The truth will set you free.

Unfortunately, it’s rarely convenient and often appears unappetizing.

I was moderating a panel on work-life balance for a group of engineers. Four experienced veterans were sharing insights to help these future leaders achieve a new level of growth. The following morning, with the panelists gone, I facilitated a discussion about what was shared the evening before. I asked for examples of advice that resonated as well as any sentiments they disagreed with.

One young man raised his hand and admitted, “I guess I was disappointed that the answer to better life balance always seemed to be ‘to delegate.’ I wish there were other ideas given.”I smiled, acknowledging that delegation was a consistent theme from the panel. The reason for the emphasis on delegation wasn’t because the panelists were lazy and didn’t want to think any more about it, or that they were withholding the real answer to maintain their lofty status. It’s because it was the best answer. The most useful one. The one guaranteed to have the biggest difference.

It’s also the hardest.

Delegation is a difficult skill to master. Knowing how to ask for what you need, set and manage expectations, and provide guidance without micromanaging is nowhere close to easy. It’s even more challenging if you are a perfectionist and loathe giving up control (as most of these overachievers were). But, to get to the next level of their career and maintain some semblance of balance, delegation is the master key.

It’s just not a very appetizing answer.

It’s like asking one hundred experts how to lose weight and being disappointed that the answer repeated again and again was “eat less and exercise more.” It’s the best answer, but also very hard. 

Dissatisfied, we are compelled to search for another answer, something faster and easier. We can usually find an “expert” who will tell us what we want to hear, the secret that can be had for three easy payments. It’s one reason pharmaceutical companies have grown so rich and powerful: they know we can’t resist the lure of a pill to solve all our problems. 

So what about you?

What transformation would you most like to achieve? What’s the biggest challenge in your life right now? What obstacle do you want to overcome? 

Shed fifty pounds?

Find a more fulfilling job?

Finally write that book?

Turn that side hustle into a real business?

Achieve more balance in your life?

What’s the secret to making it happen? The secret is that you probably already know the answer. (Or at least how to begin.)

And it’s not very appetizing. It’s difficult. Slow. Boring.

Sure, you could keep looking for something easier, quicker, or sexier.

Or you could save yourself a lot of time and just get to work.

The truth will set you free.

🤔 I wonder…what unappetizing truth do you most need to accept to move forward and grow?

The two angels in the back row wearing yellow t-shirts and gold tinsel halos were mine.

My two youngest kids were in a musical as part of our homeschool co-op. It was the first time on stage for both of them. We went to both performances and they did great!

Naturally, opening night was filled with nervous excitement and hyperactive butterflies. There were no noticeable gaffs or forgotten lines from anyone. It was an impressive effort.

The second day was different. Still good, but some missed cues and forgotten lines that added awkward uncomfortability.

One might think the second night should have been better because the cast is even more experienced (even if only by one performance) and they have the confidence from proving to themselves that they could do well in front of a live audience.

I have a theory for this drop-off. The reason night one of the play was better was because the nervous energy kept them sharp. Perhaps the confidence from nailing the first performance led to cockiness, fooling them into thinking they could coast on the second show, causing them to lose their focus.

Of course, these are kids I’m talking about. Amateurs. They really did an amazing job. But they gave me an example we can all learn from. You see, the reason for my confidence in my assessment is because I have experienced it.

In my career of over one thousand speeches, there have been moments when I caught myself going through the motions. The speech was fine, but it wasn’t great. I forgot some good lines. I wasn’t as sharp on a few stories as I could have been. I like to think the audience never noticed, but they probably did. Even if they didn’t, I robbed them of something better.

At some point, I changed my mindset and it has made all the difference.

As I get close to taking the stage, I now act as if this is the last speech I’ll ever give. This simple reframe helps me filter out a lot of noise. It keeps me from looking ahead to the next speech and comparing this audience to the last one. None of it matters anymore, because this is it.

This technique helps keep me from taking any of it for granted. My performance, and the audience I’m serving, are better off because of it.

We can never recapture the butterflies and excitement of the first time we do something. But we can resurrect some of the electricity and intentionality of that experience by considering it might be the last time we do it.

What if this is the last class you’ll ever teach?
What if this is the last meal you’ll ever prepare?
What if this is the last table you’ll ever build?
What if this is the last patient you’ll ever serve?
What if this is the last person you’ll ever help?

It takes significant effort to put yourself in this headspace each time. But what a difference it makes in your ability to focus and be fully present in the moment.

Yes, in a certain respect, you’re tricking your brain over and over again.

But the truth is, one of these days you’ll be right.

🤔 I wonder…what is something you do often that could benefit from a mindset shift like this?

​There are ogres in Maine.

My daughter Lucy and I were there for a speaking engagement in Portland. We spent some free time visiting the lighthouse, and Lucy paused to photograph some plants she saw along our path. (She is her mother’s daughter!)

Then, a crabby ogre emerged up over the cliff. Her vile breath slapped us in the face as she bellowed through rotten teeth, “That’s GARLIC MUSTARD. It’s a TERRIBLE weed!” And just like that, she disappeared from view, apparently returning to the dank cave she calls home.

Okay, it wasn’t an ogre. And she didn’t have bad breath or rotten teeth. But that is what she said, and in a manner that was equal parts ugly and condescending.

I am still at a loss in figuring out her goal.

If it was a public service announcement, she didn’t follow it up with any advice about what to do about this “terrible” weed. (Unless photographing it somehow condones it, bolstering its ego and encouraging it to spread even more?) She wasn’t a park ranger, so it wasn’t a three-second nature lesson.

The tone of her brief message did seem intended to shame Lucy for admiring it, as if only certain things are good and beautiful.

Thanks largely to the industrial media complex that grows wealthy by sowing conflict, we live in a polarized society, where every person, event, and issue is painted with a broad brush, instantly judged as either good or bad. People who disagree with us aren’t merely individuals with different opinions, they are our enemies, part of a larger group that must be defeated. There is no nuance, depth of thought, or acknowledgment that two seemingly opposing facts can be true at the same time.

Should we stop taking photos of the ocean because people drown in it sometimes?
Should we stop taking photos of roses because they have thorns that can prick you?
Should we stop taking photos of the sunset because the sun’s rays can cause cancer?

