Author: Jason

Pajama Runs are great because they fit into busy schedules, allow you to break a few “rules,” and for the price of a few simple ice cream cones, you get to create a memory you will never forget.

The Mission: Put simply, a Pajama Run is when you surprise someone by taking them out for a late-night ice cream treat in their pajamas. In fact, EVERYONE involved needs to be wearing pajamas. Anyone can play — you can “kidnap” your kids, grandkids, parents, or friends — and you can include as many people as you want. Bonus points if the people you surprise are already in bed (feel free to wake them up with pots and pans and wooden spoons or some appropriate music). For best results, maintain the mystery by keeping the destination a secret for as long as possible. If you have kids and you’re feeling extremely rebellious, do it on a school night.

Are you in?

Here’s a video that goes into a bit more detail:

When you buy something online, during the checkout process, there is almost always a checkbox with an invitation to receive promotional emails of some sort. Sometimes you have to check the box to get the emails. Other sites have pre-checked the box for you, automatically assuming that you want their stuff. If you don’t, you physically have to uncheck the box — or opt-out — yourself.

If you’re not paying attention, you could end up getting a bunch of stuff you didn’t really want.

Too many people live life with their checkboxes pre-checked.

Every society has certain norms about how one is supposed to navigate through life. Here are a few that are pretty standard in America these days:

• You work a job you only kinda like — if you’re lucky — and then get to do what you really want when you retire.
• You always take the promotion.
• You should live together before you get married.
• A household needs two incomes to survive.
• A family must have two cars.
• Your family room should be centered around a television.
• You carry a monthly balance on your credit card.
• You have your babies in a hospital.
• When they are four or five, you send them off to school.
• Your kids should be involved in as many extracurricular activities as possible, as early as possible. (If you want them to be well-adjusted and get into good colleges, that is.)
• You need to decide what you want to do with your life in high school, so you can decide what degree you want to pursue, to decide what colleges to apply to.
• Once you get that degree, find someone to hire you to work that job you only kinda like…

Interestingly, most of the norms above only became norms within the past 50-100 years. Which makes it all the more peculiar that we are so quick to follow them. “The way we do things” hasn’t always been the way we’ve done things. And yet, many people go through life with these “checkboxes” pre-selected.

It’s time to opt out.

Opt out of all the preconceived notions, assumptions, and stereotypes. Then mindfully choose what’s best for you.

Just because everyone around you is running around like chickens with their heads cut off, overcommitted, overwhelmed, and financially overextended doesn’t mean you have to be, too. Just like online, if you don’t pay attention to what you’re signing up for (and why), you could end up with a life flooded with things you don’t want. Things like stress, debt, and regret.

Of course, opting out requires a fair measure of thought. You have to think: is this what I really want? Where did this norm come from? What are the pros and cons of sticking with it or ignoring it? Are there any alternatives?

On top of the heavy thinking, opting out requires faith and courage as well.

It’s not my job or my aim to tell you WHAT to choose. I just want you to be intentional about your choices. Your life doesn’t have to stick to the same standard plot as everyone else. In the end, you may end up choosing to keep many of the things the same. But at least the decisions are yours, and not anyone else’s.

In the end, that’s what leads to a rewarding life filled with meaning and adventure. And keeps you from getting a flood of stuff you never signed up for.

After a speaking gig in Houston years ago, we drove down to Galveston to spend a little time near the Gulf. Our daughter Lucy, almost four years old at the time, waded in the water, immersed in a game she liked to call “tricking the waves.” Kim commented on how much deeper she was willing to go compared to just a few months earlier, when we were in Florida.

Now, Lucy didn’t go diving headfirst into the surf or anything, but she didn’t need to. She was being, as I like to say, “just brave enough.”

I spent a lot of my childhood being afraid. I was afraid of new experiences. Of meeting new people. Of the unknown. Of drowning. Of looking stupid. Of the future. Of being a colossal failure in life. I was afraid of “the thunder, the lightning, and the firetrucks.”

Over the years, my faith has helped me deal with much of that fear, but it’s still a part of my life. It is for all of us.

