Art Series: Life’s a Zoo

  • Bantha Crossing

    “Bantha Crossing” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 16. Oil on canvas.
    Original is available 🟢 Shop this art!

    Kim and I grew up in small towns. Occasionally, a train would pass through, blocking a road and putting traffic at a standstill. This was incredibly inconvenient when you were already running five minutes late. Sometimes you could backtrack and take an alternative route, but most of the time you had no choice but to wait. And wait. And wait. It’s one of the most annoying things ever.

    Not once did I ever see anyone take a photo of the train.

    Things work differently in Yellowstone National Park. People get super excited about traffic stoppages. You might even say they hope for them.

    When any sort of wildlife — from bison to bears to elk —  blocks the road, cameras come out quickly to document the occasion. It almost feels spiritual. We want to capture the moment so we can carry it with us and show it to others. We might make it a wallpaper on our home screen or print it out and hang it on our wall.

    This is not a moment of annoyance, it’s a moment of awe.

    Both of these scenarios, fundamentally, are disruptions of forward progress. How then can we explain the difference in our reactions? Could it be that the only difference is our perception of the circumstance?

    Isn’t it possible to see both instances as an invitation to slow down? To be present? To notice and maybe even be amazed at something that would otherwise pass us by?

    What would happen if we looked at ALL the roadblocks in our life as an encounter with the divine?

    In Star Wars lore, the Bantha is a large, hairy, four-legged mammal. It has an unpleasant smell, produces blue milk, and is domesticated by Tusken Raiders.

    But in real life, they are just an Asian elephant in a costume.

    I put the bantha in this painting because it tickled me to think about seeing one in the wild. But also to remind us that things aren’t always what they seem.

    What disgusting things that cross our paths are really something else underneath?

    Is that obstacle in your path right now an annoyance? Or an opportunity?

    Maybe the traffic jam just saved you from a fatal accident that would have happened five minutes down the road.

    Maybe the impossibly long red light is an invitation to enjoy a few minutes of silence, a break from rushing around, a chance to say a quick prayer for someone who needs it.

    Maybe instead of allowing frustration to mount, and if we practiced being present, an insight into a problem we’ve been struggling with will materialize.

    Maybe the illness is a chance to slow down.

    Maybe the delay is a chance to evaluate if you want to continue on this path.

    Maybe the storm that just leveled your life is the beginning of a blessing you never saw coming.

    Maybe it’s a bantha. Maybe it’s just a train. Maybe it’s an encounter with the divine.

    Maybe you just need to change the way you see it.

  • Strawberry Fields

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

    Where does strawberry milk come from? Pink cows, of course.

    It’s a silly thing that some children believe; something grandparents tell grandchildren when pulling their leg.

    I created this painting for an art fair we exhibited at in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, a land filled with dairy cows. I was pleased that so many people who saw it got the joke, reminiscing nostalgically about the “fact” that strawberry milk comes from pink cows.

    Part of the humor comes from considering the silly logic of children, and the outlandish things they are prone to believe.

    I, for one, used to believe I was Superman. I wore my Superman shirt under my school uniform in second grade to prove it. 

    The ridicule of my classmates inspired me to reconsider that belief.

    But kids are not alone in their misguided understanding of the world. We grown-ups believe our fair share of ridiculous things, don’t we?

    After all, some of us believe that you can’t eat breakfast for dinner and should never eat dessert first.

    Some of us believe that Diet Coke is good for us.

    Some of us believe it’s bad luck to bring bananas on a fishing boat.

    Some of us believe that the first few years of parenting are the hardest.

    Some of us believe that it’s possible to do and see everything on vacation, and we should ruin that vacation trying.

    Some of us believe the news other people watch is propaganda while the news they watch is always true.

    Some of us believe that we don’t need to prioritize spending time with loved ones, as long as the scraps of time we do spend is “quality” time.

    Some of us believe that money is the best barometer of success.

    Some of us believe that skin color says something about who we are as a person.

    Some of us believe that good times will last forever.

    Some of us believe that bad times will last forever.

    Some of us believe that love is a feeling.

    Some of us believe the devil isn’t real.

    Some of us believe that they’d finally be happy, if only…

    Oh dear. Perhaps we grown-ups are not as grounded in reality as we like to think. Maybe we are all in danger of following a few rules that don’t exist.

    I know I believe some of these things some of the time. But it’s probably silly to believe that anyone who reads this will take a moment to re-evaluate their own beliefs.