Are the ocean, roses, and sun “good”… or “bad?”

Now, I am aware that garlic mustard is an invasive species that wreaks havoc on ecosystems where it didn’t naturally originate. But I wonder if this woman knows that this “terrible weed” is also edible and an excellent source of vitamins and minerals with many helpful medicinal uses.

Not only was she a perfect example of our tendency to make extreme, instant, and absolute judgments on everything, but she’s also a classic example of Adultitis in action, dropping negativity and criticism to strangers. No potential solutions are shared, of course. No offer to help.

This should be a rule: you’re not allowed to criticize anything unless you have a solution to offer with it.

And so let me follow that rule. After all, I’ve spent all these words criticizing a woman I don’t know, painting her as an Adultitis-ridden ogre after she spoke seven words to us.

Here’s one example of what she could have said:

“My, what a beautiful photograph! The plant with the little white flowers is garlic mustard. It’s an invasive species in this area, crowding out some of the local plants and wildflowers. If you ever see any in your backyard, you can help keep it from spreading by pulling it up from the root and disposing of it in a black plastic garbage bag. Interestingly, it actually tastes like real garlic and is very nutritional. You can toss it in your salad and find many recipes online. Probably more than you wanted to know, but I thought you might be interested. Have a great day!”

That’s way more than seven words, but it’s also way more kind and useful.

Alas, it’s easy to recognize Adultitis in others and point out their faults. But what about in ourselves? Are there ever times when WE are the ogre? We can complain about the negativity we see on TV and the division that has proliferated throughout our society. But are we contributing to it by making snap judgments of our own? Are we quick to paint something as black or white, ignoring the many shades of gray? Are we offering solutions with our criticisms?

Maybe it’s asking too much to expect someone to engage in a thoughtful and friendly dialogue as I offered as an example. I know there are many times in my own life when the perfect words come too late after the moment has passed.

But the woman could have also taken a much easier alternative course of action: to say nothing.

As Thumper said in the 1942 classic movie Bambi, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothing at all.”

Even that is better than scattering Adultitis into the world like a handful of garlic mustard seeds.

One of the main reasons I wrote the book Must Be Nice is because I compare myself to other people all the time. Social media exacerbates this, but honestly, I don’t need anybody’s help.

I compare myself to other speakers, other artists, and authors. Both dead and alive.

I compare myself and my house and my yard and my patio furniture to my neighbors.

I compare myself to the people I went to high school with that I see posting on Facebook.

I compare myself to other guys who can build things and fix things and fight things better than me.

I compare myself to people older than me. Have I eclipsed them yet?

I compare myself to people younger than me. Are they catching up to me?

Can you relate?

If so, you know it’s exhausting.

Let’s consider something together. According to the Bible, God made hummingbirds on the 5th day. He made horses on the 6th. I assume He made a horse because He wanted something different than a hummingbird. I mean, He already had a hummingbird, and the horse is quite a departure from it. 

I don’t expect he chastises horses for not being able to fly or expects hummingbirds to hang their tiny heads in shame for all the times they don’t win the Kentucky Derby. Hummingbirds are perfectly suited to do what they do quite well, and the same can be said for horses. Quite frankly, it’s kind of ridiculous to compare the two.

So why do we do it with one another? It’s no less ridiculous.

I recently did it with my neighbors.

The image will stay in my head forever: The dark gold pickup truck rolled past my studio, through our backyard, and off the bluff, to the rocky shore fifty feet below. The crash jolted me from my prayer chair, and I called to Kim as I threw on my shoes. I rushed to the bluff and called 9-1-1 to report the accident. The truck was partially submerged in the lake. The airbag was deployed but there was no sign of a person.

As I continued talking to the operator, my neighbor Ben rushed down a nearby access point, climbed over boulders, and approached the truck. With great effort, he was able to wrestle open the door and pull a woman from the vehicle. She was unconscious, and the waves slammed both of them down. Finally, Ben was able to drag her to shore.

Meanwhile, Kim summoned my other neighbor, Bill, a surgeon. He sped to the scene and began performing CPR. I followed him down in case I could be of help, but mostly just observed the heroic efforts of Ben, Bill, and the EMTs who arrived a short time later.

Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done to save the woman, who had been suffering from a variety of health challenges and decided that this was her best option to end her pain.

Incidents like this leave us with more questions than answers. I’ve been asking a lot of them in the days since.

Why was I the only one to see the event? Could I have done more? I marveled at the way Ben and Bill sprung into action, rushing to the woman’s side and trying to help. Had someone else been on the phone beside me, would I have rushed down to help? Honestly, I don’t know.

Elsewhere in the Bible, we learn that “God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well.” (Romans 12:6)

Like horses and hummingbirds.

Perhaps He gives certain people the reflex to run toward danger when other people are running the other way. Maybe He gave me the gift to observe and process the events that happen, to share some hope, and to provide a measure of comfort to others so they can know Him better and grow in their faith.

Bill deals with things on his operating table with a steady calm that I couldn’t fathom being able to handle.

Ben is taller and stronger than me; way more capable of fighting the tide and pulling someone from a half-submerged vehicle.

But neither of them is an artist, writer, or speaker. And so here I am, called to be a witness and a messenger of hope.

I don’t know why Missy wasn’t able to get the relief she desperately needed. I don’t know why bad things happen to good people. But I do believe that God’s ways are not my ways and that He can bring good things out of tragedy.

I also need you to know that you are here for a reason, with a special combination of gifts and talents no one else has. You are supposed to do what you’re made for. And no one else has the same mission as you do.

Life is hard. There’s a lot of darkness and pain in our world. But there is also light and joy. Our gifts are for bringing that light and joy to others in a way only we can.

We don’t need you to be a horse.

We don’t need you to be a hummingbird.

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

We just need you to be you. 

🤔 I wonder…what is a gift of yours that you often take for granted?

“I like to use ‘I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter’ on my toast in the morning, because sometimes when I eat breakfast, I like to be incredulous. How was breakfast? Unbelievable.” –Demetri Martin

The early explorers who came back with stories from Yellowstone were written off as crazy people. Surely a loose screw, an overindulgence on booze, or insanity caused by being alone for too long was easier to believe than the tall tales that returned. Upside down waterfalls? Boiling rivers? Bubbling mud? Twenty foot beasts?

