Author: Jason

I grabbed my keys and slammed the door as hard as I could. 

I got in the car and headed out of our neighborhood. I may or may not have screamed some choice obscenities as loud as I could, hoping it might exorcise the anger that was overflowing within me. 

What drove me into this state of rage?

Just the realization that I’d forgotten to buy one of the main ingredients for that evening’s dinner.

A small thing in the grand scheme, and I am normally as mild-mannered as they come, but this tipping point was the latest in a long line of assaults from Adultitis. I’d had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week, and the missing box of jambalaya rice mix was the last straw.

During my five-minute drive to the grocery store, trying hard to stew in my anger while maintaining a reasonable speed limit, I saw it.

A lemonade stand. 

Dammit. You’ve got to be kidding me. 

So last summer, I established a new personal policy regarding lemonade stands. You see, I am a bit of an over-thinker. My old pattern of behavior went like this: I’d see some kids running a lemonade stand and think about stopping, only to drive past it while overthinking it to death. Did I have cash on me? Did I have the time? Was there even a convenient place to park? I’ve already driven six blocks past it; it would be stupid to turn around now. Ultimately, I’d miss the moment and feel bad for the rest of the day.

Last year, I decided to take the thinking (and overthinking) out of it. I decided to establish a new rule: ALWAYS STOP AT THE LEMONADE STAND. Of course, for this new personal policy to work, it had to be ironclad. The only way to avoid overthinking was that there could be no exceptions. No excuses. I gave myself permission to be late wherever I’m going. Even if I was late to my own father’s funeral, “I had to stop at the lemonade stand.”

The key to the whole thing is something I learned from Jack Canfield years ago, who said, “100% is a breeze, 99% is a b!tch.” The idea is that when it comes to any sort of goal, habit, or resolution you establish, it’s a lot easier if you don’t give yourself any outs. Commit 100%. If you allow yourself even one exception, then it’s always a fight from then on. You’ll always give yourself a reason why it’s ok to ignore the rule “this one time.”
 
I liked this new policy. I liked that it allowed me to be more generous, and I liked that it was in line with the type of person I want to be. Since then, I’ve stopped at two lemonade stands. I always ask the kids what they’re raising money for. I always try to encourage them in some small way. And I always overtip.

Even though I foresaw days when I’d encounter a lemonade stand when I was running late, I didn’t consider days when I was really, really angry.

But a rule is a rule. No exceptions. No excuses. 

Always stop at the lemonade stand.

The two girls – they looked like sisters – were sitting on lawn chairs behind a folding table. They looked bored out of their minds until I pulled up and got out of the car. They were offering two options, regular lemonade and raspberry lemonade, which I told them was a good strategy. I ordered one of each, fifty cents a glass. I asked them what they were saving up for, and they sheepishly admitted, “Hopefully a pug.” I gave them a five-dollar bill, told them to keep the change, and wished them luck.

There are a bunch of lessons here, and I trust you’ll find the reminder you need most right now. But as I returned to my car, with two plastic cups of lukewarm lemonade in hand, I realized something.

I was no longer angry.

Sometimes you’ll see a message at the beginning of a movie letting you know it was “based on true events.” There’s something dramatic about it because it’s exhilarating to watch an amazing story that wasn’t just imagined, but really happened.

At least part of it.

You see, I’m always skeptical of that claim because I feel they’re being intentionally vague. It makes me wonder, what parts are the true parts? How much of it is factual? Half? Thirty-three percent? One percent?

Did they leave out important details? Or exaggerate stuff for the sake of a better story? Did they shorten the timeline and turn the long, hard slog into a snappy, inspiring montage with an Ed Sheeran song playing underneath?

After the movie is over, a quick review of Wikipedia often reveals a different story than the one that makes a good motion picture. Like a good fishing story, certain parts may have been embellished for dramatic effect.

Sometimes we try and fashion our own lives based on true events. And that can be a trap.