There have been many moments in my life when I have been afraid and, like Susan Jeffers advises, “felt the fear and did it anyway.” Those brief moments of bravery have increased my resistance to fear. Like Lucy, after I went a little deeper, my new position didn’t seem all that deep anymore.

I’ve always been drawn to quotes about fear, courage, and bravery. The following quote comes from the movie “We Bought a Zoo,” and I had to jot it down as soon as I heard it:

“You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.” 

–Matt Damon in We Bought a Zoo

I don’t know about you, but to me, there is great comfort in remembering that I don’t have to be brave and courageous every minute of my life.

Twenty seconds here and there will do.

Kim and I are all about collecting experiences over stuff. The challenge with experiences is that they are fleeting. Which is why we normally try to make them tangible in some way, to relive them again and again.

Some common methods for “tangibilizing” memories are taking photos, shooting video, scrapbooking, and journaling. These are each excellent in their own way, but they also have downsides. With photos and video, you can easily spend more time looking through a camera’s viewfinder than actually enjoying the experience firsthand. And others require a lot of post-event work that doesn’t always get done, as is the case with video editing, scrapbooking, and journaling.

I am not discounting any of the above methods for capturing experiences for future enjoyment. I have done and will continue to utilize each of them. I just want to call attention to an often-unheard-of but perhaps the easiest and most effective method.

Memory lists.

Memory lists are very simple and only require a few minutes to make. Using a notebook, jot down the “memory snapshots” that you experienced that day. Keep them simple; one sentence snippets will suffice. Don’t worry if you’re not a “writer.” You probably are experienced at making to-do lists, and you don’t worry about those winning Pulitzer prizes, right? Well, consider this an I-did list.

You can easily bust out a list of 10 things in less than five minutes. But here’s the magic: when you review the list in five years, you’ll be amazed at how those memories spring to life while your brain fills in the details you didn’t even write down.

For example, I just stumbled across a list that I made right after a trip to Florida years ago. Here’s a sampling of some of my notes from a visit to Disney World:

• Abu kissed Lucy during the Main Street parade.
• Genie gave Dad a high five.
• We told Cinderella’s evil stepsisters to “Keep it movin’.”
• Lucy: “It looked like Beast was nice.”
• Treats: Rice Krispies Mickey with M&Ms, Red Velvet Mickey Cake Pop.
• Lucy started bawling when Maleficent came out during the live show at Cinderella’s castle, requiring Dad to hold her.
• Ben’s first ride: It’s a Small World.
• Mommy and Lucy on the Astro Orbiter ride during the fireworks. Lucy: “It’s so pretty!”
• At night, the castle played “tricks” (light show). Lucy: “Good job, castle!” (with a thumbs up.)
• Dole whips!!!

Notice how rough and seemingly mundane a few of them are. Some are simply milestones (Ben’s first ride), a record of what we ate (Mickey cake pops), cute things Lucy said (“Good job, castle!”), or moments that were fleeting and could have easily been forgotten (Abu stopping to kiss Lucy).

We do have pictures and video of some of these moments, but let’s face it, some of the best memories happen when the cameras are turned off (or aren’t allowed). And upon our return from Florida, I didn’t have the time or energy to make a scrapbook, edit a video, or write more in-depth about our trip in a journal.

But I had fifteen minutes to write a list of 38 things that stood out about it.

Years later, it only took five minutes to read it and relive some wonderful memories that would have otherwise been forgotten.

I’ve never appreciated Dr. Seuss more than since having kids. He made books as enjoyable for adults as they are for children. Hands down, I would rather read ANY Dr. Seuss book over the Disney Princess Golden Books that have been the focus of Lucy’s recent attention. The former is fun to read, the latter comes off like a lifeless book report of an otherwise entertaining movie. (Just the facts, ma’am.) After reading Cinderella for the seven hundredth time, there are only two possible forms of relief: either a cannonball to the face or a reading of Hop on Pop.

Have you heard the legend that Green Eggs and Ham was written on a bet? It’s no legend, it’s true. After writing The Cat in the Hat using only 233 words, Seuss’ editor bet him that he could not write a book using no more than 50 words. Seuss won the bet when he wrote the now classic tale about some oddly-colored proteins.