Please.

Well, if you’ve never seen a geyser, hydrothermal activity, or an angry grizzly bear reared up on its hind legs, you’d deem these reports as unbelievable, too.

I have been to Yellowstone, and I can tell you that all of it is true. (Even the grizzlies, although I didn’t experience an angry one.) The place is filled with the unbelievable.

But of course, now it is believable. Because we’ve seen the pictures and millions of us have visited, having driven through it on roads that weren’t there 150 years ago. And so the amazement has dimmed.

Just like it has with all the wonders of this world.

We are surrounded — besieged! saturated! deluged! — by the unbelievable, but because it’s familiar, we treat it like an afterthought. Every day becomes ho-hum.

But pretend with me for a moment that you’re from Mars, a barren red wasteland, and you’re hearing about Earth for the first time. What if I told you it was a place where…

Food grows right out of the ground.

Water comes from a sky that regularly changes color throughout the day.

Sometimes that water turns into trillions of tiny crystals that cover the ground and shine like diamonds when the sun hits it just right.

Small flying insects use flowers to create a delicious, sweet liquid called honey.

The people living there are created when two microscopic cells meet under just the right conditions.

The majority of the oxygen those people depend on for survival comes from a vast army of invisible sea creatures.

The people can fly across a vast ocean in a matter of hours.

They burn ancient sea creatures to fuel their vehicles.

They can significantly improve their vision by applying small slips of soft plastic to their eyeballs, and throw them away at the end of the day.

They have small handheld devices that allow them to listen to any song ever recorded, communicate across continents by video, tell them how to get anywhere on earth, and allow them to share cute photos of cats.

Balderdash! you say?

Well, I’ve been there and it’s true. All of it.

Unfortunately, most of the people who live there take it all for granted. It’s all familiar. Ho-hum.

Now that’s balderdash. Today, my friend, is not just another day.

Keep your eyes peeled. Don’t miss it.

The unbelievable is everywhere.

🤔 I wonder…what is something “unbelievable” you’ve witnessed in the last twenty four hours with your own two eyes?

I don’t know why we keep publishing self-help books.

Myself included.

I recently binged a podcast that shared a series of remarkable stories of people who had overcome extreme obstacles to accomplish amazing things. The particulars of each story couldn’t have been more different: An athlete on the way to the NFL who became paralyzed. A woman who had both feet amputated. A guy who got busted for drugs and sentenced to 65 years in prison.

Different races, different genders, different backgrounds, different challenges.

But if you pay attention, the advice they give is the same: Change your thoughts. Do hard things. That’s it. The words might vary, but that’s how everyone who achieved some form of greatness does it.

We are always looking for the hack, even though deep down, we already know what to do. But it’s difficult, so we trick ourselves into thinking there must be some knowledge we don’t have. On the lookout for something that requires a little less effort on our part, we search for another book, another guru, another miracle product as seen on TV to deliver the transformation we seek. Some secret or shortcut we haven’t uncovered yet.

No. The secret isn’t a secret.

To get from where you are to where you want to be requires a change.

You have to change your thoughts.

You have to change your actions.

That’s it. That’s every success story ever told and every self-help book ever written in a nutshell.

First, your thoughts. You have to believe something is possible before you’ll ever try. You have to change your thoughts from lack to abundance. You have to see yourself as a victor, not a victim. You have to believe your life can get better before it can.

Then you have to change your actions and do hard things. You have to put in the time, lift the weights, run the miles, do the work. There may be a time-tested recipe or a formula to follow, but nothing worthwhile and lasting comes easy. Ever.

Change your thoughts.

Do hard things.

If you want a third step, practice gratitude. This is another common theme among successful people, and for good reason. Gratitude is the fuel that keeps you going when things get tough. It overpowers fear and discouragement, helping you see how far you’ve come and reminding you of the good things you already have.

We don’t need another book, another podcast, or another speaker telling us what we already know. 

And yet we continue writing books and creating podcasts and giving speeches.

And we should.

Every version of this age-old wisdom is like a key. Each key is shaped slightly differently based on who is sharing this wisdom and how they share it. And every heart can only be unlocked with certain keys.

This is why I’ll continue writing books.

Because I know my own life has been changed when I heard someone else say something in a way that finally clicked for me. And I know that my unique slant on the same wisdom revealed a million times before might be the key that unlocks the truth in someone else, setting them free.

Maybe it’s an affirmation of something they already suspected

A reminder of something they already know to be true.

Or a way of seeing that finally convinces someone—maybe even you— that your life really can be better and that you do have what it takes to do hard things.

By the way, you’re a key for someone else, too.

🤔 I wonder…who has unlocked a great truth for you, simply by the way they said it? 

In the early days of basketball, before there was a shot clock, a team winning 2-0 could technically hold the ball and keep it away from the other team until the end of the game. It would have been a very boring game, which is why the shot clock was invented, requiring each team to shoot the ball within a certain period of time or lose possession.

Still, to this day, the team in the lead near the end of the game often adopts the strategy of using up as much time as possible on the other team. The less time on the clock, the less time the other team has to score.

Adultitis utilizes a similar game plan. It aims to run out the clock on you by busying you with distractions that don’t matter, minimizing the impact you can make with your one precious life.

Here are just a few of the ways Adultitis “runs out the clock” on you…

• Endless scrolling on social media, turning you into a junkie searching for dopamine hits fueled by humor, rage, and surprising facts about what that long-forgotten child star from the 80s is up to now.
  
• Binge-watching Netflix, or any of the dozens of other streaming services that are ready to serve up something else you might like before the credits of the show you’re currently watching are over.
  
• Collecting more and more stuff that needs to be cleaned, serviced, organized, and maintained, costing you more and more time.
  
• Staying in a soul-sucking job just for the benefits, or because you’re paralyzed by fear, convinced you won’t be able to find anything better.
  
• Staying longer at work or behind the computer screen, finishing up just “one more thing” before returning home late to your family. Again.
  
• Chasing conspiracy theories or consuming a never-ending stream of news under the guise of “staying informed,” instead of focusing on things you can actually control.
  
