Well, today is the day. The cultural event where millions of people are unified in celebration of what many have called the biggest secular holiday in the United States, and possibly the world. 

Of course, I’m referring to my birthday. I’m not sure how I’ll mark the occasion, but perhaps there will be something interesting to watch on TV? 🏈 #SuperbOwl

It’s true; as of today, I am 48 years old. Is that old? It feels kinda old, but still a few years shy of fifty, so that’s something. I do relate to Margaret Atwood who believed, “Everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.” I now have peers who have died of “natural causes,” serving as a sobering reminder that time is ticking. In some respects, I’m nowhere near where I thought I’d be, but on the other hand, I’m surprised—in a good way—about how everything has turned out so far.

I always love reading when people I admire share “X Things I’ve Learned in X Years of Life” on their birthdays, so I thought it might be fun to do that.

Oh, and instead of gifts, the best present you can give me is to share my work with someone else. If you know someone who might resonate with these words, please send them to this page (https://EscapeAdulthood.com/Insider) and invite them to subscribe. Thanks!

1. We were all experts once.
   
2. We all live by rules that don’t exist. There are a million of these rules. The best lives seem to be lived by the ones who break a lot of them.
   
3. You can follow best practices or you can be innovative, but you can’t do both.
   
4. Every single day is a reason to celebrate; it’s just that most days what to celebrate is up to us.
   
5. Life should get more fun as you get older, not less. You know more things, have more money, and can make more decisions on your own. Instead of living life with a big box of 64 crayons at our disposal, we regularly settle for the wimpy 8-pack, with the red, blue, and green crayons replaced with gray, beige, and mauve.
   
6. You can’t control what happens to you in life, you can only control how you react to it. This is a superpower few take advantage of.
   
7. Opportunities are everywhere in life. Sometimes they come disguised as monsoons. The next time a storm blows through your life, ask yourself, “Now that this has happened what does this make possible?” Do that, and you can expect a 100% chance of awesome.
   
8. The secret to (lasting) success in absolutely everything is this: do hard things. We waste a lot of time trying to find a shortcut around it, but none exists.
   
9. The only thing straight A’s tell you with certainty about a person is that they are good at school.
   
10. Your big dream will take longer than you think. It will also look different than you imagined. But it will be better and it will be worth it.
    
11. It’s easy to justify the lack of time we spend with loved ones by saying we have quality time together. Bulls#!t. Our relationships need quantity time. We assume that Hallmark moments can be created at will within the tiny slivers of time we carve between meetings, power lunches, recitals, soccer games, conference calls, and commutes to and from school and daycare. The busier you are and the more full your schedule, the more desperately you need this to be true. Quality time comes from quantity time.
    
12. It’s a waste of time to whine about and wish for someone else’s must be nice. Your job is to figure out yours and make the most of it.
    
13. The greatest ​game​ ever played was on a Wednesday in Cleveland.
    
14. If you say that you’re an artist, but aren’t making art, you’re not. (Replace the word “artist” with whatever you claim to be.)
    
15. Be careful how you define success. If you’re not careful, you can get duped into playing a game you don’t even care about and end up making choices that distract you from a game that does. Tiger Woods never beat himself up for not having as good a free throw percentage as Steph Curry. Get really clear on what game you’re playing. And don’t beat yourself up for being in last place in the games you’re not.
    
16. We act like the game of life is to check off as many things on our to-do list as possible. That’s the wrong game.
    
17. If God was as serious as some people imagine him to be, we’d never have the duck-billed platypus, giraffes, or Elton John.
    
18. Are kids the cause of or the cure for Adultitis? Turns out the answer is entirely up to you.
    
19. The most important thing you can do for the health and happiness of your family is to have dinner together. Dare to be the only house on the block to all be home for a family dinner five nights a week.
    
20. Some parents are verbs, some are nouns. There are way too many nouns.
    
21. Don’t let strangers be the main influencers in your child’s life.
    
22. Set aside one day a week to be free from all work and busyness, just spending time with your God and your family. No, the world might not be too keen about you dropping off the radar, but you know what? It’s not the world’s choice. It’s yours. The world is not the boss of you.
    
23. Sometimes we have to say no to the good to say yes to the best.
    
24. What good is the authority of parenthood if all you ever do is make rules? It’s easy for good parents (and teachers) to get so caught up in enforcing rules that they forget that they have permission to break them once in a while.
    
25. Monday’s don’t suck. It’s your job. We don’t hate work. We hate doing work that doesn’t matter. If you’re always thanking God for Friday, it might be time to make a change.
    
26. Many well-intentioned parents, grandparents, and teachers urge kids to get a job with good benefits. I couldn’t agree more. Just make sure they’re the ones you really want.
    
27. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, you’re trying to do too much.
    
28. Never let the fear of making a mess get in the way of making a memory.
    
29. We make time for the things that are important to us. If don’t have time for yourself (or your spouse, kids, family, exercise routine, charitable activities, a return to school, or your favorite hobby), it’s because it’s not that important to you. Our actions reveal our priorities.
    
30. Everyone says family first, but few have the actions to back it up.
    
31. There is a very good chance that you—right now—are currently smack dab in the middle of your “good old days.”
    
32. Someday is a code word for never. What are you hoping to do someday?
    
33. Who’s to say what’s realistic? Be careful about what you label as impossible. If a dream is realistic, it’s not really a dream. It’s a to-do.
    
34. It’s true, we are living in uncertain times. But are we ever living in certain times?
    
35. Fancy china is not about what’s on the plates, it’s about who’s around them.
    
36. They don’t hang paint-by-numbers in the Louvre.
    
37. The devil is predictable. He uses the same plays over and over again: distraction, doubt, division, and discouragement. Despite his lack of creativity, he is incredibly effective, and this explains a lot about the current state of our world.
    
38. I don’t think it’s fair that kale is good for you, but Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups taste WAY better.
    
39. Sometimes we get so caught up chasing the next moment that we forget to savor the one we’re in.
    
40. Sometimes we miss the answer to our prayers because we’re looking for it in the wrong place.
    
41. Sometimes your heart has reasons for doing things that take a while for your head to understand.
    
42. Embrace your weird. When we surrender our weird, we are imprisoning ourselves and handing over the key.
    
43. We need each other. Even Einstein wasn’t an Einstein at everything.
    
44. It’s worth remembering that even on the darkest, cloudiest days, the sun doesn’t disappear. It’s still there; it’s just hidden.
    
45. God is creative and He sends creative solutions.
    
46. Don’t be afraid to get your princess dress wet.
    
47. If you’re alive, make sure you’re living.
    
48. Life is like silly putty. Somehow.

🤔 I wonder…which of these most resonated with you?

We offered my daughter a chance to make a million dollars and she turned it down.

OK, “millions” might be stretching it, but adjusted for the economy of childhood, one could make a strong case.