Yes, that musician we admire got a record deal and is now touring the country to sold-out arenas. But we didn’t see the seven years she spent sleeping in her car and couch surfing at friends’ places while she toured the state, playing to crowds of tens.

If we see someone who is successful and try to model our lives after theirs, doesn’t that make our lives based on true events? Because indeed, we never see the full story. Maybe we only get half of it. Maybe we only get one percent.

We don’t see the sacrifices put in. The long nights crying into a pillow. The demons they had to fight through. We don’t see the boring parts where nothing seems to be happening, and a breakthrough feels like it’ll never come.

That’s my story. I had many role models as I pursued my dream, all of whom seemed to achieve their dreams way more easily, quickly, and dramatically than I did. Kim and I spent nearly a decade living in a crappy apartment, drowning in debt, doing everything we could to keep our hope from blowing out, and wondering what we were doing wrong.

Good times.

Now we live in a beautiful house overlooking Lake Michigan and make a living doing what I love. People who are entering my story now – especially the new people we’ve encountered since moving to Sheboygan eighteen months ago – don’t see the whole picture. I’m sure many just see one big “must be nice,” oblivious to the twenty years it took to get here.

By all means, take inspiration where you can get it, but never forget the inspiring stories you are privy to are based on true events. 

Don’t be discouraged if your story feels more difficult than your hero’s, or is taking longer than you think it should to get to the happy ending. Keep going through the hard slog. Keep taking it one day at a time. The best dreams take a while and are achieved in the moments never seen by the camera.

And remember that when they make a movie of your life, they’ll probably gloss over this part with an upbeat Ed Sheeran song.

My mind whirred to life, like a computer booting up from sleep. I was awake, but my eyes remained closed. After a momentary delay, my ears tuned in to the hushed symphony of rainfall. Not a storm, not a weak drizzle, but the sustained sound of polite applause.
 
Bliss.

My mind turned its focus to the day ahead. My Monday morning to-do list was waiting, and my brain divided against itself. “It’s important to start the week off strong. If you give in at the start, the rest of your plans have no chance,” said one side.

The other half calmly responded, “Mornings like these don’t come along very often. You may not get another one for a very long time.”

I opened one eye and located my phone, carefully unlocking it long enough to turn off the alarm. I rolled over, put my arm across my wife, and savored some extra time being serenaded by Mother Nature.

This might sound like the justification of a procrastinator. I assure you I am not one of them, at least when it comes to work. I tend to err on the other side, too busy working to smell the roses, or in this case, listen to the morning rainfall.

I owe much of my success to my work ethic, my planning, and my to-do lists. But once in a while, we have to be willing to scrap our original plans and surf the wave of spontaneity. Sometimes life gives you a better offer, and I’m learning there is wisdom in not being so quick to turn those offers down.

On this day, at this moment, I was allowed to enjoy life, not simply race through it as if it were an obstacle course of never-ending to-do lists. I took it. 

Science tells us that humans are more afraid of losing something we already have than we value gaining something we want. Sometimes, the thing we are most afraid of losing is our imagined idea of how we expected our life to go. 

In different seasons of my life, I’ve wanted to get paid to paint portraits of athletes, illustrate movie posters, and become a nationally syndicated cartoonist. I also expected I’d marry a brunette. 

Am I a failure because these plans didn’t pan out? No, I released those dreams because in each case, life ended up giving me a better offer.

“One of the secrets to a successful life is to recognize a better offer when we get one and be open to receiving it and reveling in it…instead of sticking to a formerly prescribed plan.”

–Sam Horn

I loved our backyard, a magical woodland stationed with pine sentinels. As I write this, excavators are ripping most of them away after a terrible storm pushed them over like a giant-sized game of pick-up sticks. It’s hard to see anything good coming from it, but if I squint carefully, in my mind’s eye, I can make out a backyard that’s even more magical, one that will give birth to even better memories. 