Which brings me to an important lesson. And no, it’s not that you should try new things in a box or with a fox. You see, Green Eggs and Ham is Dr. Seuss’s best-selling book of all time. And it contained fewer words than any of the others. 

Although it goes against what we learned in kindergarten, sometimes less is more.

During the Civil War, Edward Everett, who was considered one of the great orators of the day, gave a speech that lasted two hours. But no one remembers it, because it was overshadowed by Abraham Lincoln, who used just ten sentences to deliver his Gettysburg Address.

But this lesson applies to more than words.

Less clutter is more space. Keeping your house, bedroom, or office desk free from clutter leads to more clarity and more space in your head.

Less activity is more freedom. Not saying yes to every invitation, working fewer hours, and limiting how many extracurriculars your kids are involved in leads to more family time and the freedom to do more things that feed you.

Less disruption is more productivity. Close your office door and turn off email alerts, and you’ll get more done. Turn off the TV at dinner, and your conversations will be more fruitful.

Less stuff is more experience. Spending less on the newest fashions, furnishings, and gadgets gives you more money to make memories and create scenes.

We here have made a mission out of believing that less stress is more fun.

And apparently, less Disney Princess Golden Books is more sanity.

Are you looking for more of something in your life? Space? Money? Productivity? Freedom? Family Time? Fun?

Maybe the answer lies in doing less of something else.

I met Kevin and his family when I was in college. They were very involved in the church I attended. Such cool people; kind, warm, and welcoming. The parents modeled a marriage worth emulating. Kevin reminded me of me when I was his age: brown curly hair, smart and thoughtful, a little bit shy.

I’d lost touch, but was saddened when I heard that Kevin, just twenty-three years old, was battling leukemia. He had been in Texas getting treatment and fighting hard, but with the cancer on the verge of winning the war, he returned in September to spend his final months at home. Kevin’s favorite holiday is Christmas, but it wasn’t assured that he’d live to see the next one. So his family did a cool thing.

They broke a rule and moved Christmas up a few months.

Upon his return — in September, remember — he was greeted by a street strewn with signs welcoming him home. Beautiful red bows adorned the maple trees, fence, and porch. Even the neighbor’s house had Christmas lights, too. Friends and family decked out Kevin’s home with Christmas cheer, cookies, and a fully-decorated tree.

Awesome.

What if your doctor told you that you had a 50/50 shot of making it to the end of the year? What would change in your life? Anything? Everything?

Here’s a sobering thought: there’s a pretty good chance that at least a few people reading this won’t be here this Christmas. That number could include you. Or me. The only 100% certainty is that for every one of us, our Christmases are numbered.

Don’t wait for a doctor’s diagnosis to wake you out of your slumber. It’s a luxury that rarely comes.

Is there something you’re yearning to do but are waiting for the “proper” time to do it? Maybe this is the week to go for it. (Or at least start planning for it.) No time like the present, after all.

What advice would you give to someone to make sure they’re living every day to the fullest? (Especially if that someone was you?) Here are some of mine:

• Quit worrying about what other people think.
• Examine your life for rules you’re living by that don’t actually exist. (Hint: there are way more of these than you can possibly imagine.) Start ruthlessly ignoring them.
• Watch less TV. Create more adventures.
• Pull out the good china and have a fancy dinner (even if you’re only having macaroni and cheese). To those waiting for some sort of special occasion, I’d say that having dinner together with the people you love is always a special occasion.
• Start dreaming a little bit bigger than seems reasonable. That’s how you know you’re doing it right.
• Do more of what excites you to the core. Do less of what doesn’t.
• Remember that EVERY day is a holiday. It’s just that most days, what to celebrate is up to you.

Every day is a holiday; celebrating them is optional.

Kevin made it to the “real” Christmas, but he passed away less than a month later. He and his family were a powerful and humbling example to me of what faith and love really look like during difficult times.

And as for the specific dates on which we’re supposed to celebrate things like Halloween or Thanksgiving or Christmas?