Here’s the story: Virginia Rose drew a picture of an angel for her grandfather during his last days. He displayed it prominently in the hospital and at the hospice center, and it seemed to deeply move everyone who saw it. It became a source of great joy and comfort for him, and he requested that it be placed in his casket at the time of his burial.

A copy made its way to a wall in our kitchen, and Kim and I continued to marvel at its magnetic quality. It inspired us to offer Ginny a unique opportunity. We asked her if we could sell it on our website as a Mini*Print. Our only request was that she donate some of the funds to a charitable cause, but it was up to her to decide on the charity and how much to keep for herself. 

But a few days later, Ginny approached Kim in tears. After some prompting, she revealed that she didn’t want to sell the artwork; that it was Papa’s angel and a gift meant just for him. 

We tried to paint a full picture for her, that maybe Papa would be happy to see her inspire so many others and that perhaps the charity she picked could go to a cause he would have cared about. But in the end, she was resolute.

Although we could overrule her decision, we’ve decided to honor her wishes. Perhaps she will change her mind in the future, but for now, “Ro’s Angel” is not for sale. 

Frankly, it’s not a choice I would’ve made. But I’m proud of Ginny. It takes a strong person to live by their convictions and chart their own path. Kim and I see it as our job to support her on that journey, even if it’s different than the one we’d choose for her.

In a small way, it reminds me of how my parents must have felt when I told them I wanted to pursue a career in art. I was a well-rounded A student; I could have taken any number of more stable and profitable paths. I am sure they were uncertain about my decision and worried about my future. But they supported me every step of the way. Even in the early lean days when things weren’t going especially well, they never once said, “Well you tried, maybe now it’s time to think about getting a real job.”

Unfortunately, not every kid is given this gift. Recently, I’ve witnessed a number of parents of high school students demean and discourage their children’s dreams, some right in front of them. These are very talented kids, with real aptitude in their area of interest. And yet the very people who could serve as the wind in the sails they’ll need to make their dreams come true are demanding they pursue a more “traditional” path.

And look, I get it. Sometimes the cockamamie plans they come up with are bat-guano crazy flights of fancy.

However.

Job number one is to affirm their original vision, no matter how insane it may seem. Love them enough to give them the runway they need to let life school them in lessons of practicality. (Trust me, it won’t need your help for that.) The odds are quite good that where they end up will be very different from their original crazy vision, but please hear this: that initial naive, unrealistic, cray-cray vision is crucial. If you snuff that out at the start, it will never have the time to mature into the unique path they were created for.

When we care about someone, it’s normal to want them to make choices that ensure their safety and well-being. We want what’s best for them. 

But it’s hard for me to believe that anyone would want a miserable future for their child that may include a full bank account but also leaves them trapped in a life they never wanted, tormented by resentment and regret. That’s exactly what you get when you extinguish their dream before it’s had a chance to mature.

We may share some DNA with our children, but they are not us. They are their own glorious gumbo of strengths and weaknesses, interests, and desires. Who knows for what purpose God created my child? The world may have been waiting centuries for this specific recipe; far be it for me to stand in the way.

It’s hard to to embrace something you don’t understand, and to approve a path you wouldn’t have chosen for yourself. Unfamiliar with the art world, my parents were willing to invite an expert (my high school art teacher) over for dinner to confirm whether or not I was actually any good, and if there was a legitimate path that could lead to me not living with them when I was forty.

Without that leap of faith and vote of confidence (thanks for the assist, Mrs. Garrett!), I’m sure I wouldn’t be where I am today.

I suspect my parents are at least a little surprised by how my life has turned out. In fact, it’s quite a departure from my own original vision. It’s even better. 

I never would have gotten here had they not loved me enough to chart my own path.

Whether you are a parent or not, I bet you have some young people in your life who are figuring out what to do next.

Be a good angel on their shoulder, cheering them on to great heights.

They may turn down millions, but you can help them build a life that’s worth even more.

Babe Ruth hit 714 home runs in his 22-year career. He also struck out 1,330 times. When he swung the bat, not even he knew exactly what would happen.

Sometimes I create art that feels like a grand slam home run. I am convinced that everyone everywhere will love it. Awards will be won, museums will come calling, and grown men will weep.

Instead, the ball glances off the end of my bat and dribbles weakly down the first base line. The world responds to my brilliant work of art with a deafening, “Meh.”

Then there are other times when something I created as an afterthought, with scant care and attention, grips someone and changes them in a profound way.

This is the mystery of creativity. 

A few weeks ago, I wrote about my childhood art hero, Ed Emberley. I adored his step-by-step drawing books, which he was most known for. After finding a book about his career, I was surprised to see that he had created over a hundred books, and most of them were not in the style I was familiar with.
He won a Caldecott award for one of his early works, illustrated with woodcuts, which are very time intensive. But the publishing industry is a hungry beast. When you feed it a success, it craves more and more.

It turns out the popular drawing books started out as a stopgap. It was simply an idea he knew he could complete quickly to get the publisher off his back so he could spend more time on another woodcut project that required more time.

Of course, the drawing books took off, which led to many follow-ups in that series (because you know, the hungry beast.)  

That’s the thing about all creative endeavors. You never know what people will like or what will strike a chord. It’s best not to try to figure it out but rather to keep taking swings.

And by creative endeavors, I don’t necessarily mean those which are inherently “artistic.” A creative endeavor could be searching for a small business idea to provide a new source of income, working to find solutions for transforming a negative workplace culture, or experimenting with ways to get your kid to eat her veggies.

If you are a parent with grown children, you might be able to relate to a scenario in which the adult child is asked to share the most memorable advice you ever shared with them. And their answer is some line you barely remember saying. And you wonder, “Really? You remember that more than all the other stuff I spent so much more time on?”

In all these cases, you just never know what will take off.

Too often we sabotage ourselves by waiting for the right idea. The perfect solution. The foolproof plan. But sometimes the best idea never seems to materialize. Or maybe it’s hidden somewhere in the discard pile.

So the answer is to keep swinging. Keep tinkering. If you don’t know what idea will work, the best approach is to have lots of them. Then try as many as possible. Just don’t get stuck in the trap of holding out for the “right” one.

At work. In your marriage. With your family. And yes, in art. Don’t be discouraged when something you were certain would work fails. Another idea might surprise you with its effectiveness. That’s the mystery of the creative process.

Take it from the Babe. Not everything you do is a home run. Just keep swinging. 

Mr. Olsen had written a series of math problems across several chalkboards. The avalanche of white scribbles was overwhelming, but not impossible. “Anyone who gets them all correct,” he told his fifth grade class, “will get a sucker.” 

Sheryl was one of five students who were up to the task. Unfortunately, the teacher said he only had four suckers, and was forced to ask if anyone would be willing to give up theirs. Sheryl said she would. Mr. Olsen thanked her, and proceeded with the rest of the school day.