Life rarely goes as planned, and that can be painful sometimes. It’s easy to find ourselves holding on to an idealized vision of a long-hoped-for future. But those clenched fists prevent us from being able to receive what’s next.

Life might be giving you a better offer.

One day Kim wrote a social media post about how ugly our backyard is after having been ravaged by a cataclysmic storm. The harsh, violent, apocalyptic hellscape is heartbreaking.

And very, very ugly. 

A well-intentioned commenter felt the need to correct her, “No, it’s beautiful.”

Of course, the commenter is right. It is beautiful, in many real and metaphorical ways. And the photos Kim has taken of the carnage have captured some of that beauty.

But you know what? It’s also ugly. Especially in comparison to what it was before.

It can be both. It is both. And that’s ok.

As I pointed out in my book, A Chance of Awesome, some people look at dandelions and see weeds. 

Others – mostly kids – see wishes.

The thing is, both are true. 

Or take cars. Automobiles are modern marvels that give us great freedom and save us enormous amounts of time. The industry employs nearly two million people. But about 40,000 people die in motor vehicle traffic crashes each year in the U.S.

So are cars good or bad?

Unfortunately, our rotten news media has conditioned us to operate without any nuance whatsoever because there is profit to be made in conflict. We no longer seem to have the capacity for critical thinking; we’ve been reduced to the infantile reflex that things are either “good” or “bad.” Every issue is presented as either black or white, red state or blue state, right or wrong, good or evil.

Ugly or beautiful.

When it comes to any story – especially the headline-grabbing issues of the day – we’ve been duped into believing we only have two options: be right or be wrong.  

But life is more complicated than that. Life is both / and.

When your kid heads off to college for the first time, it’s natural to feel a sense of pride as they move into a new season of growth and independence. It’s also natural to feel sad that your day-to-day interactions with them are coming to an end. 

Or when a loved one you have taken care of for years has passed away, you probably feel sad that they are gone. It can also feel nice to believe that they are in a better place. 

But you can also feel relieved that your burden has been lifted. 

That doesn’t make you a monster; it makes you human. 

We live in a complicated world with unlimited shades of grey. (Yes, even more than fifty.) It’s not helpful to force everything into an absolute. We don’t have to walk around wearing rose-colored glasses, deluding ourselves into thinking everything is unicorns and rainbows.

Nor is it especially healthy to point out every potential storm cloud. 

Both approaches are childish. 

A mature perspective is acknowledging that life is filled with contradictions. There is good and evil, joy and pain, hope and fear intermingling in all of it. 

We do have a choice about where we want our attention to dwell, which is one of our most overlooked and underused superpowers. But it’s important to remember that focusing on one doesn’t disappear the other. 

Life is painful. It is also joyful. Sometimes on the very same day. 

And that’s ok.

Acknowledging the ugliness is what keeps us from taking beauty for granted.

My young traveling companion poked me on the elbow with a request I didn’t see coming.

From the moment Kim and I made the decision to move ahead with taking Ginny on her first Daddy-Daughter trip despite the storm that had wrought havoc on our home, my mind was in overdrive. 

From forcing it to focus on what needed to land in my suitcase, to finding a gas station that had power so we could refuel, to asking the gate agent if he could make sure our seats were together, my brain was busy anticipating and solving every challenge that presented itself on our journey to Tennessee.

Finally, we were on the plane, seats together, and her seatbelt was buckled. (Good thing they still have those important safety messages; the break from traveling left me rusty on knowing how seatbelts work.) Everything was going smoothly. Our first leg was almost over as we started our descent into Detroit. 

Then came the gentle poke and the unexpected request.

“Can I hold your hand?”

She didn’t need to say anything else. The look of concern – but not panic – in her sparkling blue eyes said enough. It wasn’t her first flight, but it was the first in a while. And the landing part was giving her pause.

“Of course,” I said as I grabbed her hand. 