    Maybe even sillier than believing that pink cows are responsible for strawberry milk.

  • What Does The Fox Say?

    “What Does The Fox Say?” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 30. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    Have you ever texted someone a question and then those three little dots pop up as they formulate their reply? 

    You know the three dots.

    Depending on how consequential their response is, that delay can feel like an eternity, right?

    We want answers now, but sometimes they take a while to come.

    From the very beginning of our relationship, Kim and I talked about living in a lake home one day, surrounded by tall pine trees. It took over twenty years to come true, which was approximately nineteen more than I expected.

    Over that prolongated waiting period, I asked God what was taking so long many times. I never got a concrete answer. (At least not one that kept me from asking it again, three months later.)

    When we grow impatient waiting for an answer, we are prone to make up our own.

    I figured maybe God didn’t hear me. Maybe He was hard of hearing. Maybe He was waiting for me to pray harder. Maybe I wasn’t good enough. Maybe He didn’t think I deserved it.

    The thing is, I never got the sense that God was saying no. Sometimes I wished he would, because the waiting was so difficult, as He wasn’t exactly responding with an obvious yes. Just twenty years of three dots.

    After the dream home materialized, in the middle of a global pandemic, when we thought we might lose everything, so did the answer. It became clear that He was doing important work in me that mattered more to Him than the dream home, and that kind of work takes time.

    Eighteen months after moving in, a storm rolled into Sheboygan, and a terrible straight-line wind ripped through our backyard. It destroyed 150 trees, uprooting our forest oasis and plunging us into debilitating debt.

    Again, I came to God with a question: Why?

    This time, my faith was stronger than the roots of the pine trees that couldn’t stand up to the storm. I knew something good would come from the nightmare, but the three dots lingered for longer than I would have liked. I leaned on a question that got us through the pandemic, and one I share almost every time I’m on stage: 

    “Now that this has happened, what does this make possible?”

    A week after the storm, I took my family to breakfast. After we ordered, I turned to a blank page in a journal and asked my wife and kids to dream with me. What was possible now that the storm had taken all our trees? One by one, we built our list as we envisioned a bright future.

    It took a few months for the professional lumberjacks to clear the trees, level our property, and for the new grass to take root. But now we have a stunning, unobstructed view of Lake Michigan and a vast stretch of green to play baseball and bocce, and frisbee. We’ve hosted several Moonrise Movie Nights with friends and family. We installed a fire pit, a bird bath, and other whimsical touches that make our hearts sing. We recently planted fruit trees that we hope will yield ingredients for homemade pies, and we hope to add some legacy trees that will look gorgeous in the fall.

    When people who knew our old backyard see our new one, they often lower their voices to a whisper and say, “I hate to say it, but I think it’s even better now!”

    And you know what? They are right. We do miss the trees, but we like this version of our backyard even better. And never in a million years would we have had the gall to cut down 150 perfectly good trees to get it.

    Meanwhile, even though insurance didn’t pay for any of the backyard cleanup or restoration, it did give us a new roof, which was due to be replaced. And the debt, which is steadily being paid down, has drawn me even closer to God, which is right where He wants me.

    So what about you?

    Are you in a spot where you are waiting for answers, and all you’ve received so far are the three dots? 

    I can’t tell you when the answers will come, but they will. Maybe not till the next life, but maybe sooner than you think.

    As you wait for answers, don’t be so quick to make up your own.

  • LOLigator

    “LOLigator” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 24. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    An alligator can live up to 100 years…

    which is why there’s an increased chance they will see you later.

    One of the midwives who helped Kim on her journey into motherhood had experience working with the Navajo people. She told us about a custom of theirs in which the first person to make a newborn laugh is obligated to throw the family a huge party to celebrate the occasion. According to their tradition, it’s considered the moment in which the baby is fully present and “in the world.”

    I think that’s pretty cool.

    You often see people rejoicing over a baby’s first words, first steps, and first day of school, but never have I heard a big deal made out of a baby’s first laugh. At least not enough to warrant a party to be thrown because of it.

    It’s a striking example of how little we value laughter in our society.

    What’s weird is that laughter is a universally loved activity, and yet, adulthood often finds us treating it as a non-renewable resource, something to be reserved for when our work is done. We leave it out of serious and challenging situations, and grow suspicious of people who do too much of it.

    Which brings me to alligators.

