Kim and I may have named it in 2005, but it’s been around for centuries. Dickens wrote it into the essence of Ebenezer Scrooge. It was personified in the Grinch by Dr. Seuss. And Buddy rescued his birth father Walter Hobbs from it in the holiday movie Elf.

I’m referring, of course, to Adultitis.

Do you see what I see? It’s everywhere this time of year, in one holiday tale after another…

The people who don’t believe in Santa Claus have Adultitis.

The other reindeer who make fun of you for being different have Adultitis.

The people who run the Eastern Syndicates that run Christmas have Adultitis.

The teacher who thinks you need to rethink what you want for Christmas because you’ll shoot your eye out has Adultitis.

The boss who replaces the Christmas bonus with the jelly-of-the-month club has Adultitis. (Despite it being the gift that keeps on giving.)

The thing is, while looking with scorn at the Adultitis-riddled fools in our holiday movies, we forget one simple fact.

Adultitis is coming for us, too.

Have you ever turned the other way when you saw that person in your life with the excitable, always-on enthusiasm of Buddy the Elf coming your direction?

Have you ever scolded anyone because they didn’t wrap the presents or decorate the cookies quite right?

Have you ever felt disappointed because the person who got your name in the gift exchange didn’t get the exact thing on your list?

Have you ever traded gift cards of equal value with someone?

Have you ever discouraged someone’s dream because you deemed it too dangerous, childish, or impractical?

Have you ever lost your temper, yelled at a loved one, or insulted a family member because you’ve been overwhelmed by anger, shame, or fear?

Have you ever packed your December so full that you spend the entire month harried, irritable, and on edge, resenting all of it and looking forward to the moment when it’s all over already?

Yeah, me neither.

Look, none of us is perfect. None of us is above being a little grinchy, greedy, selfish, or cynical at times.

Thank God we have another chance to get it right. Or at least get better.

In the next few weeks, keep your eyes peeled for all the ways you see Adultitis pop up in the holiday movies you watch. Maybe we can treat them like a mirror, seeing if those poor souls in need of some Christmas spirit might be reflecting anything back at us.

May we summon the humility of a child — the best and only antidote to Adultitis — to receive the true gift on offer.

The hope and joy that Adultitis is defeatable.

After all, this is the time of year when hearts have been known to grow three sizes, curmudgeons get a second chance, and cynics can turn into true believers.

🤔 I wonder…what is your favorite holiday movie and what do you like most about it?

The sun has disappeared.

Stolen, perhaps. Or maybe it’s sleeping, on vacation, or vanished into thin air.

Not really, of course, because its morning light enables me to clearly see everything in my backyard.

And yet, I cannot see the sun, the source of the light. I can’t even tell where it might be, because it is hidden by such a dense layer of fog that I can barely see the lake beyond the yard.

I take it as a good reminder for those times when I wonder how much of a difference I am making. It never seems to be as much as I’d like. But maybe the light I put into the world has a bigger reach than I can imagine, even though the source is hidden.

Maybe a print of mine hangs on a wall somewhere, constantly reminding its owner of a story I shared that meant something to them.

And maybe the constant exposure to that art inspires that person — perhaps even subconsciously — to act on the moral of that story in a manner that improves their situation, heals a relationship, or makes an unforgettable memory with someone they love.

Any people on the receiving end of that action would have no idea where the original spark came from. They’d probably never guess that it began years ago at an event when someone heard a speaker that struck a chord and decided to buy some art as a souvenir.

Meanwhile, it’s not required for the art owner to acknowledge or even remember my role in the chain of events for the light I shared way back when to have made a difference.

Just like I don’t have to see the sun to prove its impact.

What’s true about the sun is true about me, and it’s true about you as well.

You may never see the impact of all the light you are sharing in this dark world. You may not receive the warm feelings of a standing ovation or a thank you note for a job well done. You may never get the credit you deserve on this side of eternity.

The difference you make may be invisible.

Keep shining anyway. ☀️

Your light still makes a difference, even if you can’t see it.

🤔 I wonder…do you have an example of a time you made a difference in someone’s life but only found out years later?

Something awesome happened to you yesterday.

Did you notice it?

Perhaps something epic immediately comes to mind, causing you to think, “Omigosh, how did he know?!”

More likely, it was something a little less epic, but no less awesome. But it may have been overshadowed by an emergency that popped up. Or you might have been distracted by something else that didn’t turn out quite how you’d hoped.

Earlier this year, we hosted a secret meeting of the Wonder & Whimsy Society. We discussed “awesome things” under the premise that we need to be reminded of awesome things to help counter the deluge of negativity that so often rains down from the news and our social media feeds.

I took a cue from the book 1000 Awesome Things and generated my own list. I thought I’d share them here, with a few extras that came from fellow members…

Anticipating something you’re excited about.