No other words were exchanged, but during the descent, every time her stomach sensed a sudden drop in elevation, she squeezed a little bit tighter. It made my Daddy’s heart swell.

In the aftermath of dealing with the losses dealt by the storm, it’s been interesting to be on the receiving end of people trying to help us as we grieve. As far as I can tell, everyone is well-intentioned. But their level of effectiveness…varies widely.

The truth is, helping someone who is grieving is incredibly hard. Especially when it comes to knowing what to say. We want to provide comfort, we want to take away the pain, we want to say the right thing.

It’s hard. But Ginny helped me to see that maybe we make it harder than it needs to be. 

When she meekly reached for my hand, she just needed me to grab it.

She didn’t need me to tell her her feelings were wrong. 

She didn’t need me to explain the physics of aerodynamics and how we were perfectly safe.

She didn’t need me to remind her that other people are dealing with even scarier things. 

She didn’t even need me to tell her it was going to be ok. 

She didn’t need me to say anything. 

She just needed me to hold her hand. 

She just needed me to be there.

On a day that had me feeling overwhelmed, overmatched, and out of my element, it was the one thing for which I was totally qualified.

Maybe you’ve been given the opportunity to come alongside someone who is grieving. Maybe you will be soon. 

It’s not an easy task, but you are plenty qualified for it. Don’t worry so much about what to say. They don’t need you to tell them their feelings are wrong, or how things could be worse, or about someone you know who went through something even harder, or even that everything will be ok. 

It might be better if you don’t say anything at all. 

Just metaphorically (or literally) figure out a way to hold their hand or give them a really big hug.

It doesn’t seem like much, but trust me, just being there matters.

I woke up. The face of my bedside clock was expressionless.

Still no power.

It felt like time was standing still, but I knew otherwise. A quick check of my phone, whose battery was holding on for dear life, confirmed that I’d been asleep for exactly one hour. 

I was awake, but unfortunately, the nightmare persisted.

It was 1:30 am, but no more sleep would be had by me that night. Eerie lightning flashes periodically silhouetted the stripped and broken trees rising from the backyard like a witch’s bony fingers. It’s an image I’ll never forget.

I had to leave for the airport in five hours. My mind raced to try and solve all the problems that flooded it, both real and imagined. I speculated how long food would last in a refrigerator with no power. I looked up videos on YouTube for instructions on manually opening an automatic garage door. A scan of local headlines spoke of fallen trees and downed power lines everywhere, and I wondered if making it to the airport in time was even possible.

I had to figure out a way, even if it meant driving eleven hours on one hour of sleep. A conference filled with people was expecting an opening keynote speaker. And, based on the initial survey of the damage to our house and yard, I was not in a position to return checks.

Only one thing seemed certain: my first Daddy-Daughter trip with Ginny would have to be canceled.

Again.

And the thought of telling her made my heart splinter like the white pines outside my window.

I like to think of myself as a resilient person, cool under pressure. When a crisis comes up, my mind revs into overdrive and I work to solve the problems at hand. 

I’m not unique in this regard. When life is disrupted by a storm, an accident, or an unfavorable diagnosis, it’s easy to shift into busy mode, frantically working to get things back to normal.

This can be good, but also dangerous.

It’s a trait that shows up not just in a crisis, but anytime there’s a project to be finished or a to-do list to be tackled. Adultitis encourages us to keep pushing, assuring us that there will be plenty of time for everything else once this hurdle is cleared.

We barrel ahead until the work is done, telling ourselves that we can sit back and relax after we take care of one more thing. 

The problem is, there’s always one more thing.

And life keeps going, with or without our willingness to be present. 

That’s why, at nine the next morning, I was helping my daughter buckle into her window seat on a jet bound for Chattanooga.

In the light of day, after a neighbor helped us clear the driveway, Kim and I were able to have a clear-headed conversation about what to do. My first trip with Ginny was supposed to be to Orlando, but that was canceled thanks to COVID. If this one bit the dust, there wasn’t an obvious next one to replace it.

