in with the people we associate with or want respect from. 

    I’m with Dave Grohl, lead singer of the Foo Fighters, who said, “F*¢K guilty pleasures.” Like what you like. If you like Britney Spears, like Britney Spears. 

    Embrace your guilty pleasures. Find what lights you up and love it. Reconnect with the passions that get your inner child fired up and own them. 

    Never outgrow your sense of wonder. 

  • Enjoy the Climb

    “Enjoy the Climb” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    If you were to place your nose really close to this canvas and focus only on one of the goats, what would you see? A mountain goat on a snowy mountain. The environment around them is boring, plain, cold, and possibly treacherous.

    I was reading some old journals the other day. I was struck by how concerned I was about details of projects and initiatives that are no longer relevant to our current business model. Problems that needed to be solved, or else! Pitfalls that seemed like backbreakers. At first, I felt disappointment that I had wasted so much time on things that, in the end, didn’t matter at all. But then I realized that’s how life works. You struggle through, doing the best you can with the information you have. Hopefully, you learn from your mistakes, grow, and move forward. I realized that in ten years, a review of the journal I wrote this morning will probably feel the same way; only the details will have changed.

    Back to the painting now. Look at the big picture.

    Holy cow, those goats are surrounded by ice cream! 

    Sometimes we miss the cool things happening in our lives, because we’re too focused on the struggles right in front of us.

    A few years ago, I was enjoying a wonderful dinner with some speaker friends. We started a table discussion about the best place you’ve ever been that you’d like to go back to. While others shared amazing stories of Tuscany, Brazil, and Ireland, I felt silly because all I could think of was the Quality Inn in Clearwater, Florida.

    I’m pretty sure the year was 2007. Kim and I didn’t have kids yet, and we were in the early stages of my speaking career. We’d recently been to a speakers’ convention where a guy named Randy Gage talked about these exotic bungalows in Tahiti. He noted that some are perched over the water, featuring cool glass-bottomed floors, and wondered why anyone would invest the considerable expense to vacation in Tahiti and then settle for the slightly cheaper but extremely less exotic wood-bottomed accommodations a few hundred feet inland.

    So as we checked into the Quality Inn, the host offered us the option of upgrading from our “Garden View” room (which savvy travelers know as code for “Ugly Roof and Air Conditioning Unit View”) to an “Ocean View” room.

    “How much extra would that cost?” we asked.

    “$20 a night,” was the reply.

    We huddled to talk it over. Twenty bucks was a big deal for us, which should not come as a surprise because, as I mentioned, we were checking into a QUALITY INN.

    With Randy’s rallying cry still ringing in our ears, we threw caution to the wind and said YES.

    Isn’t it funny how often it takes far less than a million dollars to feel like a millionaire? That’s definitely how we felt as we triumphantly surveyed our ocean view.

    Photographers often refer to the hour before sunset as “magic hour,” because the light from the sun casts a beautiful golden hue on everything it touches. I remember lying on our bed, watching the sun sink into the Gulf. And I still remember how beautiful Kim looked. I’m so glad we snapped this selfie before selfies were a thing.

    I also remember that back then, we spent a lot of our time dreaming of “making it” and looking forward to the days when we’d be checking into much fancier hotels, you know, like Quality Inns in Tuscany.

    I spent a lot of time striving, worrying, and wishing I were somewhere else. Somewhere better. But I look back now and realize what an exciting, fun time that really was.

    Sometimes we get so caught up chasing the next moment that we forget to savor the one we’re in.

    Wherever you are on the mountain right now, enjoy the climb.