Finding yummy leftovers in the fridge you forgot you had.

Watching movie previews at the theater.

Waking up before your alarm and realizing you have an extra hour to sleep.

The very first bite of anything delicious.

The point of a concert when everyone is singing together.

When a repair bill is way less than you feared.

Making the last payment on a loan.

High-fiving a stranger at a sporting event.

When it’s raining on a morning you get to sleep in.

I’ll admit that it took a little effort to generate a list like this in a world where examples of why life is not-so-awesome are so easy to come by. But here’s the weird thing: The simple act of generating these ideas, and then sharing them later, uplifted my spirit.

Most of these occasions cannot be conjured up at will, which is part of what makes them so precious. They are also pretty fleeting and if they are even noticed at all, are usually forgotten in a week. (This is where my habit of recording my happiest moment each day comes in handy.)

I can’t claim that one of the items on my list happened to you yesterday. But maybe just reading them sparked a memory that made you smile. And I’ll bet anything that something else worthy of being on this list did.

If you need proof of why the world is not so awesome, watch the news.

If you want a deluge of examples of why your life IS awesome, turn it off and pay attention.

🤔 I wonder…what is something awesome that happened to you yesterday?

Kim and I recently realized we’ve been living a lie.

Allow me to explain.

Being close to water has always been high on our list of values. We dreamed of living on a lake since our earliest days together. When we lived in Madison and worked toward that goal, we spent a lot of time enjoying the four lakes that embraced the city. When we went on vacation, we faithfully followed a rule: make a point to get a place on the water.

Well, we recently spent a long weekend in Door County, and once we cleared space on the calendar, the next step was securing lodging. Naturally, Kim’s knee-jerk reaction was to start looking for a place on the water.

But then we talked about it. Now that we are fortunate to live on a lake and can enjoy campfires in our own backyard, the importance of renting a place on the water is no longer a high priority.

We realized we were operating with a premise that was no longer true.

Are you currently making choices based on something that used to be true, but no longer is?

Is a goal that drove you in your twenties a little less important now that you have a family or feels a little less interesting now that you’ve explored it a bit?

Are you spending time or money maintaining something useful ten years ago when the kids were younger, but now no longer need it?

Are you still abiding by a preference that mattered a lot to someone who is no longer in your life?

Are you still volunteering with an organization that no longer aligns with your values or requires more time than you can give in this season of your life?

Does your business still serve a demographic that is no longer as good a fit for the current strengths and solutions you offer?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, hear this: it doesn’t mean that your original decisions were wrong. Seasons change. We learn and grow and evolve. We are allowed to change our minds, especially when circumstances change.

In fact, we should.

But we often hold on too long, wasting time and resources on something that is no longer serving us.

Why do we do this?

Sometimes it’s hard to say goodbye to happy seasons of life.

Sometimes it’s hard to move beyond the sunk costs of time, energy, and money we’ve invested.

Sometimes it’s just a habit or routine that’s become a rut because it hasn’t been evaluated in a while.

That was the case for me and Kim.

Realizing that renting a place on the water wasn’t as important gave us more options for lodging that could work, which, not surprisingly, were way more affordable. (Which is good, because the cost of feeding our clan is now much more expensive!)

Granted, our example is pretty pedestrian in the grand scheme of things.

But in any case, the cost of living a lie is always more expensive.

🤔 I wonder…are you making any choices based on something that used to be true but no longer is?

Once upon a time, there was a couple. They had three kids and a good life. He made his living as an accountant and she was a doctor, but their real dream was to live on a ranch and breed dogs.

One day, my wife Kim suggested they do that. 

The woman laughed. “It’s not possible,” she said.

And so they didn’t.

The end.

This is a true story, and similar stories just like it are lived out every day.

Of course, the woman was wrong about it not being possible. Oh, she gave a list of reasons, but none of them made the option impossible. Risky, perhaps, or unconventional, or difficult, or impractical, or scary, or all of the above.

But certainly not impossible.

I feel sad for them. Are they settling for comfort? Worried about what other people would think? Afraid of the unknown? Only they know for sure, but they appear resigned to turn down a chance at the literal life of their dreams.

Of course, the choice is theirs.

Unfortunately, the regret they may someday experience will also be theirs.

It’s a shame how willingly we surrender the direction and, ultimately, the outcome of our lives to other people and to rules that don’t exist.

Of course, sometimes we do encounter real, indelible limitations that hold us back from the life of our dreams, but they are far fewer in number than we think. Our opinions, traditions, and customs can be so strong that they feel a lot like moral obligations. But that doesn’t necessarily make them so. We still have a choice.

Hard choices are still choices.

When we are facing hard choices in our own lives, pretending like we don’t have a say in the matter gives us cover by removing the responsibility for the decision. Things didn’t work out? Don’t blame me; I didn’t have a choice.

The truth is, you actually did.