    I don’t know about you, but when I see an alligator, I don’t think, “Here’s a guy who must be the life of every party.” He’s not on my Top 10 list of Animals Who Don’t Take Themselves Too Seriously.

    And yet, when he opens his mouth, it looks like he just heard a good joke.

    Which gives me hope, because I encounter a lot of people walking around with the sunny disposition of an alligator these days. 

    We can all agree that laughter is beneficial. It boosts the immune system (why they say laughter is the best medicine), brings you more energy, lowers levels of pain, and protects you from the dreaded Adultitis. Of course, as we get older and are inundated with Adultitis, laughs can be hard to come by. 

    The good news is that you can literally fake it till you make it. 

    Believe it or not, fake laughter offers the same benefits as real the kind. Certified life coach Katie West says, “Pretending to laugh (or practicing laughter) can alter our body chemistry since our brains can not tell the difference between real and fake laughter.”

    I have experienced a group of people fake laughing, and I can tell you, the vibe shift is real. And when people are practicing fake laughs, real ones bubble up like clockwork.

    Likewise, we can generate more laughter by being intentional about injecting some fun into our routine:

    • Read the funny pages over breakfast.
    • Listen to comedy podcasts on your commute.
    • Get a joke-a-day calendar for your desk.
    • Turn your inanimate objects into Adultitis Booby Traps.
    • Hang out with funny people.
    • Attend an improv show.
    • Read or watch something funny before bed. (At the very least, stop watching the Crisis News Network!)

    Stress continues to be a contributing factor to every single thing that kills us, from heart disease to suicide. Yet the standard operating procedure these days is to trudge through life with furrowed brows and steely determination. But now, more than ever, we should take a cue from the Navajo people and celebrate laughter.

    Every single laugh is a dollar in the economy of the human spirit.

    I get that we live in serious and challenging times, but that doesn’t require us to take ourselves seriously.

    St. Teresa of Ávila, a Spanish mystic and great reformer, once said, “May God protect me from gloomy saints.” 

    One of the greatest things ever is hearing my kids laugh. Whether it’s a silly little giggle or an unbridled belly laugh, there’s no better sound in the world.

    I imagine that God probably feels the same way about his children.

    When we laugh, we are happy and free. During that moment of laughter, we are not worried, anxious, or stressed. And so it must give God great joy to see his children buckled over in laughter, just as it does me with my kids.

    And reminds me just how much Adultitis must hate it.

    All the more reason to make laughter a priority.

    As Charlie Chaplin, one of the world’s greatest Adultitis fighters and a patron saint of comedy, once said, “A day without laughter is a day wasted.”

  • Surfer Chicken

    “Surfer Chicken” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 16. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    I’ve watched surfers in Hawaii, San Diego, and yes, even here in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, which is also known as “The Malibu of the Midwest.”

    The majority of a surfer’s time seems to be spent paddling, floating, and waiting. From what I hear, it’s all worth it, because the feeling you experience when you’re in the middle of a great wave, having timed it just right, is a moment of euphoria.

    I feel like I have some sense of this as an artist. There are moments when I’m in the zone at my easel, when time stands still, every brush stroke feels pre-ordained, and the joy of creating fills my soul.

    But in between, there is the fishing for ideas, prepping the canvas, preparatory drawings and color studies, uncertain brushstrokes, frustration in mixing just the right color, constant distractions, and results that don’t match the vision in my head.

    The moment of euphoria — the small sliver of time in the zone — truly does make it all worth it.

    The magic doesn’t just happen, though. It requires a routine. You have to pull on your wetsuit. You have to lug your surfboard to the beach. You have to get out on the water. You have to put yourself in a position for the perfect wave. You have to wait and wait…and wait.

    I learned this as a cartoonist. When I was creating my comic strip, Kim & Jason, I spent time every morning writing. Most of the time, this so-called “writing” looked an awful lot like staring blankly into space. (Like how much of surfing looks like sitting on a surfboard floating in the water.) I realized that the key was committing to the entire time, no matter what, even if that meant I came away with zero ideas. Because a few minutes of staring blankly into space has a way of making you feel pretty foolish. You think of all the other things you have to get done, rationalize that maybe you just don’t have it today, and you’d be better served to switch to something more “productive.” 

    This is a trap! I reframed the win as sitting there for the whole thirty minutes, not coming up with a great idea. 

    Putting in the time, regardless of the result, is the key. Sometimes it involved jotting down ideas that weren’t very good (much like a surfer mistiming a wave or committing to one that peters out). More times than not, the best ideas came at the very end, after a long stretch of nothing. 