I felt bad leaving Kim behind to handle the details as it was, but to spend it having fun in Tennessee with Ginny was especially guilt-inducing. It made a lot of sense to put our heads down, deal with the crisis, see about flying home right after the gig, and put her first trip off for another time.  

But what if there is no “another time?” At the very least, this is our last summer with an 8-year-old Ginny. We won’t be getting another. 

Life’s pretty fast. It’s easy to miss it when you’re in the constant state of busyness that’s so common in our modern age. 

But it’s also easy to miss when life gets hard. 

This realization is also why, although our to-do list just tripled in the aftermath of the storm, while we’re already knee-deep planning for our first out-of-state Escape Adulthood Summit, our family spent last Friday afternoon at the beach. It was a gorgeous day. We ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with our toes in the sand. Kim napped in the sun. I cuddled with Ginny, played catch with Ben, and joked around with Lucy.

We filled our cups.

Because you can’t drive through hell on an empty gas tank.

Life keeps going, even in the hard times. We each have a certain number of days left.  It’s worth being reminded that the sands in the hourglass of our life don’t get frozen in place until the backyard is restored, the cancer has been cured, the diploma has been achieved, and things get back to “normal.”

Life keeps going.

Don’t fall into the trap of waiting for life to be just right before you actually live it. 

I wanted to share an update with you about what happened in the middle of our season finale 99th episode of Escape Adulthood LIVE. Kim and I had a lot of fun dressing up as 99-year-olds. There was much shenanigating (the first five minutes were worth the price of admission!). Near the end of our “Let’s Draw” segment, a severe storm knocked out our power, abruptly cutting the show short.

As it turned out, the storm produced a 100-plus mile per hour straight-line wind, which from what I understand is like a tornado but instead of rotating, the wind comes in one direction. Kim ran upstairs to collect the kids. When she came back downstairs, one of the kids mentioned a tree had fallen, and Kim confirmed there was “significant tree damage.”

After the storm settled a bit, I went upstairs to assess the situation. I was not ready for what I saw.

I expected to see a few fallen trees, not a preview of the apocalypse. A hurricane-force wind had done its damage. Our backyard, which had at least a hundred trees, was nearly bare. They were just…gone. Uprooted trees were everywhere. A few jagged sticks jutted out from the ground – the remains of trees that had been snapped in two. Most of the rest were diagonal, ready to fall at any moment. 

I walked outside into the dusk. It was raining lightly. Two trees had fallen on our roof, and another landed on our car, shattering the back window.

Carnage was everywhere.

By the time I went back inside, Kim had a cozy nest set up downstairs with blankets and candles and flashlights. We were in shock, still in our silly costumes, trying to process what just happened. We were grateful to all be safe.

The days since have been a blur. It took about 24 hours for the power to be restored. I was scheduled to leave at 6:45 the next morning with Ginny for a speaking engagement in Chattanooga. It was supposed to be her first Daddy-Daughter trip.

In bed that night, every time lightning flashed, the eerie silhouette of the craggy trees lit up like a living nightmare. 

After “sleeping” for about an hour, Kim and I were up early to see about clearing the driveway. A friendly neighbor stopped by and helped me chainsaw the fallen trees and push them out of the way, clearing a path for the other car that was still in good shape. 

After much deliberation, we decided to continue as planned, and Ginny and I headed to the airport. I tried to refocus my mind on the job at hand. Kim took on the Herculean task of calling insurance agents and tree guys and sorting through the mayhem that attracted a steady stream of onlookers perusing the devastation.

I am writing this from a hotel room in downtown Chattanooga. My youngest daughter is still sleeping, tuckered out from two hours spent in the pool yesterday afternoon. My talk for the Tennessee Pharmacy Association was well-received, and Ginny served as my beautiful assistant, checking bingo cards and handing out books as prizes to attendees. My goal has been to be professional, deliver a remarkable presentation, and make this trip as memorable and fun for Ginny as possible.

