Category: Uncategorized

I used to think art was art, and even though everyone had a different style, artists were all on the same team. It took art school to re-educate me.

I discovered there were two main groups. One was the fine artists. The other group consisted of illustrators and graphic designers, of which I was a part. We were seen as second-class citizens, sellouts willing to take money to create whatever someone else wanted us to make. Many of the fine artists saw themselves as more artistically pure because they were creating art for art’s sake, achieving self-fulfillment, and bringing about social change. They, too, sold their work, but often to lesser success.

One of my painting teachers had a not-so-veiled disdain for the illustrators in his class. (Or maybe just me.) He had a particular distaste for Norman Rockwell, who has always been one of my favorites. In his time, Rockwell was one of the most well-known and financially successful artists, but alas, was firmly in the camp of illustrator, and therefore a money-grubbing capitalist in the eyes of my teacher, who also criticized Rockwell’s saccharine subject matter.

Norman Rockwell was known for painting scenes of idealized Americana, which the public adored. Only recently did I learn that Rockwell himself was well aware of this criticism. Far from being naive, he acknowledged his paintings were sentimental and idealized. He knew the world wasn’t perfect; he simply painted it as he wished it to be.

In his later years, as the civil rights movement was picking up steam, Rockwell did a series of paintings on race relations. I had a chance to see some of them up close at the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. They are a bit of a departure in theme but retain his trademark style and knack for engaging storytelling. (This is my favorite.) President Obama hung “The Problem We All Live With” in the White House, which depicts six-year-old Ruby Bridges entering the all-white William Frantz Elementary School, escorted by four US marshals.

I also learned that Norman Rockwell succeeded where President Franklin D. Roosevelt could not. FDR gave a speech about the Four Freedoms in order to gain support for the war effort. They were powerful ideas, but didn’t capture the imagination of the American people until Rockwell turned them into emotional paintings that helped raise tons of money for war bonds.

I can’t help but wonder if Norman Rockwell had a bigger impact on America than any other artist working at the time, “fine art” or otherwise, simply because he had the trust of so many millions of Americans. In the days long before social media, he was one of the few artists who was truly known and had a following of millions of middle-class Americans, the backbone of the country. Perhaps that following, and the goodwill he had built with them, allowed him to lead them in some new ways of thinking.

Not bad for a lowly illustrator.

So what lessons are here for us?

First of all, I admire that Rockwell painted the world the way he wanted it to be. A better world always starts with a vision. Just as John F. Kennedy—a contemporary of Rockwell’s who was the subject of his final Saturday Evening Post cover—cast a vision of the moon landing before there was any realistic proof that we could do it, Rockwell offered up a positive aspiration of what could be. His paintings may not have reflected reality per se, but they served as a light to guide his viewers to an ideal to strive for.

We live in a world with lots of problems. Showing the world an example of how to make it better, through your actions, words, or work, is always an admirable pursuit.

Secondly, Norman Rockwell was very talented. So are you. You will encounter no small number of people in your life who are happy to tell you that you’re doing something wrong. They’ll criticize your reason for making art or how you make it. The way you approach your career. Market your services. Decorate your home. Dress. Vacation. Parent. Teach. Worship. They will give you a million reasons why being you isn’t good enough.

Be you anyway.

Your way of doing things might be just what the world’s been waiting for.

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🤔 I wonder…what’s something people have criticized about you that seems to be working out pretty well?

I recently did a presentation on innovation. In preparation, I asked attendees to rate themselves on a scale of 1 to 10 on how creative or innovative they considered themselves. Then, for those who didn’t rate themselves a 10 (there was only one who did), I asked them what obstacle was in their way.

A number of people judged themselves to be too practical or admitted to getting hung up on analyzing the practicality of an idea.

Ah, practicality: The enemy of awesome ideas.

Many a brainstorming session has come to a screeching halt when someone suggests an idea deemed “impractical.” Progress dies as a debate emerges around whether or not an idea is practical, logical, feasible, sensible, or affordable. No more ideas are generated, and everyone leaves the meeting thinking it was a giant waste of time.

Meanwhile, Adultitis takes a victory lap.

Because practical, logical, feasible, sensible, and affordable are five of Adultitis’s favorite words.

Have you ever met a five-year-old with a big idea concerned with it being practical, logical, feasible, sensible, or affordable?

Imagine a meeting in which the stakeholders of a restaurant were trying to figure out the best way to stand out in a competitive tourist market. It’s a Swedish restaurant, and the meatballs and pancakes are already top-notch. Now imagine someone raising their hand and saying, “I have an idea…why don’t we plant some grass on the roof and throw some goats up there?” 

Crickets. 🦗

Except that’s exactly what Al Johnson’s in Door County, Wisconsin did. It’s quite the sight when you see the bright green roof driving down the street. People regularly gather on the sidewalk to gawk and take pictures of the goats (even though there are probably fenced-in goat paddocks less than a mile away, sans the tourists). It’s one of the top three things people share with others after their Door County vacation. And the place is always packed.