    I also discovered that ideas came more easily when I was faithful to the daily habit. Too long a break dried up the well and made staring back up even harder.

    No matter what our activity of interest, we want to experience the sexy highlights, like gliding effortlessly across a rushing wall of water, or putting the finishing touches on a masterpiece.

    But committed dedication to the practice is how you get there.

    A surfer who goes out every day is the one most likely to catch the wave when it comes. And because she is out there every day, practicing and honing the craft, when the ultimate wave does come, she’s more likely to have the skill to catch it properly and ride it as well and for as long as possible. She will possess the experience to make the most of that moment.

    The fisherman who fishes every day has the best chance of making the best catch.

    The runner who runs every day has the best chance of completing the marathon.

    The writer who writes every day has the best chance of writing something great.

    The parent who spends time with their child every day has the best chance of creating a memory that will last a lifetime or having a conversation that changes a life.

    It’s easy to desire the moment of euphoria.

    It’s even easier to give up too quickly when that moment feels too hard or too long in coming.

    The in-between parts are long, hard, and boring. They are also normal. Don’t let them take you by surprise and trick you into quitting too soon. 

    You can’t predict or summon the ultimate wave on demand, just as you can’t predict or summon a great idea. 

    But you can make yourself ready to make the most of it when it comes.

  • The Wingman

    “The Wingman” by Jason Kotecki. 60 x 40. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    Life is amazing. It is also hard.

    The war against Adultitis is a grueling one that will last your lifetime. But that shouldn’t keep you from trying to soak it with water balloons.

    Your happiness depends on it.

    Now, you’ll need two things in the fight against Adultitis: water balloons and a wingman.

    A Water Balloon is anything joyful that induces playfulness, laughter, merriment, or wonder. The most powerful ones appear frivolous, done for no particular reason other than fun.

    My late father-in-law Gary had a long fight with chronic pain. His faith sustained him, along with a diverse array of water balloons to help him fight, such as Chuck Norris jokes, air shows, Ernest movies, and April Fools pranks.

    My water balloons include: Dad jokes. My Funko Pop collection. Pajama runs. Dance parties. Photobombing my family’s photos. Watching Parks and Rec reruns.

    A Wingman is someone who encourages you to throw water balloons at Adultitis, and when you do, is at the ready with another one. It’s someone you can be goofy with and have fun with, who doesn’t roll their eyes at your silliness or denigrate the things that light you up.

    My wingman is my wife. And my kids. And the members of the Wonder & Whimsy Society.

    Sometimes a wingman is hard to come by. One of my favorite things about our tribe of Adultitis Fighters is that it provides a place for people on an island, without a wingman in their immediate vicinity. The Escape Adulthood League is an army of wingmen (and women) with water balloons at the ready.

    Not only do we each need a wingman, but we are also called to be a wingman for others. That’s what this movement we’re building together is about. Every single one of us can encourage others to embrace their inner child. To embrace their guilty pleasures and to celebrate the things that make them weird.

    So collect as many water balloons as you can. Summon your wingman.

    This is war.

    And Adultitis is about to get wet.

  • Evening Show

    “Evening Show” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 30. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD. 🔴 Shop this art!

    A clear night sky is a thing of beauty, with millions of stars blinking silently overhead.

    It’s a pity we rarely notice them.

    In an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, Larry David is speaking with a receptionist at a law firm who has a spectacular view of the city behind her. “Beautiful view here! How long did it take you to take it for granted?”

    She replies, “Umm, not long I guess.”

    He candidly admits, “It would take me about a day. Maybe less. Maybe half an hour. And I would never look out the window again.”

    How quickly we take wonder for granted.

    This painting was inspired by a passage I read in the book The Sense of Wonder, by conservationist Rachel Carson, who wrote about a summer her grandnephew visited her cottage in Maine, and together they wandered the surrounding woods and tide pools.

    She recounted a particular evening when they gazed in awe at one of those breathtaking night skies: 

    “It occurred to me that if this were a sight that could be seen only once in a century or even once in a human generation, this little headland would be thronged with spectators. But it can be seen many scores of nights in any year, and so the lights burned in the cottages, and the inhabitants probably gave not a thought to the beauty overhead; and because they could see it almost any night perhaps they will never see it.”

    Because they could see it almost any night, perhaps they will never see it.