Meanwhile, my wife has been an All-Star, with her titles of “Director of Everything” and “Little Miss Details” proving to be accurate labels. My parents came up to help, bringing years of wisdom and a generator to power our refrigerator. So many people have stepped up to help in mighty ways. 

Even amidst the shock of processing the initial damage, we have tried to turn any fear we’ve had into curiosity. We are heartbroken over the devastation of our property, but are already asking the question, “What does this make possible?” We are grateful for our safety, an outpouring of support, and amazed at the ways we are already seeing God work.

I’m sure there will be more to report on that front in the coming weeks and months.
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One seemingly miraculous development is that even though close to a hundred trees were uprooted and tossed about all over our yard and house, the new studio renovation was completely untouched. This is especially significant because it had yet to be insured since the walls and roof were so recently finalized. 

“Turn fear into curiosity” was one of the pieces of advice my 99-year-old self gave me in the monologue I delivered just a few minutes before the storm hit. I think it was one of my best monologues yet – definitely one of the most emotional – and I’m proud to be able to show it to you here.

Thank you in advance for your thoughts and prayers as we continue to sort through this. It could have been much worse, and I am reminded yet again that it’s awfully hard to be mad or afraid when you’re busy counting blessings.

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🤔 I wonder…what’s something you’ve recently been reminded to be grateful for?

QUESTION: Is it possible to create a working Volkswagen Beetle out of rice cereal treats and fondant?

I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t be surprised to fire up Netflix one day and see it happen. I am awed by the mind-bending confections people create on those baking competition shows. It’s entertaining television. But watching them make their beautiful creations doesn’t teach us as much as the ugly stuff we create ourselves.

A few years ago, I led an unusual workshop. Instead of whiteboards, charts, and slides, we rolled out frosting, sprinkles, and sugar cookies. There was only one objective: decorate your cookie to be as ugly as possible, Martha Stewart’s disapproving scowl be damned.

There were about eighty people, each of whom accomplished the objective.

Eighty correct answers, and yet every cookie was different.

In life, as opposed to what we learned in school, there’s often more than one right answer. There are many ways to solve a problem, and our unique perspective and talents aid us and flavor our solution.

As I interviewed participants about their creations afterward, one guy said, “I started out making mine, and someone commented that it looked like a spaceship. So I added licorice as exhaust to make it look more like one.”

I asked him, “Were you offended by their suggestion?”

“No, of course not, ” he replied.

Which makes me wonder why we are so defensive when someone suggests a way for us to improve something? Maybe it was the seriousness – or lack thereof  – of the situation? Or the intent of the messenger? Perhaps the shared spirit around the task at hand set the tone for teamwork over competition.

QUESTION: What would happen if we decided to take ALL advice with gracious open-mindedness, regardless of the intent or tone of the messenger?

This is related to another thing I witnessed: the power of plussing. People at each table contributed small ideas to up the ugly factor. One guy had the idea of incorporating items from the breakfast spread to add diversity to the available materials. Others followed suit, then added their own tweaks. Each minor “improvement” worked together to achieve a wide array of remarkable results. 

This “yes, and” approach, popularized by the art of improvisational comedy, engenders a supportive environment for risk-taking by making the process a shared one. It also makes innovation more accessible by encouraging small, doable experiments that build on one another.

QUESTION: What would our organizations – and families!? – look like if we supported risk-taking rather than stifling it by punishing failure?

As I acknowledged the unusual results brought forth by another group, they shared, “We started out trying to make them ugly, but then they didn’t look so ugly, so we settled on calling them odd.”

I loved their willingness to pivot. We can’t always think or theorize our way to progress. It’s not always possible to know every step before we begin. Sometimes we just have to tinker our way there. 