• Striving for perfection in things that won’t matter when you’re dead. The perfectly manicured yard. A house with everything in its place. A complete collection of (fill in the blank).
  
• Debating politics (and religion) online and crafting witty one-liners to one-up strangers on the internet and prove them wrong, once and for all.
  
• Taking that extra brownie, telling yourself the lie that you’ll start eating better tomorrow.
  
• Mired in jealousy and comparison, ever-striving to be like someone else rather than playing your own game. 
  
• Disrupting any quiet moments that could possibly lead to a profound insight about the direction of your life with noise and trivial pursuits of any sort.
  
• Distracting you an endless parade of urgent things while the most important things pass right under your nose every single day. 

Tick…tick…tick…

These are just few of the many ways Adultitis uses to milk the clock and hasten your path to the grave, keeping you from the people you love most and from accomplishing that for which you were born.

You’re probably a little uncomfortable because I just called out at least one thing that hits a little too close to home. (If it helps, I also called myself out in the process.)

What I’m really trying to call out is Adultitis, by shedding light on its strategy.

Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

You don’t need to convince me that most of these things in moderation are relatively harmless. It’s true. But the margin between healthy and unhealthy is slim. Without our mindfulness, they do take our time away from other, more worthwhile pursuits that can make our lives, relationships, and community better.

And that’s exactly the point. They say if the devil can’t make you bad, he’ll make you busy.

You are here for a reason. You have been given a mission no one else can accomplish. The world has a chance to be a little bit better because you were in it.

But not if you’re distracted. 

Not if Adultitis runs out the clock on you.

You only have so much time to make memories with your kids. You have a finite number of family vacations, dinners with friends, date nights with your spouse, bedtime stories to read, and beautiful spring days to enjoy. You only have so many paintings to paint, pies to bake, songs to compose, cards to send, hats to knit, and wooden toys to build.

Every minute you spend on something that doesn’t matter is one left forever unspent on something that does.

Not counting sleep, you only get about one thousand of these minutes a day.

While you waste them on TikTok, time is running out.

Tick tock.

My family went bowling recently.

One of the peculiar aspects of bowling is the funny shoes they give you to wear.
The shoes at the place we went to were half neon orange and half neon yellow. Mine even had a white velcro strap. Classy.

Now there are legitimate reasons they want us wearing their shoes, besides keeping the lanes clean and pristine (which I will now speak authoritatively about, after a quick Google search): First of all, the soles are super slick, which helps you slide, allowing you to achieve a smoother motion when bowling. If you’re sticking to the floor, you can injure your knee, ankle, or foot. Meanwhile, the rubber heel helps you stop sliding after you roll the ball, keeping you from falling.

Fine.

But must they also look like clown shoes?

It’s hard to be taken seriously after rolling a strike like a boss when you strut back to your seat looking like Bozo the Clown’s small-footed second cousin with a neon fetish.

Alas, after thinking about it longer than a sane person would, I wonder if it might be beneficial to always wear bowling shoes.

Every day. Even when we’re not bowling.

Maybe it would help us take ourselves less seriously.

After all, taking ourselves too seriously is one of the biggest symptoms of Adultitis. In our quest to be seen and valued, it’s tempting to put on airs to impress others. But that can lead us to ignore people who need our help (or alienate us from people who can help us). Or, due to our desire to be seen as competent or feel in control, we are prone to pity parties or temper tantrums when things don’t go the way we expected. All forms of pride.

We could all benefit from a regular dash of humility.

What if that’s why we’re all currently walking around in bowling shoes of a different sort?
Maybe that’s what that receding hairline is for. Or your conspicuous birthmark. The missing limb. The bowed legs. The lisp. The scar. The cleft palate. The gap between those two front teeth.

Most people have something about their physical appearance they wish was different (some being more obvious than others, of course). What if we looked at these “imperfections” as bowling shoes? Something we may not have chosen for ourselves, but have to wear regardless. Maybe they keep us grounded, from sliding into pride, reminding us that we aren’t perfect while helping us to take ourselves less seriously.

Because even after rolling a perfect day, you’re still wearing those funny shoes.

Oh, and it can’t hurt to keep in mind that everyone else is wearing them, too.

🤔 I wonder…what are your metaphorical bowling shoes and how have they benefitted you in some way?

Make love, not war.

Those hippies were on to something.

No one likes war.

Although “free love” turns out to not have been the best option, we do have to replace it with something.

If I tell you to stop thinking about a pink elephant on roller skates, what are you thinking about? No matter what you do, DO NOT think about a pink elephant on roller skates. Just stop.

But what if I told you to imagine a blue horse with spots of silver glitter galloping on top of a rainbow?

It’s not enough to eliminate war, we need to replace it with something else. It’s not enough to eliminate a bad habit, we need to replace it with a good one. It’s not enough to eliminate negative thoughts, we need to replace them with positive ones.

Our family enjoys watching Masterchef, the cooking competition reality show hosted by chef Gordon Ramsay. One of the home cooks who qualified was a former heroin addict named Ryan who admitted to spending ten years slowly killing himself. His dad stayed by his side, never giving up hope. Finally, a breakthrough came, and Ryan became obsessed with cooking, learning and perfecting various techniques. He shared how crucial it was to give his addictive personality something else to focus on.

You can try to stop being afraid. Or you can start being grateful. Because it’s impossible to feel fear when you are being grateful.

So what if instead of dropping fear into your mind, you dropped gratitude instead?

Instead of dropping political rants on social media, what if you dropped encouraging words or funny photos onto your timeline instead?

Instead of dropping judgement on one another, what if we dropped compliments instead?

This painting is a reminder that is we truly want to get rid of something bad, we need to replace it with something good.

Drop gummy bears, not bombs.

🤔 I wonder…what’s something fun or silly you think the world could use a little more of?

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?

Your team is in bad shape. Here you are in the playoffs, and you’re losing. Even though you’re somehow only down by six points, nothing is going right. You were flying high earlier in the game, leading by two scores. Everything was clicking.

And then…

A turnover and two huge penalties gave your opponent some easy scores. None of the plays you’re calling are working. Your best running back got injured and is out for the game. Your players are growing more discouraged as each second melts off the clock. Now the other team has the ball and they’re driving down the field. If they score a touchdown—and your team is showing no sign of preventing it—this game is over.