Before the students were dismissed that afternoon, Mr. Olsen asked Sheryl to stay after school so he could talk to her. She’d never been asked stay after school, and she was terrified!

After all the other students exited the classroom. Mr. Olsen asked Sheryl to have a seat at his desk. He pulled open the bottom drawer and withdrew a whole, unopened bag of suckers and presented it to her. With a look of shock across her face, Mr. Olsen said, “Sheryl, what you did today was very generous and I am very proud of you. You did a good thing and I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate having you in my class. Thank you.”

This is a true story and it gives me chills. It’s just one of many that flooded my inbox after last week’s article, where I implored you to do something important: 

Notice something good in someone, and tell them what you see.

Sheryl told me, “Forty-five years later and I still remember how that simple statement made me feel. It is a memory that does not fade. It is a memory of feeling ‘seen.’ Many of us were bullied as children and our families did not provide the love and support that children require. This ONE person ‘seeing’ me made all the difference. It gave me confidence and pride that I had never felt before. It became a seedling of hope.”

I wish I could show you all of the emails I received, each one testifying to the importance of this one, simple action. Here’s a sampling:

“In middle school, at recess, my principle who was doing playground duty, saw I was trying to hang out with the wrong crowd just to belong. She basically said stay away from those kids. I felt she valued me and cared what happened to me.”

“My 5th grade teacher was so kind and caring. She had us do a lot of projects and she encouraged me to be creative. I’m 52 and she’s the teacher who I can still remember how good I felt in her classroom.”

“I had a mentor in my graduate program who told me I was “too bright not to get my PhD.”  That one comment changed my life.”

“One day as I was leaving class, my 7th grade language arts teacher said how she wished to be like me when she grew up. She explained that I had such surety and confidence in who I was and I didn’t let the desire to fit in and be popular (a huge thing for most middle schoolers) change the way I behaved. I stayed true to myself. That message has stuck with me and helped me hold onto my convictions when it would have been easier to just let them go and do what everyone else was doing.”

Some folks admitted they had a hard time coming up with more than a few names. How sad is that, when you think of all of the adults that a person encounters in just the first eighteen years of life? What a missed opportunity for all those potential influencers! I was delighted to hear one reader, a teacher herself, say that she makes a point to tell one student a day something she sees in them. 

Question: How many third grade teachers imagine their students as 62-year-olds? If you are, you should, because if you do your job well, you’ll still be an important part of the person’s story when their own grandkids are starting first grade. I heard from a 62-year-old woman who still holds tightly to the inspired spark of encouragement given to her by a third grade teacher, using it as a life preserver keeping her afloat in a sea of self-doubt and uncertainty, all these years later.

Which brings up another important point that surfaced. Maybe there really is only one person who ever saw something amazing in you and told you about it. That doesn’t mean it’s not true. You don’t need a quorum for it to count. It’s more likely that dozens of people have seen the same thing in you but never actually told you. Maybe they were busy. Maybe they never realized how important it was. Maybe they thought you already knew. As I said previously, we assume people are able to see their own strengths. But we often don’t, because our strengths come naturally to us, so we assume they come easy to everyone, and discount them as anything special.

And don’t underestimate the power of specificity. Many people recalled very specific things that were said to them, down to the exact words. I’ve been fortunate to have many cheerleaders in my life, but the ones that stand out are the ones who praised something specific about me, like my leadership skills or creative writing ability.  

I think about something Kim and I have done with our kids. We call Ginny “Little Miss Thoughtful,” because she seems to always search for creative ways to help someone. Ben is our “Sunshine Boy,” bringing smiles and positivity to others. Lucy is the “Peacemaker,” thanks to ability to skillfully negotiate peace treaties between her siblings.

These are nicknames we’ve given our kids, based on the traits we’ve identified in their personality and have seen them exhibit repeatedly in their young lives. But they’ve also become aspirational, as they work to live up to them. It’s a virtuous circle.

Compare that to the countless children – and the adults they’ve become – who have been repeatedly told that they are stupid, useless, or troublemakers, and won’t amount to anything.

We tend to live up to (or down to) the expectations others have for us.

On that point, one last email to share:

“Mr. John Sipe taught choir, Music Appreciation, Music Theory, and directed the spring musicals at my high school. This man had the ability to see each and every one of his students, value and respect them, find their hidden talents, and give them the confidence to move forward in the world. Beyond music, he taught us all life lessons in learning from and respecting others. By seeing each of us, he saved us.”

He saved us.

If you want to make a difference in the world; if you want to leave a legacy, here’s how: notice something good in someone, and tell them what you see.

So I saw Joker.

Normally, I avoid sad movies that I know will have sad endings. (I still haven’t seen Schindler’s List or any 9-11 movies for this reason.) I don’t want to spoil anything, but I think it’s fairly obvious that the titular character doesn’t opt for a career spreading joy and goodwill entertaining children at birthday parties.

Still, I do love a good backstory and was drawn in by the superhero movie vibe.

Of course, Joker is no superhero movie and is not suitable for children. It is disturbing and intense. I have also come to see it as beautifully-crafted documentary on the mental health crisis, brilliantly disguised as a mainstream movie about the origins of a pop culture supervillan. 

My hope is that the hype and success of this movie will start new dialogues around the mental health issues that have bubbled up in our country. Between the increase of mass shootings in schools and public places, to the homelessness epidemic invading our large cities, something must be done.

But what?

This movie grabbed hold of me me in a way that I didn’t expect. As I watched the heartbreaking descent of the main character, Arthur Fleck, I was able to identify myriad reasons for his evil turn: the effects of bullying that stems from ignorance or low self esteem; the human propensity to recoil from people different from us; horrific child abuse and neglect; the absence of a father figure; the lack of funding for useful government programs; the damaging effect of loneliness and shame; the ease at which we trample on another person’s dignity for an easy joke; our society’s inability and unwillingness to tackle problems with no quick fix.

In this film, director Todd Phillips shows you the problems – all of them – but doesn’t give you solutions. Unfortunately, some problems remain problems because there are no easy solution.

I want there to be solutions. I want to help. But how? It’s clear that dealing with some of the most extreme cases of mental illness in a positive way requires well-trained professionals. File me under “not qualified.” After seeing the movie a second time, I finally figured out something I can do. Something we can all do. 

Arthur Fleck may be fictional, but the person he represents is very real. He (and she) lives among us, but for the most part remains unseen. So many people are ignored, stepped over, and cast aside. In a world where more and more people are devastated by loneliness, this is a bigger need than ever. Kids, teenagers, adults, senior citizens…we all want to be noticed, acknowledged, and seen.

When people don’t feel seen, they seek to get attention however they can, and sometimes it leads to terrible consequences.

In the last few months, I have shared with education professionals what I believe to be their most important job: to make it their mission to notice something good about each student, and tell them. And not just a quick compliment about how well they sat still, or followed the rules that day. Something deeper. Call out the talent you see within them. Their skill with mechanical things. Their leadership skills. Their problem-solving acumen.