They reminded me that those are optional, too.

I tell that story from time to time, mostly with the aim of stressing to teachers the importance of encouraging their students when they see them doing something great. I readily admit that Mrs. Smith very well could have been feeding me a line of B.S. when it came to comparing our artistic skills, but the point is that she was sincere, and she made me believe it. That moment stands out as the first time I was really made to believe had a gift when it came to art. I owned it, and I never looked back.

She always told me that I’d be a “famous” artist someday Luckily, I didn’t know then that most artists don’t become famous until they die.

Well, I was cleaning out a closet the other day and came across a box of mementos from my childhood. Among the finds was a stack of school newsletters, including Peru Catholic School newsletter, circa 1984. Inside was the most horrifying, God-awful illustration of Santa ever put to paper. I refuse to believe it’s the work of my hands, even though I happened to be in third grade in 1984. Yes, the initials “JK” are lightly drawn in the bottom right corner of the artwork (not lightly enough!), but I still can’t bring myself to claim the work as my own. Granted, all the other names around the drawing are fellow classmates and there wasn’t another “JK” in third grade that year, but I’ll stick to the theory that in this case, “JK” stands for just kidding.

Ok, ok, I’ll admit this: the suspicion that Mrs. Smith was giving me a line of B.S is very VERY likely.

Looking back, I’m not sure what she saw in me. Perhaps, compared to the other third graders, the drawing isn’t half-bad. Or maybe our class had unusually low artistic aptitude, causing me to really stand out. In the end, none of that matters. 

What matters is that Mrs. Smith saw something in me, and told me about it in such a way that I believed it was true. Which led me to keep drawing. And drawing. And drawing. And eventually I got better. Pretty darn good, actually.

The talent was there all along. But without hard work, talent just becomes unfulfilled potential. And without some encouragement from time to time, it’s awfully hard to buy in to doing the work required to hone that talent into something remarkable.

Mrs. Smith passed away from cancer before I ever had a chance to thank her for what he did that day. It’s likely she wouldn’t have even remembered it.

But a small gesture to you might be a big honking deal to someone else.

Whether you’re a teacher, a manager or a parent, if you catch somebody’s light shining, tell them you see it and that you appreciate it. When you encourage others — and really mean it — you have no idea what kind of impact you just might make.

In the case of Mrs. Smith, she provided the fuel to ensure that someone wouldn’t be drawing bad Santas forever.

Escape Adulthood!

That’s our rallying cry.

Maybe it’s obvious, but we’re not actually calling for everyone to ditch their responsibilities. We’re not advocating strict diets of chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese. And we’re not suggesting that we all quit our jobs to muck around with Play-Doh all day long.

There are actually some sweet benefits that come from being an adult. (Ordering strawberry margaritas at a Mexican restaurant is just one of them.)

The “Adulthood” we encourage people to escape from is the one they create for themselves when they assume childhood is nothing more than a stage of life, a hermetically sealed portion of their past. It is the Adulthood with all the stupid rules, the one that demands we always do the safe and prudent thing, that we earn play through hard work, and that we must always, without exception, take ourselves way too seriously.

Yeah, that’s the Adulthood that sucks.

The hallmark of way too many “adult” lives is the propensity to “live for the weekends.” The work week is meant to be muddled through, a necessary evil required to pay the bills and finance the epic fun we are finally allowed to have on the weekend.

As an entrepreneur (and now an entrepreneur with a kid), I have found that my weekends are, by comparison to many of my peers, pretty boring. One would expect that in my line of work, I’d spend my time off galavanting about on some thrilling childlike adventures. Sometimes. But not often. I had begun to wonder if something was wrong with me or if I was living a hypocritical life.

But then I came across a quote from Hugh MacLeod of the wildly insightful Gapingvoid.com. He said:

Running a startup is full of extreme ups and downs. Which is why so many successful and happy entrepreneurs I know lead such normal, stable, unglamorous, “boring”, family-centered lives. Somehow they need the latter in order to balance out the former. Extra-curricular drama looks great in the tabloids, but that’s all it’s ultimately good for.