    This painting takes its inspiration from those lights burning in the cottages, with the inhabitants giving not a thought of the beauty overhead.

    What if a party of giant glowing jellyfish appeared above your town and put on a light show? Surely that would get your attention.

    But what if it happened every year? Every week? Every night? How long would it take before everyone stopped caring?

    Not as long as you’d think.

    Apollo 11 landed on the moon. It was a huge source of national pride. Half a billion people were glued to their television sets watching the historic achievement.

    Nine months later—nine months!—flights to the moon had already become boring. By the time Apollo 13 came around, the television networks didn’t even bother covering the launch or broadcasting the live video of the crew from space because they felt there wasn’t enough interest. Nobody wanted their soap operas or game shows interrupted by another group of heroes doing what most people had never done before. Only until Apollo 13 got into trouble did anyone care.

    We grow numb to wonder.

    Look around you. What are you taking for granted? What are you missing?

    Be honest: When was the last time you gazed at the stars?

    Stood in awe at a sunrise bursting forth with color on the horizon?

    Sat in silence amidst the peace of a placid snowfall?

    I don’t know about you, but I am disgusted by this propensity to grow numb to wonder.

    But can we do anything about it?

    Fortunately, Rachel Carson shows us a way:

    “One way to open your eyes to unnoticed beauty is to ask yourself, ‘What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?”

    One painting and two powerful questions remind us to keep our eyes peeled for the wonder all around us.

  • Not a Morning Person

    “Not a Morning Person” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 24. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    Do elk have the choice of being a morning person?

    Are there some elk, hidden away in the woods, “sleeping in?” Some who stayed up late contemplating the universe, or were up all night partying with other woodland creatures?

    Alas, I assume that elk are wired the way they are wired, and they don’t have the choice of whether they are a night elk or a morning elk.

    No, but we do.

    I used to be a night person. I rolled my eyes at the people who annoyingly championed the virtue of early rising. I loved staying up to work on art when the world was quiet. I’d go to bed way past midnight and somehow only need a few hours to tackle the next day with a full supply of energy.

    That, of course, was before kids. Nowadays, when nine o’clock rolls around I am dragging like a wet, rolled-up area rug. If I do summon the energy to stay up a smidge past midnight, my next few days are completely wrecked.

    A few years back, I read the book “Miracle Morning” and developed a new habit. Nowadays, I am up before 6 am (unthinkable back in my youth).

    I guess that makes me a morning person.

    The war rages on between the pious morning people and the obstinate night owls. Although typically vehemently opposed to one another, both sides seem to talk about liking the quiet, which is, of course, present both very early in the morning and very late at night.

    Our souls crave solitude from the noise that dominates our daily lives.

    We all need to carve out some quiet time. The when probably isn’t as important as what we do with it.

    My life transformed when I became a morning person, and not because I decided to get up early in the morning, but because of what I did with that time.

    Back in the day, I used the silence to work, read, or endlessly scurry down internet rabbit holes.

    These days, my routine looks different.

    I pour a fresh cup of coffee, light a candle, and plant myself in my prayer chair, which once served as the place where I rocked all three of my kids. I read the Bible. I journal. I pray. Sometimes I listen to music or read from a devotional. Other times, I just sit there, in the quiet, before the kids are up and the world turns on for the day, listening for the still, small voice of God. It is bliss. I never thought I’d ever actually enjoy getting up this early, but now I wouldn’t miss it.

    It’s a little oasis in a desert filled with an endless parade of noisy marching bands and riled-up slot machines blinking and begging us to pull their lever. The marching bands are all the outside forces trying to distract us. The slot machines are the illuminated rectangles in our purses and pockets that we constantly refresh, lured in by the promise of that oh-so-gratifying hit of dopamine when we see something that surprises us, delights us, entertains us, or enrages us.

    This is a challenge to examine our habits.

    Do we get up early merely to have a longer treadmill on which to sprint, attacking a to-do list that never ends?

    Do we stay up late bingeing content that temporarily satisfies but does nothing to uplift our souls or make us better humans?

    Do we subconsciously avoid silence because it makes us feel anxious in the immediate gratification era in which we live?

    Silence feels weird.

    Silence feels unproductive.

    Silence feels boring.

    And yet, maybe the elk are up early to bask in silence.

    I’ve always been a believer. I’ve not always been a morning person.

    But spending an hour a day in silence with God changed everything.