The thing is, we tend to downplay our strengths, which usually come easy to us. Since they come easy to us, we assume they must come easy to others as well. But that’s, as Dwight Schrute from The Office would say, “False!” Sometimes, we need someone to tell us what makes us amazing.

Many kids – and a frightening number of adults – have never had someone tell them they are smart. Or helpful. Or worth anything at all. 

You never know how much of an impact a simple compliment or word of encouragement makes on a person. It’s hard to imagine how different my life would be if I didn’t have people, such as my third grade teacher Mrs. Smith, who noticed and praised my artistic abilities way back when. She asked me to draw Santa Claus for the school newsletter because she said I could draw better than her. I was flabbergasted! And the important thing is, she said it in such a way that I had no choice but to believe her.

We have a problem in our society, and it seems to be getting worse every single day. There isn’t one easy solution, but there is one real, tangible thing we can do starting today:

Notice the good in people, and share what we see in them.

Will this make it all better? No, but it will make a difference. 

We are all capable of being part of the solution.

Making someone feel seen – really, truly seen – might be the most important thing you do this year.

Try this: Starting today, stop making deposits into your checking account.

But continue writing checks to pay your bills.

What happens when you write a check the day after your money runs out?

It’s pretty easy to see the financial lesson here. What’s interesting is that we can apply the same lesson to relationships.

So many parents tell me what a struggle it is to get their kids to do anything. They always have to get after them to get up and ready for school, do their homework, eat their vegetables, pick up after themselves, look presentable for church, etc. 

It’s exhausting! Parenting is no joke, and continues to be the biggest challenge I’ve ever encountered. 

I’d like to share an idea – it felt like a magic trick – I got from my wife when our kids were very young:

You can’t expect to make withdrawals from your kids if you haven’t made any deposits.

Of course, all the feeding, changing diapers, sleepless nights, and providing a roof over their heads are a significant  and emotionally expensive deposit. The problem is that kids don’t perceive nor understand those efforts, not at that age. But there is something magical that happens when you sit on the floor with a three-year-old, and let them run the show. You get on their level and let them dictate the play. You are not guiding things along to keep yourself interested, or sneaking glances at your phone as a respite from the intense boredom that develops in 17 seconds, but instead, are 100% present. 

Time and time again, I was shocked at how amazingly valuable even 10 minutes spent in this way could be. There was always less push back and more cooperation later on. 

Yes, I still have to remind my kids about things from time to time. But I don’t experience the struggle many parents describe when I ask my kids to do something, and I don’t think it’s because I won the magical kid lottery. It’s because Kim and I are conscious of making deposits, not just always making withdrawals by demanding things from them. (And believe me, I have experienced the consequences when we slip.)

The thing is, this is not just a handy parenting hack. It works with every relationship the same way as it does with the bank down the street. 

Toddlers.
Twelve-year-olds.
Teenagers. 
Spouses.
Friends.
God. 

If your relationship seems dull, dying, or downright combative, it might be worth asking: when is the last time I actually made a deposit?

To be present. To ask a thoughtful question, actually listen to the answer, and then ask a follow-up question. To do something for that person that wasn’t on the top of your list of your interests. 

It’s the sports agnostic wife watching a football game with her fanatical husband.

It’s the husband taking a few hours to help his wife set up her new scrapbooking room.

It’s the dad participating in a Barbie fashion show on the living room floor.

It’s the mom asking her son about the ins and outs of Minecraft.

It’s the parent sitting on the floor with a toddler, willing to be the one taking orders for a change.

If you want relationships with many happy returns, you need to make deposits first. 

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

But also messy.

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

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

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

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

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

After getting assurance that she was on her own, Lucy dove right in, her hazel eyes shining with joy. She licked. She smiled. She concentrated. She beamed. And she ended up with the cutest brown goatee I ever did see.

Eventually, a tourist from Asia came over and asked permission to take a photo of Lucy. Apparently, the spectacle was of international interest.

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

She let it all go.

Later, she coined a great saying:

Never let making a mess get in the way of making a memory.

I would like to offer a moment of silence for Lucy’s tank top. Several washesand stain-stick treatments later, it was unable to be revived and ended up in the trash bin of history. That’s okay, though; we’ve decided that we’d much rather have the memories of that moment than the shirt.

Memories like these are waiting in the wings all the time.

A fan named Jean once wrote to me, “When I see a mud puddle, I step around it. I see muddy shoes and dirty carpets. My kids sit in it. They see dams to build, rivers to cross, and worms to play with.” I think we need to take a cue from kids and see the messes in our lives in a new light.

Sometimes budgets get blown and well-made plans go poof. Sometimes grass stains are inevitable and torn jeans are unavoidable.

Sometimes eggs get broken, milk gets spilled, and the kitchen gets dusted in a fine layer of flour.

Sometimes a scaled-down replica of the Wisconsin State Fair takes over an entire bedroom for several days.

Sometimes life doesn’t go the way we planned, expected, or even hoped.

The most direct route is rarely the most scenic, and sometimes wrong turns can lead to the best discoveries.

Adventures are rarely tidy.

Sometimes the best memories arise from the biggest messes.

This is an excerpt from A Chance of Awesome: How Changing the Way You See Changes Everything. It’s about making everything in your life better by strengthening the habit of shifting your perspective. It’s filled with Jason’s colorful artwork and witty anecdotes. Get your copy here.

How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?

A commercial that appeared on TV when I was a child asked that very question. It turns out that a number of folks have tried to get to the bottom of this.

A group of engineering students from Purdue University built a licking machine, modeled after a human tongue, and determined that it took an average of 364 licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.

A chemical engineering student from the University of Michigan built his own licking machine and recorded that his required 411 licks.

And a group of junior high school students ditched machines in favor of human lickers, and reported an average of 144 licks.

Apparently, the world really may never know how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop.

I remember the first time I took my kids to Wrigley Field. It was the year after the Cubs won the World Series, and the kids were excited to see their favorite players in person. It was a beautiful day, the Cubbies won, and we relished singing “Go, Cubs, Go” with 40,000 fellow Cub fans.

We looked forward to that game for months. As we do for many of the firsts in our lives. Your first baseball game. Your first kiss. The first time you get to drive by yourself. The first place of your own. Your first child.

We anticipate the first times and do our best to savor them.

But the last times are different. They have a habit of sneaking up on us. Undoubtedly, there was a last time that I held my youngest daughter in the middle of the night, in a grouchy sleep-deprived state, comforting her – begging her — back to sleep. But I don’t remember it, because I didn’t realize it was the last time when it happened.

The first times come with a lot of fanfare. But the last times come and go without a whisper.

How many dinners do you have left with your parents?

How many anniversaries do you have left with your spouse?

How many bedtime stories do you have left to read to your kids?

How many fishing trips do you have left with your grandchildren?