Aha! That explained a lot. Running a business brings its own share of drama. And fun. It’s exciting, engaging, and tremendously gratifying. My weekends tend to be a chance to recover from the adventure that is my daily life. I don’t feel any particular reason to thank God for Fridays, and I never experience what I call “Sunday Night Dread,” although I used to do both.

It occurs to me that the people living for the weekend are also yearning for an escape from the very same “capital A” Adulthood I started this post talking about. But the drama they indulge in is only a temporary fix that always ends with the cold shower known as Monday Morning.

Instead of escaping by means of cheap thrills, strong drinks, or mindless entertainment, might I suggest a more productive, long-term fix?

Escape instead from the rules that don’t exist but which are currently holding you back. Practice being courageous and begin to dream again. Let go of the assumptions that the workweek must always be drudgery and that passionate living can’t be a daily reality. Ask questions about your current situation and get curious about what some new choices might manifest. Tap into your wellspring of passion and work at becoming the linchpin you were created to be.

If Friday is your favorite day of the week, it might be time to make a change.

Life is too short to spend it living for the weekend.

Escape Adulthood!

Raise your hand if you’ve ever been married. Keep it up if you received some beautiful dinnerware as a wedding gift that has never seen an actual dinner table.

Wow, that’s a lot of hands.

We are proud of our fancy china. We display it on a shelf or in a cabinet specially made for such things. Most of us intend to use it someday, we’re just waiting for the right occasion. Judging by how infrequently we use the stuff, apparently we’re waiting for the Pope or the President or Peyton Manning to call us up and say, “Hey, I was gonna be in the neighborhood. Mind if I stop over for dinner?”

It’s clear that our bar for “special occasions” is set pretty high.

But what if…

What if you pulled out the good stuff on some random…Wednesday? What if you set the table with the fancy china and a luxurious fabric tablecloth? What if you turned the lights down low and lit a few candles? What if you turned on some jazz or classical music? What if you served drinks in wine glasses — even if the menu was only macaroni and cheese and milk?

Why not?

What this does is serve as an important symbol that any time you spend sharing a meal with people you love — whether it’s your spouse, best friend, or family — is indeed a special occasion. More than that, it’s blessed. Holy, even.

In our frantic lives, meal time increasingly becomes just another thing to check off the list between meetings and soccer practice. And it’s your family that pays the price.

When you get to the end of your life, and you’re sharing favorite memories with loved ones, the Disney World vacation or the trip to the Grand Canyon will get mentioned, but most of the time will be spent recounting those simple moments around the dinner table. Traditions. Stories. Memories.

“Remember that time when…?”

“Remember how you used to…?”

“Remember that one story you always told…?”

I’ve been sharing this idea of having more “fancy” dinners in my recent speaking programs. The other day, I got an email from an audience member who decided to give it a try. Here’s her account of how it went:

Hey Jason,

I just wanted to write and say thanks for sharing your ideas. My husband and I have 5 kids ranging in age from 15-1/2 to 2-1/2. We decided to have a candle light dinner with the kids — it was so much fun! We broke out the good dishes and silverware, drank our milk in wine glasses, etc.  The oldest two were really confused and the 8-year-old said nothing but her expression of “Where are our real parents?” was enough to tickle my funny bone. As we were setting the table, and they were noticing this was no ordinary Sunday night dinner, they were asking, “Did we win the lottery? Are you having another baby?” and lots of other hilarious questions. It was priceless…

Thanks again for inspiring us to LIVE!!!

Take care,
Cindy and Pete Payne and kids
Eastman, WI

This is a moment — a memory — that you could create this very evening. Easy.

But you have to be willing to give the good china a change of scenery. I know that the good stuff is expensive and hard — impossible sometimes — to replace. You don’t want a plate to get chipped or broken. If you’re going to risk doing damage, you want to make sure it’s a worthy occasion.

But just for a moment, think of someone you love who’s passed away.

A spouse.

A parent.

A child.

Wouldn’t you do just about anything to have one more dinner with that person?