I know men who hate their jobs. But they stay put. They say it’s because they need to act responsibly as the provider for their family, which is honorable. They resolve to stick it out until retirement, or until the kids are grown. Meanwhile, their persistent unhappiness hangs like a black cloud over the entire family.

This is not to say that work is always enjoyable or imminently fulfilling. And should they risk it all by quitting their job in a blaze of glory? Probably not. But is that really the only option? Couldn’t they keep their job while they send their resume to other potential employers? Couldn’t they start a side hustle and see if it has legs? Couldn’t they take some night classes to learn a new skill?

The answers are all “yes,” but none of that is as easy as acting as if you had no choice.

When making decisions, we can be swayed by fear, guilt, practicality, common sense, or simply the force of habit. And those forces can make it seem like we have no say in the matter. But we always do.

Meanwhile, other people have all sorts of opinions about how we should live our lives and are quick to weigh in on what we should or shouldn’t do. Depending on who’s doing the opining, those “shoulds” can feel pretty heavy and unbending.

It’s wise to seek the counsel of our elders, the ones who have seen more things and have been in the fight longer than we have. But ultimately, we are allowed to chart our own path, even if it goes against the wishes of our parents or our peers.

In the times we feel trapped in a life we didn’t sign up for, it’s important to remember that we have more agency over our lives than Adultitis would like us to believe. As C.S. Lewis wrote, “The doors of hell are locked on the inside.”

Maybe the path your heart is urging you toward makes no practical sense.

Maybe it will disappoint someone you care about.

Maybe the chances of success are somewhere between slim and nil.

It might not work. But…what if it does? And what do you lose by not even trying?

“A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.”

—John A. Shedd

You only get one life, and at the end of the day, you are the captain of it.

Hard choices are still choices.

Choose wisely.

🤔 I wonder…what is something difficult you’ve accomplished in your life that seemed impossible at first?

It was like driving through a sea of black ink.

The trip back to our hotel from the Lamar Valley was harrowing. It being Yellowstone, the specter of animals hanging out on the road is always a possibility. We’d reveled in the wildlife of the North American Serengeti, but now the sun was gone and darkness blanketed the winding way home. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel and Kim’s clear anxiety was less than helpful.

We snaked around curve after curve, my eyes peeled for any signs of movement. Then we saw it: a small coyote trotting down the middle of the road. As we came upon him, I slowed to a stop. He turned his head and stood frozen in the bright beam of our headlights. Time stood still. He looked at us and we looked at him, and for a brief moment, we connected.

Kim snuck a quick photo before he turned away and disappeared into the darkness.

It felt like we encountered a ghost in the road.

Sometimes we encounter people in a similar way. Their life intersects with ours and we make a brief connection. They show up to guide us through difficulty, supporting us emotionally, physically, or spiritually. When the time to move on comes, they disappear from our lives, like a ghost in the road

Have you had encounters like that, a limited interaction with someone that greatly impacted your life?

Years ago, I had lunch with Phil Vischer, the co-creator of Veggie Tales. I was trying to get my Kim & Jason comic strip off the ground. He gave me a lot of great advice, but one of the most notable things he said was, “Assume that your life two years from now will be nothing like you imagine it will be. Be open to where God is leading. If God calls you or Kim to a different role or a different job, be open.”

His advice left me unsettled, but it stuck with me.

Around that same time, Kim and I encountered a woman named Mary Jo who worked for a local Catholic Church. She told us about a growing movement within the Church to educate children and adults together and assured us that if I could create a program that held the attention and spoke to both groups, I’d definitely be in demand as a speaker. She was right, and that’s how my now twenty-year career as a professional speaker began.

It required me to retire the comic strip, but Phil Vischer’s prophetic words helped give me an open heart and comfort when I saw God lead us in a new direction.

It’s been said that people are in our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Phil and Mary Jo are people who came into my life for a reason. They were fellow travelers who crossed my path, and for a brief moment in time, our souls connected. In their own way, they illuminated my path, let me know that I was seen, that what I was doing mattered, and to keep going.

We are called to do that for others.

I’ll never forget a time I was a ghost in someone else’s road.

Waiting for everyone else to leave, she appeared at my product table at the back of the room after my second and final presentation of the day. She seemed hesitant, engaged in an internal debate on whether to approach or retreat. I noticed from her badge that her name was Jennifer. I assumed she was trying to decide if she wanted to buy something. Instead, she hesitantly exclaimed, “I want to trade you something, but I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”

“I won’t think you’re crazy,” I promised, not knowing what I was in for.

Apparently I was convincing enough, as she began digging around in her purse. She pulled out a small black velvet box and placed it on the table between us. She said not a word. Perplexed, I determined that it looked like a ring box and deduced that her silence meant that I was supposed to pick it up. I opened it. I was right there were two simple rings inside, one band was rimmed across the top with a row of tiny diamonds; the other was shiny and plain.