How many licks?

There is no machine we can build that will tell us. Not exactly.

We can guess, we can estimate, we can hope for the best.

But I bet that number is a lot smaller than we think it is.

Live accordingly.

With the Major League Baseball season heading into the All-Star break, a quick glance at the statistical leaders reveals that I am not leading the National League (or the American League, for that matter) in home runs. Truthfully, I’m not even close.

Of course, there is one important detail that probably matters somewhat: I don’t actually play professional baseball.

I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s pretty ridiculous to beat myself up for not leading the league in home runs if I’m not a professional baseball player. And yet we regularly feel bad about ourselves for being lousy at games we’re not even playing.

Weird.

Just because we don’t think of them as “games” in the same way we think of baseball as a game, doesn’t mean we haven’t devised ways to keep score at the activities in which we participate. Rather than tracking home runs, we measure things like money, body weight, square footage, degrees, status, accolades, connections, sales, prestige, and fame.

For instance, there’s the “Retire By The Time I’m 50” game.

The “Make Partner in My Firm” game.

The “Solve the Homelessness Problem in My Community” game.

The “Own the Biggest House in the Neighborhood” game.

The “Enter and Win Marathons” game.

The “Get Elected to Public Office” game.

The “Find and Do Work That Matters to Me” game.

The “Become Debt-Free as Soon As Possible” game.

The “Get My Kids Into Prestigious Universities” game.

It’s possible to play a number of different games during your lifetime, even a few at the same time. I hope you can see that “winning” at any of the aforementioned games requires trade-offs that will limit your chances of success at the others.

You know that feeling of overwhelm you get trying to maintain some semblance of “life balance?” That’s a telltale sign that you’re playing too many games.

The more games you play, the less chance you have of winning any.

What game are you playing?

I’ve written before about my neighbor’s lawn. I am convinced that he waters his lawn with angel tears and fertilizes it with unicorn poop.

Sometimes I beat myself up for not having a lawn as nice as his. But then I remember that I am not playing the “Best Lawn in the Neighborhood” game. I am playing the “Spend as Much Free As Possible with My Kids When They’re Young” game. As such, the more time I spend looking for, harvesting, and spreading magical unicorn poop takes me away from spending time with my kids.

Mind you, this is not about labeling games as good or bad. (Unless you’re playing the “Sell Drugs to Everyone in My Neighborhood” game, which is most definitely bad.) As far as I know, my neighbor, who is retired and has grown children, considers tending to his lawn as his happy place.

This is your life. You get to pick what game you want to play. But you can’t play and hope to win them all. If you’re not careful, you can get duped into playing a game you don’t even care about and end up making choices that distract you from a game that does.

The cool thing is that once you identify the game that matters to you, you can let go of all the burdensome jealousy, envy, and guilt that you feel when you compare yourself to people playing different games. Be happy for the people who are winning the games they’re playing. Most importantly, you can be free of the self-loathing thoughts that you’re not good enough.

I’ll admit it: I’m getting blown out in most of the games that are being played by friends, family, and peers. You might be, too.

But the game that matters to me? I’m leading the league, which is all that really matters.

Two lessons here. Get really clear on what game you’re playing.

And don’t beat yourself up for being in last place in the games you’re not.

This past January, as the ho ho hos of the holiday season abruptly transitioned to the ho ho hums of winter, I came across this abandoned television on a walk around the neighborhood. (Sad face added by me.) No doubt this technological marvel was the highlight of some Christmas past, but there it sat on the side of the road, amidst dirty piles of old snow, valueless.

Here’s a what I wrote then:

The beauty of the light from a hundred candles in a darkened church on Christmas Eve, the afternoon spent together covered in flour while baking snickerdoodles, tucking some deliriously excited but exhausted kids into bed after a late night at Grandma’s; these moments that rush by too fast — rudely neglecting to warn us of their importance as they go — are more valuable than a million big screen TVs.

Indeed, the intangible things grow more valuable every passing year. We usually wish we had savored them more when we had the chance. In many ways, this year will be the same as the last: filled with temptations to chase the tangible, as well as thousands of opportunities to seek out, embrace, and savor that which is not.

Now, I’d like to add to my Funko Pop collection and I wouldn’t turn down a KitchenAid mixer, but just as no one on their deathbed ever said they wished they spent more time at the office, no one ever said, “I wish I would have accumulated more stuff!”

But certainly more than a few people have wished they’d taken more family vacations, thrown more parties, undertaken more adventures, or created more memories with the people they loved.

When we spend money on stuff, it usually depreciates in value over time. This year’s must-have Christmas gift is next year’s Goodwill contribution.

However, the money we invest in experiences is different. The memories we make appreciate in value as we get older and loved ones move on. The money we spend on experiences is always a bargain and leaves us with longer lasting feelings of happiness.

This is not really a rant against “stuff.” After all, The Lemonade Stand is filled with goodies that make great gifts, and I can’t wait to see my kids unwrap their treasures on Christmas morning.

This is really a call for mindfulness.

Maybe there are a few instances this year where instead of buying a “thing” for someone you care about, you might consider gifting them an experience of some kind. It could be a simple weekend trip, concert tickets, a nice dinner out, a scholarship for an art class, an evening of bowling, or a visit to a spa for a massage. The possibilities are endless.

My goal is to look for more ways to invest in memories that get more valuable each passing year than accumulating a future ornament for the end of my driveway.

P.S. With the holidays now in full swing, don’t miss the secret ingredient to a stress-free holiday season.

The world is changing at an ever-increasing pace. Meanwhile, most of us are being asked to do more with less. The answer to a prosperous and glorious future, it seems, is innovation. That’s all well and good, except for the fact that innovation is often regarded as one step away from sorcery. It is reserved for the super smart, super creative, or super inhabitants of Silicon Valley.

Hogwash.

You can be more innovative, right now, today. (I don’t care if you are reading this in your pajamas or your hair looks like it just took on a tornado.)

The dictionary tells us that innovation is merely the introduction of a new and better method, idea or thing.

That’s it. So yeah, the iPhone was a pretty ginormous innovation. But you know what else was? The person who came up with the idea to put tennis balls on walkers. Apparently they add value somehow, because every walker I’ve ever seen has one on each leg.

Contrary to popular belief, innovation can be easy, but only if you know how to ask the right questions. Or rather, question. For there is one magic question that, when asked regularly, will make you the more innovative person you know. Would you like to know what it is?

Good. It’s this: “What’s one thing I can do to make this a little bit better?”

One thing. Not seventy.

A little bit better. Not “this is a paradigm shift that will alter the time-space continuum and impact the history of mankind.”

That’s it. Seems simple, but don’t be fooled, for that’s where the power lies. Too often we get overwhelmed by the enormity of the task at hand. How do I increase sales by 25 percent? How do I make my entire organization more efficient? How do create a new game-changing product? How do I keep the doors of our company from closing? How do I become a master at this new software program? How do I blow the boss away with my proposal?