Stay with me on this metaphor; we’re going somewhere. You might not be a football coach—or even care about football—but perhaps this sounds eerily similar to life right now.

Everything was going well. Finances were in good shape. Things at work were looking up. You and your spouse were on the same page. The kids were getting along.

And then…

Your spouse got sick and has been out of commission for over a week now. All of a sudden, your kids’ teachers decided to team up and go for the world record for most homework assignments. The dishes in the sink are a food-encrusted skyscraper. Your children are expertly pushing one another’s buttons and tempers are flaring.

Adultitis is winning hard.

But let’s go back to our imaginary football game…

Your opponent is only twenty yards from the end zone. A field goal could ice the game, a touchdown will undoubtedly send your team home for the offseason.

And then…

Their quarterback drops back to pass. He’s got a receiver wide open at the goal line and lets the ball go. Out of nowhere, your safety cuts in front and intercepts the pass! He’s got ninety-five yards of open grass ahead of him…as he streaks down the sideline, the crowd erupts into delirium. You’re jumping up and down and your arm is like a windmill, waving him toward the end zone. He crosses the goal line, scores a touchdown, and ties the game! The stadium is shaking as your players sprint on the field to celebrate.

You still need to kick the extra point to take the lead, but one thing is certain.
Momentum has shifted.

There’s not much more exciting for a team on the brink than a game-altering “pick six” like I just described. For the sportsball ambivalent, a “pick” is slang for “interception” and the “six” denotes how many points a team scores on a touchdown.

Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to summon one of those up in real life, when Adultitis has a stranglehold on you and your family?

Well, you can.

That’s exactly how we use “Pajama Runs” in our household. When Adultitis is having its way with us and everything seems to be going wrong, Kim and I pull out pots and wooden spoons and start banging on them. Our kids know the sound. The mood in the house immediately changes as everyone hurries to the car—even if they are in their pajamas—and we head out for ice cream.

We typically only do this a few times a year, but it always does the trick. Momentum shifts. Perspective is gained. Fun is had.

It’s like a pick six, and Adultitis loses big time. The only difference is that in football, you can’t call a play that will guarantee a pick six. It’s true: you actually have more power in real life.

Pajama Run is our go-to play, but you can draw up your own. It just has to be some kind of activity guaranteed to be fun that immediately and physically shifts you to a dramatically different place than your current environment. For maximum results, it should feel a little like a rule that doesn’t exist. (See: wearing pajamas in public and going out after bedtime, or having ice cream right before dinner, as we often do.)

When you’re in the middle of an Adultitis attack, it’s common to feel pretty helpless and it’s tempting to throw in the towel. Don’t give up! You are the head coach of your life. You have the power to shift momentum.

The war will rage on your whole life, but you can win today’s game.

Now, blow that metaphorical whistle around your neck, call a timeout, and draw up a play that sends Adultitis to the showers.

🤔 I wonder…do you have a go-to play you like to use that always seems to turn the tide against Adultitis?

I recently came across this in my photo stream. Part photo, part iPad drawing, it’s my original vision of the art studio I wanted to build as an addition to our home. This was exactly what I wanted; a little extra light-filled space added on to the home office already there. If I could have snapped my fingers and made it instantly materialize exactly like this, I would have been thrilled.

What I ended up with looks almost nothing like this. So…does that make it a disappointment?

Heck no!

Here’s how my studio addition turned out:

It’s a reminder to me that, as the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “God’s gifts put man’s best dreams to shame.”

Looking at my drawing now, years later, I see how small I was dreaming. All that glass was good in theory, but was way too much. It would have let in too much light, too much cold in the winter, too much heat in the summer, and offered too little privacy. The original plan didn’t even consider adding to our basement below, which we did, giving us much-needed storage space for inventory.

The spirit of the vision is the same: more space, lots of light, stunning lake views…but the result is far and away better than I envisioned. Thanks be to God.

I often feel like my capacity for dreaming has diminished over the years. Perhaps it’s easier to dream when we’re young before life experience introduced cynicism and made failure and disappointment a common occurrence. We grow weary of dreaming too big, for fear of getting our hopes up, only to be disappointed. (Or maybe that’s just me?) Make your dreams just big enough to be impressive, but not grandiose enough to slip past the edge of the impossible.

That younger version of me often feels like a missing person, and I wonder what became of him.

Looking back at the origins of dreams that came true helps.

So does a reframe on the dreams that didn’t.

Early in my career, I dreamed of becoming a syndicated cartoonist with my comic strip appearing in every newspaper in the country. Even though I landed in a few for a brief time, that dream never materialized, and I made the difficult decision to retire the strip after six-plus years of giving it my all.

Sometimes dreams are just starting points, a place to begin when we don’t know any better. It’s a flag in the ground, a destination to start moving toward. But then, on our journey, we learn more about ourselves and more about the dream, including what sacrifices it requires, and the pros and cons of what success truly looks like.

After some soul-searching, I realized that what I really wanted was to use my art to inspire, entertain, and encourage people to renew their childlike spirit. A comic strip was the way I thought would get me there. Whether it was a weak idea, a lack of talent, or the slow death of newspapers, that path was not meant to be. My problem was that I thought it was the only way, and I spent a lot of time grieving what I considered a failed dream.

In retrospect, it wasn’t. The career I currently have is far superior to the one I thought I wanted. I am still using my art to inspire, entertain, and encourage people to renew their childlike spirit. Back then, I simply didn’t have the imagination big enough to envision my current life. Had I known that what I currently do was an option when I was twenty-two, I would have chosen this.

Another example of God’s gifts putting man’s best dreams to shame.

It’s important to understand that I may not be here had I not started where I did. And so I can thank that original dream for giving me the start. That part of the journey built my work ethic, taught me lessons in perseverance, and helped me sort out the “why” behind my dream.

It’s ok to let a dream go once more data has been collected and we realize it’s not something we want after all. That doesn’t make it a bad dream, or a failed dream, or make us foolish for once having wanted it. We can thank it for the enthusiasm it provided us, giving us the fuel we needed to launch.