And sometimes we end up in a much different place on an undertaking than we thought we would when we began. It’s easy to grow frustrated and discouraged as we struggle to force our current circumstances to match our initial vision. But a careful review of the situation might reveal that we’re in a better place than we originally envisioned. 

QUESTION: What if we embraced the potential and beauty of where we are now instead of comparing it to where we thought we’d be?

The mission was accomplished that day. Complete culinary ugliness was achieved. The only thing delicious that came from this lighthearted activity was the life-changing questions that emerged. Beautiful questions I offer to you today. They might take some time to unpack, but I encourage you to do so and guarantee it’s worth the effort.

Which is more than I can say about trying to make an edible automobile out of cereal and sugar.

But then again, don’t underestimate the insight that can be gained in seemingly trivial pursuits.

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My parents recently hosted us for a birthday dinner. In Kim’s card, my Dad had written something about us being the most persistent people he knew. Kim smiled, because we know how close a cousin “persistent” is to “stubborn,” which is a synonym for “unreasonable,” “pig-headed,” and “cantankerous.”

But we took it for the compliment it was intended to be.

Persistence, stubbornness, an abundance of sticktoitiveness…whatever you want to call it, we definitely have it.

It’s what allowed us to keep going for twenty years before making it to our dream home on Lake Michigan. We endured years of financial loss, crushing debt, the disappointing results of failed plans, and excruciating stretches of time when momentum was harder to find than Waldo in a candy cane factory.

That persistence served us well. It may have been our superpower, but it never seemed that special to me. Maybe because I know the secret.

There were many times I wanted to wave the white flag. But whenever it felt like the jig was up and bankruptcy was looming, I just assured myself that if all this didn’t work out, Kim could always go back to teaching. I could always get a corporate job or manage a fast food place somewhere. We’d be fine.

Then I’d think about how terrible it would be if I had to do that for the next twenty or thirty years. 

And then I’d get back to work on the thing that excites me. Because moving forward suddenly wasn’t as hard, or hopeless, or impossible as it seemed. In considering the alternatives, I was reminded that I had a choice.

Even now, when I’m in the middle of hosting a one-man woe-is-me pity party about how difficult I have it, how much this sucks, and how I don’t think I want to do this anymore, I call a timeout. I reflect on the summers of my teenage years, when I worked at a car dealership, enduring long days doing work that didn’t excite me. I remember how slow the clock moved as I counted down the minutes to freedom. I recall the pangs of dread that settled in on Sunday nights.

That job is where I learned that I’m employable. It’s when I made the choice that I was going after my dream, no matter how hard the road or how long it took. In that promise, persistence was born.

This is not a message about never quitting, which is sometimes the wisest course of action. It’s about reminding ourselves that quitting is only one of the options.

Adultitis prefers us playing the victim card. It very much enjoys us feeling powerless and without any choices.

But we always have choices.

We put its panties in a bunch when we play the perspective card. When we look at how far we’ve already come, or take an honest accounting of all the options at our disposal – while realizing how many of them are worse than our current situation – we can pull ourselves from the pit of hopelessness. 

Laying all the choices out on the table can help remind us that we are on the right road after all. Sometimes, being faced with a less desirable scenario immediately brings to mind some new thing we can try in our present situation.

I’m sure there’s a little bit of persistence involved, and a dash of needing to be my own boss, but mostly, the thing that kept me going was simply reframing my situation.

What is the secret to being persistent? How do you keep going when you really want to throw in the towel?

You simply remind yourself of ALL the choices, and why “keep going” is the best one.

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Is it weird that I don’t remember my first kiss?

That’s weird, right?

Another fun fact is that my first few kisses were instigated by the girl, not me. And that’s not because I had so many of them chasing me; it’s because I was waiting for the timing to be perfect.

Was I waiting for a red, Jamaican-accented crab holding a big neon sign blinking, “Kiss the girl!”? 