The big leaps of innovation are sexy. But the biggest gains often come from things that seem small at first. Those small changes add up. If you find 50 things that result in a 2% improvement, before long you’ve just improved by 100%.

Here’s the cool thing. The “this” in the magic question can be anything.

What’s one thing I can do to make our work culture a little bit more fun?
What’s one thing I can do to make a little bit of a difference in my neighborhood?
What’s one thing I can do to make my marriage a little bit better?
What’s one thing I can do to save a little money?
What’s one thing I can do to be a little bit of a better parent?

Just think of one thing, and then try it. If it doesn’t work, no biggie. Try something else. If it does, keep doing it until it becomes a habit and then ask the question again.

Eventually, people will start seeing your results and wonder how you did it, assuming you must be one of those smart, creative, Silicon Valley types.

I won’t tell your secret. :)

I was talking to a woman after one of my speaking engagements and she told me about an unusual bug her car possessed.

She explained that sometimes, while she was driving with her kids in tow, her car would suddenly take on a life of its own. There was nothing she could do to control the direction it was headed. No matter how hard she jerked the steering wheel left, if the vehicle wanted to turn right, it went right, with the kids erupting into a frenzy of excited, anxious squeals. The woman explained that there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for the erratic behavior. Sometimes it would happen after school, other times after a long day of chores.

The most interesting part of the story is where the car ended up. Without exception, the destination was always an ice cream shop. At that point, the beleaguered mom admitted that it only seemed right to order a few cones.

After doing a little bit of research, I’ve discovered that this isn’t a flaw in this woman’s vehicle, but a feature. And — surprise! — it turns out that it comes standard in every single car, truck, van and SUV. Including mine.

And yours.

Sometimes days go south and life is such that it calls for an audible, a deviation from the current script.

I’m not saying ice cream is the answer for everything, but it does have some pretty magical powers to turn a day around. But this post really isn’t about ice cream.

The point is that sometimes a day filled with left turns needs a perfectly timed right one.

Good thing we have the technology at our disposal to help us out with that.

For the past seven years, I have had the privilege of doing a program on life balance with young leaders in the field of civil engineering. We talk a lot about the different demands that come from balancing an upwardly mobile career path with a family and other relationships. A lot of venting takes place about the “old guard” and how out of touch some of the senior parters are at some firms. It’s always a fascinating discussion that I enjoy facilitating.

Leadership is an interesting thing. The leaders of your country, your boss, and those people on the school board might all very well be nincompoops. Not much you can do about that, I suppose.

But instead of whining about your superiors and the people in charge, it might be more useful to think about the people looking up to you.

I’m talking about your kids, your grandkids, as well as anyone you might be responsible for at work.

What do they see in YOU?

What kind of decisions do they see you making? What priorities do you put on display through your actions? How do you respond to people who disagree with you? An old adage that has been driven home to me as a parent is that children really do pay more attention to what you DO than what you SAY. Everyone does.

In an article about tennis great Roger Federer, Jon Wertheim writes about how his positive example has impacted the culture of the sport:

Federer generally performs with a smile on his face and an unruffled demeanor. He treats his colleagues as opponents, not enemies…Note how many players today sign autographs as they leave the court, even after defeat. Note how few act cantankerously. The message is clear: If the guy at the top discharges his duties with not just professionalism but with joy, and he’s generous with time and refreshingly candid, what excuse is there for a lesser player not to do the same?

You may not be able to do much about the people in charge. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have in incredible amount of power.

The cycle of bad life balance, bad leadership, and bad discourse can end. It just might have to start with you and me.

Our family loves watching Little House on the Prairie. As a homeschoolers, it has been a great way to discuss some pretty big topics with our kids, like alcoholism, racism, bullying, and more. (Confession: I want to be Charles Ingalls when I grow up!) We just finished season four. In the final two episodes (which TV Guide put on its 100 Greatest Episodes of All Time list), the big railroad companies were flexing their muscle to gain more power, engaging in questionable tactics that were putting farmers in rural areas out of business. Walnut Grove, the town where the Ingalls family lived, was rapidly dying.

It was a big deal. Livelihoods were drying up, businesses were closing, and desperate people had to abandon their homes in search of new opportunities. But Landon’s character, Charles — a farmer with a lot to lose — couldn’t have cared less.

He’d just found out his oldest daughter was going blind.

Weeks earlier, the economic catastrophe would have rocked his world. But as he sat alone, depressed, angry, and still in shock, he remarked to his friend how much time we spend worrying about things that just don’t matter.

Guilty as charged.

With some honesty and perspective, most of the stuff we worry about, lose sleep over, and get all stressed out about doesn’t actually matter all that much. Who cares if you don’t ace that test, score that promotion, or win that election?

Kim and I have friends whose daughter has spent the better part of her high school years in hospitals, battling cancer.

Another friend, a mom of six in her early thirties, just suffered a heart attack and underwent a surgery that required the insertion of five stents.

I’m sure you could share a story of your own about someone you know. Someone you love.

I don’t know that I have anything particularly profound to say about all this. I do know that Adultitis is most dangerous when weighing us down with the burden of trivial matters. It skews our perspective so that we spend too much time making mountains out of molehills while taking the truly important things for granted.

In the grand scheme of life, very, very few things actually matter.

An emotional episode from an old television show reminded me of this. It’s a reminder I can’t seem to receive nearly enough when I allow myself to fret over missing a flight or fixing a rusty muffler.

Maybe you, dear reader, are currently stressed out by something that, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t really matter all that much.

Maybe this message is the reminder you need to let go of it and stay focused on (and appreciative of) the things that do.

At three years old going on twenty-two with pink hair and arms wrapped in tattoos, my daughter Virginia keeps us on our toes.

A few weeks ago, she decided she wanted to wear two different shoes. To church.

To her credit, they were both blue.

The logic was sound. She dug one shoe out of the closet, but failed to find the match, so she grabbed another nearby shoe and put that on. Problem solved.

Kim and I appraised the situation and looked at each other. Ginny appeared determined. A fight to conform to a more standard footwear choice would likely ensue. Not that we’re pushovers, but we both paused to consider whether this was a fight worth picking.

Then it occurred to me that literally the ONLY reason we’d push the envelope is because of concern about what other people would think of our parenting.

After all, what kind of incompetence is required to allow your child to show up in church wearing two different shoes? Are we clueless? Careless? Mentally ill? Lacking any sense of control over our kid? Without any regard for society’s rules of fashion etiquette?

Perhaps.

Maybe we are serious about letting our kids be themselves. Maybe we are confident enough in our parenting that we don’t need to fear the judgement of other people who don’t know the whole story. Maybe we’re getting better at identifying rules that don’t exist.

Maybe it’s a little bit of all of it.