They were wedding rings.

“Ok…” I stumbled. “It looks like there is a story here…”

She began, “Six months ago today, my husband left me while I was at work.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She offered no further details, but it was clear that it was as surprising as it was devastating. She continued, “After he left, on a whim, I decided to apply for my dream job, the one I never went for while we were together. And I got it. And it was amazing.”

She began sobbing, and it suddenly felt that the table between us was two miles wide. She apologized for breaking down, while I debated jumping across the table to hug her right then and there.

She regained her composure and said, “Sitting in your two sessions today…you just said so many things that hit me. For a long time, I had given up on love. I had given up on me. I told myself that this job — my career — was my new love now and that this would be the focus of my life. But you helped me to see that I can’t give up on love.”

She motioned to the rings, and, looking at the last Adultitis First Aid Kit I had left, said, “If you’d be willing, I’d like to trade these for a new beginning. I don’t need them anymore.”

I gave her a Kit and a big hug and mumbled something that I don’t remember but was probably stupid.

I don’t remember what I said that struck a chord. I don’t know whatever came of her, although it’s possible she’s still following our stuff all these years later.

I was a ghost in the road of her story and she was a ghost in the road of mine.

Something I said to her on that day helped her to see with new eyes and gave her the confidence to bravely move forward. Meanwhile, Jennifer’s courage and her gift serve as an everlasting reminder of the privilege of what I get to do. When I get discouraged that the crowd I’m speaking to is too small, or not engaged enough, or that I am too tired, I think of Jennifer, a ghost in the road who crossed my path so many years ago, and I am reminded that every single day is an opportunity to change someone’s world.

Never underestimate your role in helping to heal our world. As it has been said many times, “Helping one person might not change the world, but it could change the world for one person.”

I hope this reflection opens your eyes and gives you an appreciation for the ghosts in your own road.

And I hope it will inspire you to be a fellow traveler who crosses someone else’s, taking the time to look them in the eye and say, “I see you. You matter. You’re doing great. Keep going.”

🤔 I wonder…do you have a story to share about someone who was a ghost in your road?

This painting is called “Love is in the Air.”

Our eyes draw us to the billowing steam from the geyser forming the shape of a heart.

Indeed, it is a fitting representation of the way most of our society views love. Like the steam, it is a little mysterious, always changing, and dependent on which way the wind is blowing. Love is regarded as a fleeting feeling evident on a wedding day but which vanishes at some point in the ensuing years when life gets hard.

I would like to invite us to look for a different, better metaphor for true love in this painting.

Like the bison.

The bison is rock solid. Grounded. Immovable in winds of change.

My friend, contrary to popular belief, true love is not a feeling that ebbs and flows with the wind. It’s not caught up with transitory qualities like looks, circumstances, and emotions. Looks fade, circumstances change, and emotions are unreliable, often clouding reality.

I’m no relationship expert, but I have been married for well over two decades now. If you want a relationship that outlasts the average, you cannot depend on feelings to save you. On any given day, your partner may not look or act anything like the person you first fell in love with. You may find yourselves in a circumstance you didn’t anticipate or plan for when everything was going well.

True love isn’t a feeling; it’s a choice. 

This points to another important difference between these two metaphors: The steam cloud has no control of itself. The bison, on the other hand, can take action.

Here’s a real-world example of the difference:

A few years ago, I instituted a new personal policy: Always stop at the lemonade stand.

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

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

The key is that when it comes to any sort of goal, habit, or resolution you establish, it’s a lot easier if you don’t give yourself any outs. Commit 100%. If you allow yourself even one exception, then it’s always a fight from then on. You’ll always give yourself a reason why it’s ok to ignore the rule “this one time.” 

Even though it’s sometimes inconvenient, I love this policy. I like that it allows me to be more generous, which is in line with the type of person I want to be. I always ask the kids what they’re raising money for. I always try to encourage them in some small way. And I always over-tip.

The thought of stopping at a lemonade stand is like the steam, it comes and goes, and stopping is dependent on how I’m feeling at the time. But this personal policy is a stubborn bison, blocking the rest of my day until I act.

Thinking about complimenting someone, writing a note of encouragement, or helping someone in a bind is not the same as actually doing any of those things.

If you are in a relationship where the love feels like it’s fading, are you like the steam cloud, waiting for something to happen? Are you waiting for a feeling to return or for your partner to change, to do something that rekindles that loving feeling you once had?

The better strategy is to be more like the bison and make the first move.

As psychologists have found time and again, behavior shapes emotion. If I am angry or upset when I see a lemonade stand, I always feel 100 percent better after I stop, even if I’m only walking away with a watered-down lukewarm cup of lemonade.