For over twenty years, Kim and I dreamed of living on a lake. It seemed impossible while we were toiling away in an apartment for eight years in the not-so-great side of town. Not until about six months before it happened did I ever even consider the lake would be one of the Great ones. But I’m currently writing this from my dream studio overlooking my backyard, also known as Lake Michigan.

God’s gifts put man’s best dreams to shame.

Looking back like this gives that long-lost dreamer within me permission to rise again. Maybe he’s not lost after all.

Kim and I have a helpful little thing we add to our prayers, especially the “big dream” kind. The addendum is this: “or something better.” Sometimes we say it out loud, and sometimes just in our head. It’s sort of an understanding we have with God that we are open to his suggestions, because time and again, we have found that his ideas are usually better than ours.

Maybe your dream appears to be heading in an unexpected direction. Maybe it feels like it’s in the midst of a crash and burn. Maybe it’s time to be open to something better.

God’s gifts put man’s best dreams to shame.

🤔 I wonder…what’s a dream in your life that turned out way better than you ever imagined?

Imagine sitting at your kitchen table with a thousand puzzle pieces scattered before you.

A small island of interconnected pieces has taken shape. They were easy—the only face in the whole scene. You reach for a piece that looks like it could be part of the person’s hair. After rotating it and testing the fit a few times, you confirm it’s not the right one.

Then, angered that it didn’t work, you toss the entire table over in a furious rage. With pieces flying in every direction, you swear off jigsaw puzzles forever, convince yourself you stink at them, and remind yourself that you always knew this was how it would go. Then you slide into depression and inhale an entire can of Pringles, beating yourself up for not choosing the right piece.

Woah, you’re probably thinking, That’s not me, but whoever it is sounds like they have some serious anger management issues.

I know, it’s silly to think about getting so worked up over a simple jigsaw puzzle. Most people don’t descend into a shame spiral and immediately quit if one piece doesn’t fit. Most people just put it down and look for another one to try.

But what if the endeavor felt a little more…important?

In real life, how often do we beat ourselves up for making a wrong move? How often do we quit after the first setback? How often do we even hesitate to begin something new because we’re convinced it is beyond our capabilities, worried the journey is too arduous, or that we’ll look foolish to others if we struggle?

Maybe you’re engaged with a different kind of puzzle right now…

• Perhaps you’re trying to get a business idea off the ground
• Helping a child deal with a newly diagnosed health issue.
• Struggling to keep morale up amongst your team.
• Or maybe you’re adjusting to an overwhelmingly different work routine or environment.

Like a sea of puzzle pieces laid across your kitchen table, it probably feels pretty overwhelming. But what if you reframed your current challenge to be more like the approach you’d take in putting it together?

You know in advance what the end picture (aka “success”) is supposed to look like. 

You know that every piece you pick up isn’t going to fit perfectly the first time.

You’re not sure how long it will take, but you know that if you keep trying pieces that look like they could work, you’ll eventually complete the puzzle.

And, most importantly, you know that you are not an idiot or a terrible person simply because one thing you tried didn’t work. Especially if it’s a puzzle you’ve never encountered before.

Sure, the stakes for your challenge are higher than those surrounding the assembly of a silly jigsaw puzzle.

However.

The strategies for solving it are exactly the same.

Anger and anxiety are not going to help one bit.

That’s why I always praise the benefits of tinkering.

Tinkering—and its delightfully playful connotation—helps lower the anxiety level so we can think more clearly. It reframes our mistakes so they are not so devastating, preventing anger and shame from getting a foothold.

Tinkering is a great tool that’s a lot like putting together a jigsaw puzzle.

You try a piece that looks like it might fit. If it doesn’t, you simply look for and try another one, and another one, until you find the one that does. Then you keep going, celebrating the little wins along the way. (There’s something gratifying about the feeling when a piece clicks into place, isn’t there?)

Oh, and you don’t toss the table in a fit of rage when something doesn’t work.

So, you know that dilemma you’re mired in right now? The one that’s got you filled with frustration and self-doubt?

Yes, it’s more important than a simple jigsaw puzzle.

But treating it more like one might be the missing piece you need to solve it.

🤔 I wonder…what current challenge in your life might benefit from being looked at more like a jigsaw puzzle?

Life is amazing. It is also hard.

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

Your happiness depends on it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is war.

And Adultitis is about to get wet.

🤔 I wonder…who is your wingman, and what is your favorite water balloon?

It’s the curse of every author. 

The exact millisecond you finally release a book from your tight grip and allow it to run free in the world, it happens. An anecdote comes your way that would have been perfect for it and you immediately think of seventeen other insights you should have added. 

When I wrote Must Be Nice, I didn’t spend any time addressing the holidays, but boy, does that phrase pop up this time of year. And perhaps the bitter tone that accompanies our “must be nice” is a smidge more resentful.

The holiday season looks different to everyone who celebrates. We have different backgrounds and circumstances and inhabit different seasons of life. In certain ways, some people have it “better” than us. But the truth we miss when we utter “must be nice” about someone else is that we also have it better than others. Maybe even the very same people we wish we could be more like. 

Those struggling financially may be quick to say it “must be nice” to have the means to provide a bountiful harvest of presents and food for their family. And no doubt, it is.

It also “must be nice” to not be distracted from the true meaning of the season by the trappings of consumerism, a slippery slope that leads to greed, jealousy, and unhappiness. 

As a parent whose children are outrunning their childhood, I catch myself thinking it must be nice to have a wide-eyed five-year-old again or a newborn to snuggle this time of year.

But I can also acknowledge that it must be nice to be at this stage; where I can talk about the deeper, more meaningful messages of Christmas with my kids, and be humbled by the selfless generosity I see growing within them.

The person who feels alone might say, “Must be nice to have a family to spend holidays with.”

And the person with the big family might say, “Must be nice not to be pulled by everyone else’s expectations, and to have the freedom to make the holiday your own.”

One person missing a loved one might say, “Must be nice to have your husband with you at the dinner table.”

And another might say, “Must be nice to have ever had a husband at all.”

While yet another says, “Must be nice to have good memories of the holidays; my alcoholic husband made so many of mine traumatic.”

Warning! This is not a contest to prove who has it worse. Nor is it an argument to convince you that other people aren’t better off in certain respects. 