  • Horse & Hummingbird

    “Horse & Hummingbird” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 30. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    I compare myself to other people all the time. Friends, colleagues, neighbors, and the people I went to high school with.

    According to the Bible, God made hummingbirds on the 5th day. He made horses on the 6th. It seems obvious that He made a horse because He wanted something different than a hummingbird. I don’t expect he chastises horses for not being able to fly or expects hummingbirds to hang their tiny heads in shame for all the times they don’t win the Kentucky Derby.

    Quite frankly it’s kind of ridiculous to compare the two. So why do we do it with one another? It’s no less ridiculous.

    But it’s a great way to waste time we could be spending to improve our lives and make the world better by embracing and sharing our own unique gifts.

    Later on in the Bible, we learn that “God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well.” (Rom 12:6) You are not like anyone else. You are supposed to do what you’re made for. And no one else has the same mission as you do.

    We don’t need you to be a horse. We don’t need you to be a hummingbird. We don’t need you to be a better version of that girl you went to high school with.

    We just need you to be you.

    process

  • I Just Called to Say I Love You

    “I Just Called to Say I Loe You” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 16. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    “I Just Called to Say I Love You” is a famous Stevie Wonder song. It’s also the title of this painting.

    One word in that title might be more important than all the others. We’ll get to that in a sec.

    When my wife Kim and I were dating, we’d spend hours and hours on the phone, talking late into the night, racking up phone bills that if bound together, would make the longest Harry Potter book look like a pamphlet. This was in the days when phones were attached to walls and the “call waiting” feature was a source of civil war for any siblings also angling for phone rights.

    My personal phone habits with Kim were the exception, not the rule. To this day, I hate being on the phone, for reasons both justified and irrational, but too numerous to bore you with. I let almost everything go straight to voicemail. I am certain the quality of my life would increase exponentially if I never had to talk on the phone ever again. 

    Of course, the phone is a handy tool for maintaining relationships, which is another weakness of mine. Fortunately, my wife helps with that, as she does the little things that help keep relationships alive for both of us. I am an introvert, a Type 5w4 on the Enneagram (if you know, you know), and as previously mentioned, hate the phone. A generous assessment is that I spend a lot of time in my own head and it’s easy to get lost in there. Which is good for allowing me to create wonderful things, but not so good for maintaining friendships.

    Either way, it’s a perfect storm for a scenario in which if Kim dies before me, I’ll end up living alone in a home that neighborhood kids will describe as haunted and invent all sorts of urban legends about the old guy who supposedly lives there.

    Part of my problem is that I overthink relationships. In our own ways, maybe we all do.

    Friendships can stall if we make them too complicated or set expectations too high. Failing to meet them finds us buried in an ever-mounting pile of “shoulds.” The more time that passes, the more time we assume is required for catching up. And of course, life rarely drops oceans of uninterrupted time into our laps, so… the relationship slowly grows stale and eventually dies.

    A recent conversation convinced me of that being a flawed approach.

    Andy Gullahorn is a songwriter in Nashville who started an interesting routine with his friend Gabe several years ago. Every week, Andy goes for a walk. Gabe, who lives a mile and a half away, does the same thing at the same time. They walk toward each other, and when they meet, they give each other a high five. Sometimes they stop to play badminton. Oftentimes, no words are exchanged, and they simply head back home.

    Kim and I had a chance to interview Andy, and he shared another routine he has with a friend who lives in Houston. Since an in-person high-five is out of the question, every Monday for six years, they simply exchange fist bump emojis. That’s it. And yet the connection has deepened to such an extent that Andy says he trusts that friend with his life.

    Andy’s advice is to start small. And ridiculous. “It doesn’t have to be dead serious to make a deep connection,” he says. “In fact, if that’s where it starts, it’s hard to maintain that. The high five is just a stupid foundation to hold real relationship.”

    Of course, not every relationship needs to be maintained for all time. Some people come into our lives for a reason or a season. But Andy’s right. Maybe we should focus on uncomplicating the friendships we want to fertilize.

    In the interview, he challenged viewers to just commit to not having a deep conversation but to just exchange winks or honk at each other as they pass one another on the road, even without saying another word. 

    That’s why maybe the most important word in Stevie’s classic song is…”just.”

    I JUST called to say I love you. That’s it. No fanfare. No guilt trips. No phone bills weighty enough to kill a small mammal.

    We don’t always need to have an hour-long conversation for our relationships to thrive. 

    A high five or a fist bump emoji might just do the trick. 👊