So even if you don’t feel like it, try doing something loving for the other person. Surprise them with an unexpected gift. Do one of their household chores for them. Praise them in front of someone else.

It’s amazing how often our loving actions can transform into loving feelings.

Before you throw in the towel on a relationship that has lost its loving feeling, act lovingly toward your partner. Decide that you’re not going anywhere, like a bison standing in the middle of the road at Yellowstone. Don’t give up.

Change may not be immediate, but if you are persistent and continue acting in love, don’t be surprised if before long, a new feeling of love is in the air.

🤔 I wonder…do you have a personal policy that helps you do things when you don’t feel like it? Or is it time to create one?

Trick or treat! On this show, we’re celebrating Halloween, talking about great pumpkins, and sharing some fun surprises!

Hang out with Kim & Jason Kotecki as they inspire, entertain, and encourage you in your fight against Adultitis. If you attend live, you’ll be able to see and chat with fellow Adultitis Fighters, have the chance to ask questions, and win epic prizes! ☕️ 🍺 🍷

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• Mini*Prints: https://escapeadulthood.com/minis 
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Do elk have the choice of being a morning person?

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

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

No, but we do.

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

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

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

I guess that makes me a morning person.

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

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

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

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

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

These days, my routine looks different.

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

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

This is a challenge to examine our habits.

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

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

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

Silence feels weird.

Silence feels unproductive.

Silence feels boring.

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

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

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

Our family didn’t go to Yellowstone to see moose, specifically. We went for the scenery, and we did want to see as much wildlife as possible.

One afternoon, we settled into a nice spot in the shadow of the Grand Tetons called Schwabacher Landing, and waited for moose. We’d heard the odds of seeing them there were good. Very quietly, we waited, and waited, and waited. It felt like any moment one might emerge from the brush to steal a drink from the pond.

We sat for two hours before admitting defeat and heading back to the hotel, disappointed.

The next day, while in Jackson, we wandered into the gallery of a photographer who told us about a side road to check out if we really wanted to see moose. The sun was about to set, but the spot was only a few miles away. We were skeptical, but two minutes after parking our car, we saw three moose.

It was as if our patience the day before had been rewarded in some strange way. Our persistence earned us a small prize after all, like a sweet dessert at the end of a meal.

In life, there is a lot of waiting. Long periods where nothing seems to go right. Tiresome stretches where we sit with patient expectations to see a dream come true.

This sometimes confounds us, because somewhere along the line, we got the idea that life is supposed to be easy. We chase comfort and good feelings and grow frustrated when we encounter struggle and pain.

But the truth is that a life in which you expect nothing but nummy treats and comforts will leave you disappointed. That’s not what this life is for.

As Pope Benedict XVI implored, “You are not made for comfort, you are made for greatness.”

But to paraphrase Benjamin Franklin, chocolate is proof that God loves us, and loves to see us happy. That’s probably why he rewards us with little treats along the way. They are there to reward our efforts, keep us on the right track, and motivate us to keep going in pursuit of true greatness.

And yet, it is not healthy to develop a spiritual sweet tooth. Perhaps heaven will flow with rivers of decadent chocolate, but chocolate is not meant to be our entire diet here on earth. Life is a training ground for relying on faith instead of feelings.

The small desserts we encounter on our journey are only a foretaste of what’s ahead.

Enjoy them. Delight in them. Savor them so that you might persist during the hard times.

But remember that the true reward is yet to come.

Everything that exists first started as an idea. A vision. A dream.

The question is, How many people have to see it before it becomes reality?

On a family trip west, we spent time in the foothills of the Grand Tetons hoping to see moose. We didn’t have any luck, but while we were waiting, I snapped a photo of my youngest daughter sitting at the edge of the pond, tossing pebbles into the water. I thought it might be the start of a great painting. The only question in my mind was, “What might she be looking at?”

I imagined painting a moose into the scene, maybe a huge one. I thought Bigfoot would be funny, or perhaps a montage of all sorts of fictional creatures: leprechauns, fairies, unicorns, oh my!

Eventually, the solution became obvious: it needed to be Big.

You see, “Big” is a character Ginny created when she was younger, and he’s made appearances in many of her artworks over the years. He needed to be what she was looking at, and that’s how this painting became my first official collaboration.

Ginny drew and painted Big and I handled the rest of the painting, including his reflection in the pond. It was a blast, and my heart just about exploded when she signed her name in the corner. (Rose is her middle name.)

I love the origin story of Big. According to Ginny, he is a lovable giant who lives in the clouds and comes down occasionally to give people hugs.

One thing we can all agree on is that the world could definitely use more hugs.

I wish that Big were real.

Part of me wonders if he is.

How many people have to see it before it becomes reality?

You have to imagine something before it can become a physical reality, whether it’s the main character of a book or a life-saving cancer drug. Our dreams are often born from a problem that needs to be solved, like a personal need or a nagging challenge you regularly encounter. Maybe it’s a larger one the world around you is groaning for.