It is a reminder, however, that it’s a waste of time to wish for someone else’s must be nice and that a better path might be to identify and truly appreciate your own.

Most importantly, it’s also an invitation to accept the secret, often overlooked gift of the season, beautifully wrapped and waiting just for you.

What is it?

It’s an opportunity.

An opportunity squandered by stewing in jealousy and discontentment.

An opportunity that will not present itself ever again in quite the same way.

It’s the opportunity to create a new memory this year that becomes a must be nice to look back on with gladness for years to come. 

And also the opportunity to be a heaven-sent must be nice for someone who desperately needs one this year.

Hmm. An opportunity that offers two gifts in one.

Must be nice.

🤔 I wonder…what is a “must be nice” you are appreciating this time of year?

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

It’s a pity we rarely notice them.

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

She replies, “Umm, not long I guess.”

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

How quickly we take wonder for granted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not as long as you’d think.

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

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

We grow numb to wonder.

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

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

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

Sat in silence amidst the peace of a placid snowfall?

I don’t know about you, but I am disgusted by this propensity to grow numb to wonder.
But can we do anything about it?

Fortunately, Rachel Carson shows us a way:

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

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

🤔 I wonder…what is an example of wonder you’ve been privileged to witness recently?

My Bucket List is dead, and I was the one who killed it.

I didn’t mean to do it…it just sort of happened.

I was reviewing what went well this year and what didn’t while on a personal retreat a few days before Thanksgiving. As usual, the inventory of highlights was way longer. It contained projects we completed, trips we took, improvements we made to the house, and accomplishments our kids achieved. Many were planned, but a significant number of the entries were unplanned opportunities and unexpected blessings.

If you think about it, that’s how much of life is.

Many of our biggest blessings and favorite memories are unplanned. When I decided to go Christmas caroling thirty years ago, even though I am a terrible singer, it was because I had a plan to win over a girl I had been chasing. Instead, I met a different one who eventually became my wife.

I met my two best friends in college. A college I went to primarily because in high school I went to an art camp there that my art teacher suggested I apply for.

And we certainly weren’t planning to move to Sheboygan and buy our dream home when the pandemic was ramping up in early 2020.

Anyway, later on in my retreat, I was inspired to take a look at my Bucket List. I checked things off, re-worded a few entries, and added some new ones, finishing with an unoriginal sum of 101 items. Settling into bed, I thumbed through “Stillness Is The Key” by Ryan Holiday and reviewed a few chapters that caught my eye. I came across a verse by English poet and theologian Thomas Traherne, who said, “To prize blessings and not have them is to be in hell.”

It struck me as an apt description of a Bucket List: a list of blessings I prize but do not have.

Holiday even called it out by name: “The creep of more, more, more is like a hydra. Satisfy one — lop it off the bucket list — and two more grow in its place.”

It was true. I am happy to have accomplished many things on my list, but I’m regularly adding new ones to it.

Then I took a critical look at the list I’d just spent a hour updating. Honestly, all of the items are cool, but if I get hit my a bus next week, I’m not going to be devastated that I never got a chance to see Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

And yet, it IS on the list, the very existence of which creates a subconscious and not-so-subtle message that my life is still somewhat lacking. Blessings I prize but do not have.

Traherne also said, “To have blessings and to prize them is to be in Heaven.”

I realized that among my collection of blessings from the previous year, no less than twenty-five could have been exciting Bucket List entries. For example, “Catch a foul ball at Wrigley Field” was not on mine, but it did happen last year, and it is exactly the kind of thing that would make a great Bucket List entry—if it were something I could somehow orchestrate.

“Murder” might be too strong a word to describe what I did to my Bucket List. But I definitely retired it, replacing it with a Blessings List. It’s still has the classic “bucket list” verbiage, except it’s written in the past tense. “Visit Yellowstone National Park with my family” is instead “VisitedYellowstone National Park with my family.” “See Paul McCartney in concert” is now “Saw Paul McCartney in concert.”

It’s populated by many of the things Kim and I have recorded in our annual review over the past two-plus decades; an awesome collection of milestones, trips, experiences, and once-in-a-lifetime moments.

Some of which were actually planned ahead of time.

It’s already ten times bigger than my Bucket List and I look forward to adding to it every year until I kick that proverbial pail. I love that it’s a living reminder of blessings I’ve been given that I wasn’t creative, clairvoyant, or presumptuous enough to have imagined.

Please know this: If you have a Bucket List, I wish you well and don’t want to discourage you in the least. It is a wonderful tool that can help you strive for greatness and make the most of this precious gift of life. Mine definitely served me well.

Maybe just keep this reminder handy: 

To have blessings and to prize them is to be in Heaven.

Sometimes you just need to be a houseplant.

This statement was shared by Shannon, a friend who had finally emerged from a hard season filled with challenging health issues. They often left her feeling depleted, without the energy to do much of anything.

And so she gave herself permission to to be a houseplant.

I laughed at the metaphor, calling to mind the times I’ve sunk deep into the couch and slipped into a vegetative stage.

But she went on to note that although houseplants are stationary and require help from others to stay alive, they aren’t doing nothing. They are very much alive, producing oxygen for us to breathe while providing joy, peace, and beauty to others.

That’s certainly not nothing.

It’s a good reminder for all of us, especially in a culture that fetishizes busyness, action, and so-called productivity. Sometimes productivity isn’t flashy.

Or even visible.

In agriculture, a field needs to lie fallow every seven years, or it will not maintain its fruitfulness. But that fallow period is not nothing. Even while resting, the field has activity and growth, giving the land time to bring forth new fertility. During that period where the field seems to be doing nothing, it is vitally productive.

I have learned as a creative person that I have to let my life go fallow sometimes, too, especially after a period of intense activity. While my life is slowed down, my body can rest, my spirit can heal, and my mind can become a more fertile place for new ideas to take root.

A good way to look at it is the way James Taylor looked at creating his first album after twelve years of touring. After explaining that he needed time and space to compose new music because he’d been so busy on the road, a reporter asked, “So you took time off to write?” James replied, “I didn’t take time off work; I did a different kind of work.”

Whether our creative juices are depleted or we’re exhausted from a hard season of life, sometimes in life we need to do a different type of work.