But I’m certain it didn’t come about via a staff-wide brainstorming session on a Monday morning. Because it never would have passed muster as practical, logical, feasible, sensible, or affordable.

The best ideas rarely are…at first.

Why bother building a horseless carriage that runs on gasoline when there is nowhere to drive it and no such thing as gas stations?

What idiot would suggest color as a way to sell more computers, when it has absolutely no impact on more important qualities like speed, power, storage capacity, or price?

Or consider the feedback a Yale University professor gave to Fred Smith on a paper he wrote proposing a reliable overnight delivery service: “The concept is interesting and well-formed, but to earn better than a ‘C,’ the idea must be feasible.” 

Hmm, there’s one of Adultitis’s favorite words again: Feasible.

Unfeasibly, Fred Smith went on to found Federal Express.

Here’s an interesting point: The professor was right. In order for FedEx to succeed as an actual business, it did have to be feasible. The professor just didn’t have the capacity to see how it could be. Fred did and eventually figured out a way to make it so.

Steve Jobs used color to make the original iMac computers look like fun, candy-coated objects of desire, and their great success turned the tide from Apple as a failing brand to a global behemoth.

Time and time again, success comes to those who embrace counter-intuitive ideas, exploit the blind spots of experts, and break rules that don’t exist. When the crazy idea works, it suddenly looks like a foregone conclusion in hindsight.

I assure you that grass and goats didn’t seem like an obvious move at the time.

And that first horseless carriage, later known as a car, wasn’t anything close to practical, logical, feasible, sensible, or affordable…at first.

These qualities are important, eventually. Practicality and logic are superpowers. But they should not be dictators. Please don’t let them kill your ideas before they’ve had a chance to get off the ground.

And maybe even onto the roof. 🐐

I guess I need to get used to having wisdom bombs dropped on me by my son because they keep happening.

Especially through the game of baseball.

The first came a few years ago when I was putting the kids to bed. I always ask for their favorite part of the day. Ben’s was watching the Cubs game with me. It blew me away because I would have listed it as my lowlight. They lost a game in excruciating fashion, effectively ruining my day. Interestingly, I no longer remember if they blew the lead or came up short in a comeback — or even who they played — but I remember the lesson he taught me. All he cared about was spending time with me, regardless of the outcome.

As I’ve shared before, I have some past trauma from a few adults who made me feel “less than” for being a Cubs fan. I’m not talking good-natured teasing, but more in the vein of a “you’re a dumb pathetic loser for liking them” vibe. I can see the absurdity in it all now, but when a grown-up makes you feel like that when you’re a certain age, it’s hard to not have a little of your self-identity wrapped up in it as you get older.

All this to say I used to take it pretty hard when the Cubs lost, until Ben gave me back the joy of watching baseball.

Ben likes the Cubs because I like the Cubs. And this year, he has gotten into the stats and the players, and the announcers more than ever. This is the year he became a fan.

But he doesn’t take the losses so hard. He’s disappointed for about three seconds and then moves on.

Seeing Ben’s reaction has changed me. I respect his perspective and purity so much that I don’t want to inadvertently poison him with my own baggage, as those adults from my past did to me. So when we’re watching a game together, I keep my negative emotions in check, and his carefree attitude encourages me to brush off the losses. (We do still cheer and celebrate like crazy people when exciting things happen.)

Because of this, years from now, I will think back fondly to the days of watching Cubs games with Ben on the deck under the umbrella, snacking on cherries, jeering at umpires, and cheering home runs with unbridled joy. I won’t remember the specific outcomes, because the wins and losses will have faded into unimportant footnotes in a treasury of wonderful memories.

He continues to remind me that the outcome is not an all-or-nothing referendum on my self-esteem and worth as a human being. He’s helped me to appreciate what really matters.

The other day, he dropped another wisdom bomb on me.

The Cubs lost a game to the Mets they should have won that had a big impact on the standings. Ben casually remarked, “You have to look for the win in every game,” and then noted how good it was that their slugger broke out of a long slump with a single, triple, and home run in the losing effort. He declared that a win because they’d need him to perform well down the stretch if they wanted to win the division.

“You have to look for the win in every game.”

I don’t know where the hell he got that, but it wasn’t from me.

The hidden bonus of this gem is that if you can find the win in every game, you never truly lose.

And of course, this is way bigger than baseball.

Not everything we attempt succeeds. Sometimes we don’t get the job, the role, or the girl. We don’t always get into the school we wanted, make it to the gate on time, or receive the diagnosis we were hoping for.

But we can look for the win in every game.

If you can find some useful knowledge that was gained, a hidden blessing in disguise, or something tiny to celebrate in every scenario you find yourself in, you never truly lose.

This is how you go undefeated in life.

Look for the win in every game.