I believe your dreams are planted within you by God. And He wouldn’t have planted them within you if you weren’t the right person to help bring them to fruition.

These dreams start as a faint vision or a passing thought, before slowly coming into focus, eventually becoming clear in your mind’s eye.

There comes a point when you need some affirmation that you’re not hallucinating, that there really is something to this vision that has stirred up a fiery passion within you. Then comes the big and scary moment: You summon up courage and float the idea past a few others, just to check if they can see it too. 

Usually, the reactions are mixed.

Many won’t see the vision at all. They may even try to argue you out of it, saying it’s not realistic or practical.

Some will nod and smile, offering words of encouragement, but it feels more like a grandparent whose grandchild just told them about their imaginary friend: “What an active imagination you have!”

But if the dream has merit, you will encounter some true believers. These folks must be taken seriously because you will need them later.

When I had the vision to take an unconventional path, to make a living with my art while making the world a little better by making its people a little more childlike, I experienced all of these reactions.

I encountered many who never saw the vision of what we were trying to build, even though I described it as accurately as I could. They included newspaper syndicates, retailers, publishers, licensing agents, and more.

I also felt the “pat, pat” on my head from those who viewed me as slightly delusional, but relatively harmless and easily redirected once reality hit.

But I also was graced with a few true believers who saw the vision. Some notable ones included my parents, Kim’s parents, and our best friends, Sue and Jenna. Theirs were not just empty words of encouragement. They responded with action by sacrificing their time, money, and prayers. This signaled the proof of their belief.

The certainty from true believers is invaluable. There will come a time when you lose faith in the vision, and you will need them to remind you that it’s real.

Mounting failures and things taking longer than you expected take a toll. That vision, which once seemed so clear, begins to fade. You wonder if all the naysayers were right. After all, so many of them had way more experience than you, and the evidence seems to be piling up in their favor. Maybe I am delusional? Maybe I was mistaken? Maybe the signals got crossed and I accidentally co-opted a dream that was not meant for me…

I entertained all these thoughts at various times. It was tempting to give up.

But then I remembered my parents. And Kim’s parents. And Sue and Jenna. I remembered that nobody pours money or time into a lost cause. Their sacrifice was tangible proof of their belief in us. It helped assure me that no, this is not a mirage. It’s real. They see it.

Their belief bolstered my own.

It’s easy to feel discouraged and lose hope people don’t see what you see. Or when it’s taking too long. It might even show up in a time and place you weren’t expecting. The dream might feel long in coming, but it won’t be late. 

Disregard the people standing in your way.

Don’t worry about the ones who say, “I just don’t see it.”

That’s ok. Not everyone will catch your vision.

That doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Your idea might just be the hug our world’s been waiting for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe the illness is a chance to slow down.

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

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

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

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

🤔 I wonder…has there ever been a moment in your life when an unwelcome delay ended up being a good thing?

The Grand Prismatic is one of the things I was most looking forward to seeing on our family trip to Yellowstone National Park. It’s like I had to see it to believe it was real.

This is not an uncommon sentiment when it comes to this magical place.

The early explorers who came back with stories from Yellowstone were written off as crazy people. Surely a loose screw, an overindulgence in 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 in the words of Han Solo when speaking to Rey and Finn about the Force, “It’s true. All of it.” (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 they just 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 share cute photos of cats.

And yes, there really are rainbow pools in this land that once teemed with animals bigger than a house.

Balderdash! you say?

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

Unfortunately, the sad fact is that 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 was a part of your week that someone who lived on Mars might have a hard time believing?

Our fifth Wondernite is in the books. Between that and the Wonder & Whimsy Society Family Reunion we hosted in our backyard the day after, I’m still in introvert recharge mode. I recently discovered that as an Enneagram 5 wing 4, my internal battery is like that of a ten-year-old smartphone: it’s not capable of ever achieving a full charge, and it drains really fast, especially if it’s doing processor-intensive tasks, like streaming video, or, you know, hosting back-to-back live events with hundreds of people.

This week I thought I’d share some thoughts and lessons from “behind the scenes.”

Putting together Wondernite is like planning a wedding but with lots of painting, writing, photographing, varnishing, and framing involved. There is so much thinking, strategizing, and vendor communication, along with hours of setting up, and it’s all over in a blink. We try to make it as efficient as possible, but it’s still a lot.

🌙 Lesson: Anything worth doing well takes effort. You can make a meal in a microwave, but it’s never as good as a home-cooked meal made from scratch.

Along those lines, I spent two months writing, polishing, and practicing a talk that, technically, I will only give once. Meanwhile, some decisions were made quickly and other details were completely overlooked. A while ago, I determined that that talk is the most important aspect of the evening. The more effort I put into it, the more likely people will connect with the art, and the more likely they will walk away inspired, uplifted, and encouraged, which is my main goal. It also makes them more likely to return with friends.