Sometimes the best course of action is to stop pushing and stay still. Rest. Breathe. Look for small ways to bring joy, peace, and comfort to others.

Sometimes you just need to be a houseplant.

🤔 I wonder…have you ever been forced (or given yourself permission) to “be a houseplant?” What did that look like?

This just in: The world is a dumpster fire. 🔥

When we left for a recent trip to Hawaii, I made the decision to unplug. I’d monitor my business email every other day or so, but detach completely from following the news and my social media feeds.

It was awesome. I felt present. My heartbeat slowed and my anxiety melted. It was so glorious, that I maintained the distance even after returning home.

Oh, I’ve snuck a peek, but it’s like opening an unmarked door to reveal a gigantic infinity room filled with fires, explosions, kung fu fights, screaming chimps throwing poop at evil clowns, and rows and rows and rows of dumpsters, all literally on fire.

You don’t need an invite to close that door as fast as you can.

I don’t need to plug in order to “stay informed” that the world is a dumpster fire. Just this week, we’ve got war, natural disasters, scary economic news, the death of a celebrity, and at least one senseless act of violence we will fight over the correct solution to.

The thing is, that true sentence I just wrote was true ten years ago in the same way it was true two thousand years ago and will be true two decades from now. (Or until the world actually ends, whichever comes first.)

I read a newsletter this weekend in which the author opened by hinting at his anxious state of mind. It’s not the first time he’s expressed his distress over the current status of world events. Knowing a little bit about him due to the fact that I’ve been reading him for years, I wanted to scream, “Quit watching the news!”

We need to understand that regularly following “the news” is like injecting pure poison into our veins. Whether it’s broadcast news, your favorite newspaper, or your carefully curated feed of trusted sources, it’s a rerun of the same show over and over again. The quickest way to clicks, ratings, and revenue is by feeding on your fear and fury (while making it seem like they’re doing you a service).

War. Natural Disasters. Scary economic news. The death of a celebrity. Senseless acts of violence. Outrage!

So let me begin by agreeing with Oliver Burkeman, author of Four Thousand Weeks, who wrote, “What you pay attention to will define, for you, what your reality is.”

I’m not suggesting we bury our heads in Hawaiian sand. What I’m suggesting is that you pay more attention to what you’re paying attention to.

If you are always paying attention to the news, the world is a sad, scary, corrupt, dangerous, unredeemable place. Of course, in many ways, it is.

But when I was in Hawaii, I paid attention to the powerful blue waves and the warm sun on my skin. The patient and daring surfers. The pink and purple flowers. The lush green mountains. The delicious fresh pineapple and smoky kalua pork. The happy smiles of my children. And the aspirational conversations I had with my wife.

Yet, somehow, I was not oblivious to the fact that there were wars raging, natural disasters, scary economic news, the death of a celebrity, and senseless acts of outrage. Spend any significant time “unplugged” and you’ll see for yourself: The real news finds you.

So the first step is not to be alarmed that the world is a dumpster fire, but to understand that the world has always been a dumpster fire, a grand battle of good versus evil. Recency bias would have us believe it’s never been this bad, but trust anyone who’s a hundred years old, it’s been worse.

The second step is to acknowledge that although it is, in fact, your job to do SOMETHING about it, it’s not your job to do EVERYTHING. And the only way to have a chance of doing ANYTHING worthwhile is to filter out the negative and pay attention to the good.

That will give you a good attitude, a clear mind, and a deep well of hope and energy from which to draw as you do your small part to extinguish the dumpster fire in your corner of the world.

Pay attention to what you’re paying attention to. 

🤔 I wonder…what is something you’re inspired to pay more attention to?

Imagine a young child proudly showing you a drawing she made. Using a handful of stubby crayons, you can make out what appear to be some trees, although they look more like wobbly circles sitting on top of crooked brown rectangles. There are some figures in the scene, too, but it’s hard to tell exactly who they are supposed to be.

Now imagine yourself rolling your eyes as you criticize the drawing, pointing out the clichéd subject matter, the sloppy scribbles, and the unrealistic use of color. You matter-of-factly declare that it’s just terrible—probably the worst drawing you’ve ever seen—and boast that you could easily draw something so much better.

The little one says nothing, but a single tear rolls down her cheek as she turns away, dejected.

Who knew you could be such a jerk?

Oh, but you are.

Every time you criticize something your past self made.

I was watching an interview with Jerry Seinfeld who was promoting the release of his book, Is This Anything? It’s an exhaustive collection of all of his comedy bits from his illustrious career, including his earliest stuff from the seventies. The interviewer asked him if he ever looks back on his old stuff and thinks about how he could make it so much better now.

“Yes,” said Seinfeld. “But anybody can look at their early work and go, oh my gosh, this is not as good as I got later on. And I started doing that, but then I thought, that’s not really fair to your young self. Because that stuff—whatever it is—got you to the next step, which got to the next step, and the next step. So I thought I’m going to be nicer to this early stuff, instead of going, this is so basic, so infantile, so hacky.”

I can relate to this. A few of my childhood drawings still exist, and of course, they are very rudimentary. (See the example above.) But I even turn up my nose at most of my high school and college work—which is much better than my fifth-grade drawings—immediately noticing every flaw and rolling my eyes at the obvious mistakes.

I can be a real a-hole to my younger self, who was doing the best he could at the time, and whose effort helped lay the groundwork for where I am now.

I say things to myself I’d never utter to another human being, let alone a small child.

Perhaps you do the same with your earlier creations, whether they’re drawings or songs or photos or quilts or woodworking projects or lesson plans. Indeed, the same is true of the greatest thing you and I are in the process of creating: our very lives. We all have a few decisions we made when we were younger that we wish we would have made differently. Choices that, in retrospect, seem like nothing more than a waste of time or money.

It’s probably the reason we are so hesitant to start new things now, as adults: We are all too aware of the a-hole inner critic peering over our shoulders.

But just like the child with a few chunky crayons, we did the best we could with the skills, experience, and information we had at the time.

We need to be kinder to our younger self.

Do not despise these small beginnings from your past.

When you see your old stuff, instead of criticizing the flaws, revel in how far you’ve come, and applaud the effort and bravery it took to begin. 

🤔 I wonder…what is something your younger self deserves some overdue credit for?