It might sound like I’m bragging about my mad parenting skills. (While others might think I’ve simply gone mad!) But keep in mind I’m the same guy who until quite recently was afraid to buy and wear red shoes (that both matched) for fear of what other people might think. Rather, this blue shoes incident is the result of a long time spent practicing identifying and breaking rules that don’t exist, slowly realizing that not only did the sky not fall, but my confidence grew and my life got better.

Most of us routinely do things to influence the actions of others because of how they might reflect upon us.

What kind of parent lets their kid…?
What kind of employer lets their employees…?
What kind of teacher lets their students…?

You can fill in those blanks however you’d like, but what if the answer to any of those questions was simply, “a good one”?

Maybe the people who look up to us need us to be a little bit more willing to sidestep the norms in order to help them thrive.

I am not talking about letting yourself be a pushover.

I’m talking about considering the possibility that the way everybody else does things isn’t necessarily the only or even the best way.

And thinking a little more deeply about what things matter and what things don’t.

One of Adultitis’ best tricks — and the one that trips me up the most — is getting us to believe that the most important things in life are merely distractions.

My youngest daughter routinely asks me for piggy back rides. Most of the time I say yes. But sometimes I’m tired, or want to keep reading the book I just opened five seconds ago.

And sometimes I’m too focused on the latest pet project that I’m convinced will deliver a windfall of profit and impact. The justification for brushing off this minor “distraction” of my daughter pestering me for a piggy back ride is that, in the end, this effort will bear fruit that will benefit us all.

If I’m not careful, this so-called “drive” rockets me right by the stuff that really matters.

Don’t get me wrong. Piggy back rides don’t pay the bills. Little worthwhile is accomplished without focus, hard work, and sacrifice. The challenge is how easy it is for this to become our default mode. Like a Ferrari flying down the highway, all the best bits of scenery are lost in a blur.

So we become consumed with things like disconnecting from our family to plow through homework so we can get that degree, spending night after night out networking with big shots so we can advance our career, and trading weekends to catch up on everything that fell by the wayside thanks to the whirlwind that was our week.

I want to live life with as few “I wish I wouldas” as possible. I used to think that because I was deftly avoiding the trap of chasing a run up the corporate ladder, or pursuing bigger and better stuff, I was in the clear. But then I realized that chasing anything big — however noble it may be — brings with it the risk of missing out on the small things.

And in the end, we find that the small things were the big things after all.

I’m starting to understand that avoiding regret isn’t just about saying yes to the impressive, once-in-a-lifetime adventures. Sometimes it’s as simple as saying yes to Ginny every single time she asks for a piggy back ride.

When she is twenty-five, I have a feeling I’d be more than willing to part with a million dollars for just one more.

I don’t write these things because I have them figured out. I write them because I need to be reminded.

Nature and kids. It’s a magical combination.

I treasure memories from my own childhood, ones like rolling down that huge hill at Allen Park next to the Illinois River, and climbing the tree in my front yard on Shady Lane, with grandiose plans to spend the whole afternoon there.

These memories get richer with the years, don’t they?

One of my deepest longings as a parent is to provide these magical moments for our kids. I’m finding that with all things in life, when I give, I end up receiving way more than I ever imagined possible. This little story illustrates the gift my kids gave me, when I gave them an hour on the lake.

We are blessed to live a half mile from Lake Mendota, Madison’s largest lake. It’s a magical land of ice and snow right now. The kids are enthralled by this paradise (and so am I). We had my nephew over for a sleepover recently so we were all proud to show him our lake.

I was radically moved by our unscripted adventure.

Did you know if you scream out on the ice that the sound is absorbed and no one frickin’ cares? You can never be too loud and it’s pretty darn freeing.

Shadows on the lake are magic. They have a life of their own and beg you to play with them. You must say yes!

There are patches where there is very little snow and it’s like a real ice rink. You can slide around like a figure skater, twirling beautifully until you fall on your butt.

You can see all sorts of tracks on the ice, they tell an amazing story about what happened before you were there. We observed that our own footprints leave a stories for others to read. “Looks like some people had fun here!”

The kids discovered a GINORMOUS set of footprints that were spaced very far apart. We all imagined what kind of giant was out there on the ice. Maybe the Hulk? Big Foot? Wide wonderous eyes gazed into the distance imagining.

When snow drifts over the ice and makes higher sections, it’s super fun to crash through these elevated levels of snow with your feet. At first if feels like you’re about to fall through the ice, which is super freaky (and exciting). The simple act of walking and stomping became “a thing!”‘

There were large sections of ice untouched by tracks and footprints. Without prompting, they began writing and drawing pictures with sticks and footprints. You can draw a whole picture in the snow!

There were dead trees lying sideways, frozen in the lake. The ground that was once beneath them had eroded, and now their large and crazy roots were rising to the sun. A curiosity-fueled conversation began about why and how this had happened, leading to an impromptu lesson on erosion and root systems. Bonus fun, these dead trees provided some nice climbing.

The simple act of picking up HUGE pieces of snow and ice is fun. It makes you feel strong like a giant. You can pretend you are a major league pitcher and throw them and they crash into a bazillion pieces and it makes the most distinct sound. You can do this dozens of times and it doesn’t get old.

Sometimes chunks of ice remind you of things, like Superman logos and huge slices of pizza.

Seeing these kids free, experiencing their truly adventurous hearts uninhibited, hearing their squeals and the excitement in their discoveries, this sound reached into my heart and grabbed my inner-5-year-old by the hand and said, “Come on, let’s play.”

As an Adultitis-fighting mom of three, I tend to default to scripted fun. A + B = C. If Jason and I have a date night, then we have certain formulas for fun and adventure. If I have a few hours to work, then it must look a certain way.

These unleashed kids reminded me of the value of unscripted adventures and the supernatural power of nature to help set the stage.

What joy-filled experience is around the corner, waiting for you to walk out your front door?

Put on your sneakers or your winter boots.

Come on, let’s play.

I met a fifty-something-year-old guy after my presentation at a conference in Minnesota earlier this year. He told me, “My mom believed that her kids should always get a toy from her for Christmas, no matter how…”

I expected him to finish the sentence with, “…no matter how poor we were.”

But he surprised me instead with, “…no matter how old we are.”

To this day, along with other gifts, she still gets each of her adult children a toy for Christmas.

I wish she would have been there, for I would have liked to give her a hug. It takes a wise woman to know that no matter how old a person gets, they carry all the ages they’ve ever been with them. The wide-eyed, fun-loving child inside lives forever.

Although that childlike spirit can be neglected throughout the year, Christmas is the perfect time to reconnect with the hope, wonder, and joy we were filled with as children.

I asked the gentleman what his mother got him last year.

“A Lego set,” he replied.

Perfect.

It was Kim’s fault.

Thank God for Kim.