Now tell me that having dinner on a Wednesday with someone you love isn’t a special occasion.

When I was a kid, there was nothing worse than a Sunday night during the school year. The foreboding end of weekend freedom was perilously near. As the sun set and the clock ticked older, the pit in my stomach grew and grew. I did well in school, but thinking ahead to a week of early mornings, boring lectures, bad lunches, stupid bullies, and unexciting homework was hardly a thing to look forward to.

I was suffering from Sunday Night Dread.

On Friday afternoon, the future unfolded before me with endless possibilities. The freedom was intoxicating, and the sky was the limit. On Saturday, I knew the clock was ticking, but I took comfort in the fact that I still had a whole day left in the bank. But there was no escaping Sunday Night Dread, with its whispers of Monday growing ever louder as the day wore on.

The most treacherous Sunday Night Dread of all came on the last day of summer vacation. Then Sunday Night Dread spilled into an entire week!

I used to believe that Sunday Night Dread was a condition that only affected school children. A graduation from formal education taught me otherwise. I discovered that a vast majority of adults also suffered from Sunday Night Dread, complete with the anxiety of another week of early mornings, boring meetings, bad lunches, stupid bosses, and unexciting work. It is so widespread that a restaurant chain has achieved great success by embracing a theme – Thank God It’s Friday – which is the antithesis of Sunday Night Dread.

Once I got married and started full force into my career as a freelance illustrator and designer (which evolved into what I do today), I have never really suffered from Sunday Night Dread. I was finally doing what I loved and actually looked forward to Mondays.

Sunday Night Dread is still a major factor for most people. But it doesn’t need to be.

On his show, The Big Idea, Donny Deutsch interviews people who are doing what they love and, in many cases, have made millions doing it. During one episode, he made this statement: “If Sunday night feels different than Friday night, you’re doing something wrong.”

Re-read that sentence again, and let it sink in.

If you’re on the right path, Friday should feel no different than Sunday or Tuesday or any other day of the week. You should have a passion for your work that doesn’t shut off when it’s time to go home. It should keep you up at night (in a good, excited-to-get-going-the-next-day sort of way.)

If you aren’t thrilled with your job and are experiencing Sunday Night Dread, you probably fall into one of two camps. Either you know exactly what you’d rather be doing (and, for a variety of reasons, stay put), or you have no idea what you’d rather be doing. Whole books have been written about what to do if you’re in either camp, but let me offer a few simple steps to get you started.

Scenario #1: I know what I’d rather be doing, but I can’t do that!

If you’re stuck in a career that fosters Sunday Night Dread even though you have a bigger dream deep inside, you have at least one obstacle in your path, and that obstacle is called fear. You may say, “That’s not true; I just can’t afford to lose the great benefits that come with this job.”

Really? The truth is that you’re afraid that you might get sick and go bankrupt if you give up those almighty benefits. I can’t get into every potential roadblock you’re dealing with, but if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll notice that it usually boils down to fear.

Combat this fear by spending time thinking about what you might lose if you don’t leap. Imagine life down the road a decade or two – what will those regrets feel like tomorrow if you don’t go for it today? And what could you gain if you do? A little perspective like that is a great catalyst to remind you that even though it might be painful or scary to act now, it can never match the pain of regret if you don’t even try.

Scenario #2: I’m not crazy about my job, but I’m not sure what else to do.

If you suffer from Sunday Night Dread, but have no idea what you’d rather be doing, you’re a rare individual. I bet you really DO know what you want to do, but have given fear such an upper hand that you won’t allow yourself to consider alternative possibilities.

Awareness is the first step. The sheer act of acknowledging Sunday Night Dread will eliminate a blockage and open your mind to new opportunities. Pay attention to the things about your job you actually like. Or the passions and pastimes you can’t wait to work on when you get home. These clues can help lead you to a life lacking Sunday Night Dread.

No matter what camp you’re in, it’s important to know that if your Friday night feels different than your Sunday night, you’re doing something wrong. You were not designed to toil away with your talents and passions rotting away on the sideline.

Take that first step in eliminating Sunday Night Dread from your life today!