🌙 Lesson: It’s important to figure out what’s important and avoid wasting time on stuff that isn’t. Don’t major in the minors.

I said “technically” when I mentioned giving my talk once. Although I will not deliver the same stories in the same way again, I can repurpose the work elsewhere. I can use them in future keynote speeches, depending on the theme and message I’m trying to communicate. I’ll also be sharing each one here in the Insider over the next seven weeks. An art mentor of mine calls this “getting all the meat off the bone.”

🌙 Lesson: The next time you put a lot of effort into creating something, ask yourself, “Now that I have this, what does this make possible?” How can you reuse, recycle, or repurpose work you’ve already done into something else that’s useful?

Wondernite has live and silent auction components, and yes, it’s kind of uncomfortable when an item doesn’t receive even one bid. My son was not happy about it, but I’m used to it because I know that it has nothing to do with me or even my skill as an artist. You never know what will resonate with people. Sometimes somebody falls in love with a work you don’t much care for or a painting you knocked out in an afternoon as an afterthought. Sometimes no one looks twice at a piece you think is your masterpiece. And yes, sometimes you think a painting will strike a chord…and it does! (Like “Not a Morning Person,” seen above.)

🌙 Lesson: No matter what you’re in the process of creating — whether it’s a painting, a new initiative at work, or a lesson plan for a classroom of students — the results are not in your hands. You don’t get to decide on how other people respond. All you can do is the best you can do with what you have.

With an event like this, it’s hard to decide what success looks like. The obvious measuring stick is money. How much revenue did we generate? Was it profitable? I’m still sorting through the numbers, but it looks like we edged out last year, which is great. But…should I feel disappointed that we didn’t exceed it by a greater number? What about profit? Well, on paper, we made a lot more than we spent. But that doesn’t factor in labor, which one could argue makes it ridiculously unprofitable and a complete waste of time. But then again, how does one measure the satisfaction of seeing the smiles, laughs, tears, and heartfelt thank you’s that emerged from an event you created and art you made with your own two hands? Hmmm…now that’s a little harder to put a price tag on.

🌙 Lesson:  I had the pleasure of attending a speech by Tom Monaghan, founder of Domino’s Pizza and former owner of the Detroit Tigers, and he said he knows a lot of very unhappy billionaires. Success comes in many different flavors. You get to decide what success looks like for you, and you don’t have to settle for the default setting.

In more ways than one, Wondernite is a dream come true and a success on many fronts. Thank you to everyone who attended, participated in the online auction, and helped behind the scenes to make it happen!

Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for a nap.

How many crayons do you need to make a masterpiece?

If you are judging by how many they give you with the kid’s menu at a restaurant, apparently the answer is often…two.

Back in the day, a box of 64 Crayola crayons — complete with a sharpener in the back — was as valuable as anything on earth. It contained every color known to mankind (who even knew there was such a color as periwinkle?!), including silver and gold, which I’m convinced was made with real bits of the precious metals.

A box of 64 crayons turned anyone into an artist. Everything was possible; there was nothing you couldn’t draw.

Even though we are no longer turning out drawings to be hung on the fridge, we still assume the role of artist, so to speak. We are now tasked with creating better communities, businesses, and teams. And we often yearn for a bigger budget, less red tape, or more cooperation from colleagues, upper management, and politicians. We could use more training, more structure, more resources.

How we long for the unlimited possibilities that box of 64 crayons represented! If only I had brick red! Can you imagine what I’d do with periwinkle? We could make a real difference with silver and gold in our crayon box!

You may want the big box of 64 crayons, but there is never a time when you’ll have everything you wish you had. Most of the time, it feels like you’re a few crayons short of filling the humble box of 8.

Short of the resources that would make your work significantly easier or more effective, it’s easy to feel paralyzed and tempted to throw your hands up in resignation.

But here’s an important truth to keep in mind. The best painters in the world can create a masterpiece with only four colors: red, yellow, blue, and white. 

Almost any color can be created with these humble hues.

Even though art supply stores feature walls of paint tubes in a dizzying array of colors, the master teachers implore their students to proactively limit their palette to a handful of colors to ensure a harmonious, pleasing result.

True creativity thrives when constrained by limitations. During the Renaissance period, blue was a very expensive pigment. But when you are using a lot of warm earth tones, as those painters did, a neutral made from black and white can take on a blue tone by comparison.

Having access to all the colors does not make one an artist. It’s about knowing how to use the ones you have.

Whether you are an educator, a healthcare professional, an entrepreneur, or a parent trying to raise great kids, I understand that you wish you had more time, more resources, and more freedom to do the important work that needs to be done.

Unfortunately, that may never be the case. It rarely is in the real world.

But that’s ok.