The Cubs, after 108 years, had finally won the World Series, and they won it in spectacular fashion. (I can’t believe I just wrote that!) THE CUBS HAVE WON THE WORLD SERIES. For reals. I am still filled with joy and brimming with happiness. But the thought of driving to Chicago for the victory parade never crossed my mind.

Kim floated the idea after reminding me that I had a speaking engagement in Chicago a few days later. “Why not go down earlier and make it a long weekend?” she teased.

Thoughts of snarling traffic and being trampled to death by a raucous mob sprung forth. “Are you serious? That’s insane!” I replied.

When she got online to look for hotel rooms, I knew she was both.

She found an unbelievable deal on a hotel room steps away from Grant Park, where the rally was to be held. The confident sparkle in her eye and the call for adventure was too strong. We packed up the kids and drove to Chicago a few hours later.

Oh, there were plenty of excuses to stay home. There are always reasons why something might not work. Life is never shy about providing opportunities for adventure, but we miss most of them because we’re too busy letting our excuses run the show.

Kim and I are not gluttons for doing things that are destined to fail. But attempting something that might not work is a different matter entirely. Many people mistake them for being the same. They are not.

Pretty much everything in life might not work. They say the only certainties in life are death and taxes, and in my experience, neither are Adultitis-free endeavors.

But this. This worked perfectly. Traffic into the city was a breeze. The location of our hotel, as I mentioned, was ideal. The weather was spectacular; not a cloud in the sky and more reminiscent of a September day than the November one that it was. The spot we secured on a small hill to the right of the stage was perfect: near a big screen but close enough to see the stage. We were only a hundred feet from the porta potties, and the incline kept us out of the mud, just outside the current of human traffic, and provided an opportunity to sit while we waited.

There were a LOT of people. The crowd size, between the parade and the rally, was reportedly 5 million people. That’s good enough for #7 on the all-time list of largest groups of humans ever assembled (the biggest ever in America). It was also reported that there were only five arrests. The mass of humanity we encountered was joy-filled, kind, and patient. A lady next to us gave her blanket for our kids to sit on, and she offered them some pizza too. The kids cheered for their favorite players, and joining the chorus of “Go Cubs Go” at the end was pure magic.

I was so thankful for the opportunity to be there for the celebration. It helped make the victory even more real, as it’s still hard to believe the Cubs actually won the World Series. It truly was the experience of a lifetime.

As good as this team is, there is no guarantee that they’ll win another World Series any time soon. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be nearly as historic as this one was.

Heck, there is no guarantee that I’ll even be alive a year from now.

I know that may be morbid, but Kim and I think about these types of things all the time. I might not be here a year from now. Kim might not, either. It terrifies me to consider the same is true for each of my children. At the very least, I will never again have a seven-year-old Lucy, a four-year-old Ben and a two-year-old Ginny. All the more reason to jump on any adventure that presents itself.

After all, one of the reasons we lived in a crappy apartment for nine years while eating ramen noodles and accumulating debt while building this business was so we could eventually have the freedom to do things like this. That freedom is also one of the reasons we homeschool our kids.

We prepare for rainy days, but we also know that sometimes, rainy days don’t come. We‘ve done too much work with the Make-A-Wish Foundation and have known too many friends die way too young to lose sight of this fact:

Every single day is a precious gift. Waiting for the conditions to be just right before you make the most of it is as tragic as it gets.

One of the reasons I do what I do as an artist, author, and speaker is to help people have as few “I wish I woulda’s” as possible. And selfishly, that starts with me. I spent most of the first 21 years of my life too afraid to do anything. I missed opportunity after opportunity because I was too focused on all the things that could go wrong, all the ways I might feel uncomfortable, fail miserably, or experience embarrassment.

I succeeded in staying safe and for the most part, avoiding disaster. If there was a merit badge for maintaining a tidy comfort zone, I earned it. But at what cost? How many amazing memories never materialized? How many adventures floated by, unclaimed?

When I look back at my life, all of the greatest things that have ever happened to me, happened when I was pushed or more recently, intentionally stepped out of my comfort zone. Every. Single. One.

I’m happy to say that after years of tinkering and taking tiny steps into the unknown, the call to adventure has become stronger than my fear of failure.

When faced with an exciting opportunity that also scares the bejeezus out of us — and believe me, bringing three kids under eight into a throng of partygoers did that — there are three questions we ask ourselves:

1) Will this mortgage our future? We are willing to stretch the budget and borrow a bit from the rainy day fund to invest in an adventure, but we don’t do anything that puts an undue risk on our family’s future.

2) What if it doesn’t work? We are not Pollyannas, setting out to climb a mountain in flip-flops, hoping that everything will work out. Being honest about what could go wrong helps us to prepare contingency plans that minimize disaster and increase our odds of success.

3) What if it does? This is the one that most people don’t put enough emphasis on. They assemble the list of cons and use that as evidence for standing pat. It doesn’t take a creative genius to come up with reasons how taking your kids or into the heart of five million people could turn into an hot pile of bad. But we’ve come to see how right Mark Twain was when he said, “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.” After the adventure is over, any negative incidents either fade away or end up making the story even better, while the positive memories strengthen.

After the rally was over, and the crowd had largely dispersed, we bought a deep dish pizza from a vendor and found a sunny spot to sit in the grass. Somewhere within the fifty-seven seconds it took for our family to devour that helpless circle of cheese and dough, Kim and I looked at each other and said, “We did it.”

We conquered our fears, were part of history, and added another thrilling adventure to our life’s portfolio.

P.S. I started this oil painting after the Cubbies won the pennant, but could not get myself to finish it when they fell behind in the World Series. The path to the top of mountain is paved with baseballs, which represent the 108 years of futility. The ball in the mouth of the cub has the year 2016 written on it, a year I will never forget. As a lifelong Cubs fan, there are no words to describe the satisfaction of finishing this painting with the strike through the word “someday.” Finally, after so many years of ups and downs, the Cubs are the World Series Champions. #FlyTheW

Yes, prints are available here.

Whether it’s batting average, marathon time, or annual income, we humans love using numbers to measure our success.

But what if we’re focused on the wrong numbers?

Here’s a list I made recently, charting my progress so far in 2016:

• Meals shared with family: 280
• Lego pieces sorted: 1,376
• Daddy Daughter business trips taken: 2
• Strawberries picked: 173
• Tinker Crates assembled: 3 (with 3 boxes unopened)
• Piggyback rides given: 37
• Bedtime tuck-ins: 134
• Bedtime stories read: 9 (Needs work!)
• Holes of mini golf played: 18
• Little House on the Prairie episodes watched: 13
• Drive-in movies attended: 1
• Boo boos kissed: 17
• Water balloons tossed: 0 (Inexcusable!)

Honestly, this is the first time I’m tabulating some of these numbers. I’d like a few to be higher, but I can’t do that unless I identify what to measure in the first place.

Yes, miles ran, dollars earned, sales closed, and overtime hours logged have value too.

Just remember that you get to decide what numbers matter most to you.