No, of course not. That’s ridiculous.

I was waiting for the billboard after that to assure me that the first sign was the sign I was waiting for.

Truthfully, I was afraid. I was lost in questions: Is this the one? How can I tell if she wants me to kiss her? How am I supposed to do this, anyway? How is my breath? What if I do it wrong? Will she laugh at me? Will she tell all her friends? Will I die alone, single, and unloved? Yep, I’m totally going to die alone, single, and unloved.

While I was swimming in the fog of self-doubt and existential dread, I guess the girl got tired of me missing the neon sign, the billboard, AND the marching band and leaned in and went for it. And then, caught off guard, I may or may not have blacked out, which might explain why, although there are a few contenders, I can’t remember which one was technically my first kiss.

As you can see, I can be a bit of an over-thinker, lost in the weeds as I wait for the timing to be right. Fortunately, as I’ve gotten older, I have also gotten better at making the first move and worrying less about perfect timing.

I’ve learned that it’s a fool’s game trying to determine the right time to do anything.

When is the right time to kiss the girl?
When is the right time to start a family?
When is the right time to go back to school?
When is the right time to start that business?
When is the right time to sell that stock?
When is the right time to retire?
When is the right time to take that leap your heart is begging for?

I don’t know.  No one does.

Perfect timing is only obvious in retrospect.

If you’re wondering about the right time to do the thing you’ve been mulling over, I do know this: it’s probably a lot closer to NOW than later.

I am a planner. I believe wisdom is important when making decisions. These are good things. But there is a certain wisdom in the adage that advises jumping off the cliff and building the parachute on the way down.

Because that’s what happens anyway.

In life and in business, there are no perfect plans. As noted philosopher Mike Tyson once proclaimed, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”

But the good news is, as Marie Forleo reminds us, “Everything is figureoutable.”

Meanwhile, as we wait for the stars to align, we miss out on opportunities right in front of us.

One of my favorite things is getting to take one of my kids with me when I travel for a speaking engagement. We’ve made a point to make the first one with each child kind of epic. At a gig in San Diego, I took Lucy to the zoo and we got to see a cheetah run. Ben joined me on a trip to Orlando, where we rented a convertible and visited Legoland.

Finally, it was my youngest’s turn. I secured tickets to the Magic Kingdom for me and Ginny after an organization booked me for their national conference in Orlando last December. The timing was perfect.

Then COVID.

The event switched to virtual, and our epic trip was put on hold. It was excruciating to tell her the trip was canceled after we’d spent so much time looking forward to it. Since the Disney tickets are transferable, I’ve been waiting for another opportunity in the area to present itself. So far, nothing has. I didn’t want to “settle” on a “lesser” first trip with Ginny, but I recently decided to move beyond this self-imposed restriction. 

Our first trip together will now be, drumroll, please…

…Chattanooga, Tennessee! I know, exciting, right?! It may not be the sexiest destination, but I also know that for Ginny, it’s more about spending time with me than where we go. I also know that life offers no guarantees, and if I keep waiting, I may miss my chance to take her on a trip altogether. Or, less dramatically, we’ll end up taking far fewer of them than we could have. (Of course, the next gig anywhere near Orlando has her name on it, no questions asked.)

One of the best tricks Adultitis has at its disposal is convincing us to wait for the timing to be perfect. It’s a trap that allows us to hide, fear to win, and the clock to run out.

The clock runs out for all of us. The end is sooner than you think.

Most people wish they’d gotten started on that thing they now love earlier, not later.

Most people wish they’d had more kids, not less. 

Most people on their deathbed are more regretful about the things they didn’t do than the things they did.

You’re never “ready” enough. You never have enough saved up. You’re never cool enough, strong enough, smart enough, confident enough, worthy enough, or lovable enough. 

From your first kiss to your first business trip with your kid, the timing is never perfect.

Sometimes you have to quit overthinking it and just jump.

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