You are simply called to do the best you can with what you have.

Don’t let your limitations hold you back, dear artist.

You may not have the box of 64 crayons, but you have everything you need to make a masterpiece.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some of us believe that good times will last forever.

Some of us believe that bad times will last forever.

Some of us believe that love is a feeling.

Some of us believe the devil isn’t real.

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

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

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

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

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

You know the three dots.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what about you?

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

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

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

An alligator can live up to 100 years…

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

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

I think that’s pretty cool.

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

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

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

Which brings me to alligators.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And reminds me just how much Adultitis must hate it.

All the more reason to make laughter a priority.

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

Quick! You’re on the beach with a friend and you spot something approaching on the horizon. To your amazement, you make out an armada of giant rubber ducks coming to shore. What is your reaction?

Are you excited? Overjoyed? Concerned? Skeptical? Worried? Afraid?

Are they visitors or invaders?

Do they bring good tidings or dark intentions?

Sometimes a painting can just be a fun picture that makes you smile. And sometimes it contains a deeper meaning. I asked people on social media to share their perceptions of this painting, and it may or may not surprise you that their responses varied greatly:

• “Pure joy. I have a jacket printed with rubber ducks. They always make me smile, as does the ocean, and riding my bike!”
• “Here comes whimsy!”
• “Hope is on the horizon”
• “I’m a little worried.”
• “Terrified.”
• “Invasion from a Trojan Horse.”
• “Plastic pollution and impending doom from climate change.”

It turns out that the meaning of this painting, as well as the meaning of almost everything in life, is largely determined by you. 

Our perceptions impact our actions. For example, whether you’d run for cover or organize a welcoming party would depend on whether you see these rubber ducks as friends or foes. One side sees the other as hopelessly naive. The other side sees the other as paranoid. Both sides have a point.

If we respond too enthusiastically, we might fall into a trap.

If we respond with animosity, we may sabotage any chance of something good happening.

We can assume the best, assume the worst, or…perhaps the best, wisest, most productive thing we can do is keep an open mind and wait and see.

Now, let’s put the shoe on the other flipper. Imagine if you’re one of those ducks. You’re fun. Lots of people like you. You want to be helpful and bring joy to others. You’re new in town, but you have good intentions. But what are those locals on the shore thinking?

Do they see you as a visitor or an invader?

Do they think you bring good tidings or dark intentions?

We’ve all been the new guy. The new kid in class. The newest employee. Or most recently for us, the new family in town. I like to think of this painting as a metaphor for our mission to bring wonder and whimsy to distant shores. I unveiled it at the first Wondernite we hosted in Sheboygan, having moved from Madison two years earlier. As relative unknowns, we wondered if anyone would come.

It turned out to be our biggest and best one yet.

It’s scary to consider what the natives might think of you. You feel like you stick out like a sore thumb because it seems obvious that everyone can tell you’re not familiar with the local culture, the shorthand, the inside information that everyone else takes for granted. 

It’s tempting to want to appear big and important. Maybe pretend to be something you’re not. After all, you’ve got a clean slate. None of these new people know all your history and baggage. You never get a second chance to make a first impression, so it’s a chance to put forth something impressive.

I’ve found it’s easier, more effective, and frankly, less exhausting to just be yourself. People are drawn to authenticity, and we are very good at spotting a fake. Your weird flag may not inspire everyone, but it will attract your people.

It’s more beneficial to check your expectations.

If you expect the natives to be hostile, you’re likely to protect yourself by being hesitant, and withdrawn, which may make you appear cold and aloof to others. But be warned: if you assume the locals will be hostile, and unwelcoming, guess what you’re likely to get.

You see, there is this thing called confirmation bias. (Perhaps you’ve heard of it.) It’s applicable whether or not you see yourself as the kids on the beach or the newcomers floating to shore. How it works is that we make an initial judgment or tell ourselves a story about a person, group, or situation. Then we reflexively look for evidence that supports our case and confirms our bias. 

Meanwhile, we subconsciously filter out any information that runs contrary to our story. We interpret new information as being supportive of the opinions we already hold, and it doesn’t matter how poorly it fits. Our dutifully protective brain finds a way without us having much of a say.

If you think your spouse is ignoring you, you’ll be on the lookout for all the evidence to make your case.

If you expect to have an awesome day, your antenna will be up and scanning for proof all day long.

If you think Republicans are the worst, you will notice and remember every example that proves your point.

If you think Democrats are the enemy, well, you get the point.

So…what if we paused at the very beginning to realize we don’t yet know the truth and take a wait-and-see approach? Thanks to confirmation bias, if you expect the best in others, the odds are better you’ll find it.

This might just be a fun whimsical painting that makes you smile.

Perhaps something light-hearted to hang in your bathroom.

It might also be a reminder to always be yourself while giving other people a chance to do the same.