“Inflation is real. And I’m broke.”

This was shared with me by a woman in an organization for which I was preparing to speak. Although many people have struggled to keep up with the rising cost of goods, she wasn’t referring to money.

Over the past few years, some of the most important jobs in our society have grown more emotionally expensive, thanks to the pandemic and other factors. They are harder to do and fewer people are willing to do them, yet we need them more than ever.

Let’s consider nurses as one example. They are carrying unsustainable patient loads and burning out in the process. If one quits to save herself, what happens to the ones left behind

But is she expected to sacrifice her own health, sanity, and relationships for the sake of everyone else? And exactly how useful is a burned-out, mistake-prone nurse with compassion fatigue?

You could replace “nurse” with “teacher” or “social worker” or “airline pilot” or “police officer,” and on and on…

Inflation is real.

And with emotional costs rising, many people are finding themselves broke.

So what do we do?

Well, it depends.

Self-help gurus promise easy answers because they are easy to sell. Unfortunately, complicated scenarios rarely have simple solutions. Each industry—each individual—has its own unique factors and challenges.

A problem like this requires thoughtfulness and self-awareness. I must fight the temptation to boil it down to a one-size-fits-all answer that saves the day in one fell swoop. Instead, let me share some truths that may shed light on what makes sense for your situation.

Truth #1: Life is hard. And that is normal. 
We are consistently lured into pursuing a life of ease and comfort, conditioned to believe that something’s wrong if we experience anything otherwise. We humans put too much stock in what’s happening right this moment, falsely assuming the good times will always roll or this hard stretch will last forever. This is called recency bias. But it’s always been true that to everything there is a season. It could be that you are in a season of challenge that is extremely difficult, but also temporary. If so, take courage! Persist! Facing down difficulties will make you better, stronger, and, believe it or not, happier in the long run.

Truth #2: It’s not your job to save the world.
This is a hard one to swallow, especially if you’re like me and suffer from a bit of a savior complex. First of all, it feels good to help others. And wanting to help as many people as possible provides a sense of purpose, which is also good. Things go sideways if we develop an outsized expectation of the role we’re called to play. Yes, there may be few people who can do what you do as well as you can, but the fact is, you could get hit by a bus tomorrow, and believe it or not, the world will find a way to go on. (Why always a bus? Why not a VW Beetle packed with clowns? Or a DoorDash driver on a unicycle? But I digress.) Perhaps you just need to shift your perspective, take yourself a little less seriously, and give yourself permission to do the best you can and the grace to acknowledge it’ll never be enough. Why? Because it’s not your job to save the world.

Truth #3: It’s hard to help people when you’re dead.
Speaking of getting hit by a VW Beetle packed with clowns, bad things happen when you push yourself to the brink. You need time to rest and fill your cup. If you keep your foot on the gas, eventually your body will hit the brakes for you. To restate the obvious, it’s awfully hard to help others when you’re laid up in a hospital bed, or, you know, dead.

Truth #4: It’s not all or nothing.
When we feel overwhelmed and depleted, we commonly default to extremes. Your options are not limited to “quit this job immediately” or “stick with it forever until it kills me.” You could also give it another month, pray, re-evaluate things, and then decide to quit, stay, or…give it another month. You don’t have to resign yourself to your current situation, either. Maybe you can go half time. Maybe you can transfer to a different department. Maybe you just need a little vacation. (Or a long one!) Perhaps your priority should be to give yourself a little space to identify all your options because there are probably more than you realize.

So…if you find yourself having a hard time keeping up with the rising emotional costs of your particular situation, what should you do?

I don’t know.

But I expect that you might, especially if you felt one or two of these truths ping your soul.

Thank you for caring. Thank you for your hard work. Thank you for making a difference.

I wish you clarity and peace of mind as you discern what’s next.

And the agility to avoid any clown-stuffed vehicles that cross your path.

The baseball deflected off the bat, soaring high and out of play. It reached the roof over the grandstand above us, but I suspected it might roll back. It did. I watched as gravity reversed the ball’s course, and it fell back into the crowd. Hitting the aisle about twenty feet away, it ricocheted wildly off the concrete and raced through a forest of arms, right toward me. I kept my eye on the ball and relied on the instincts and reflexes honed in my days as a second baseman. I alertly shifted my hands to my left, and the ball stuck.

I had just caught a foul ball at Wrigley Field on Father’s Day weekend.

Still in shock as I handed the ball to my son (but acting like it was no big deal), I wondered, What are the chances?

There were about 37,000 fans in attendance. According to foulballz.com, roughly 46 foul balls are hit per game. Assuming 25 actually made it into the crowd, I had a 1 in 1,500 chance of catching a foul ball that day. The weird physics in play that conspired on my behalf make it feel even more unlikely.

To top it all off, the Cubs won after hitting 3 home runs in one inning and scoring six runs in another. We got to sing “Go Cubs Go” with the Wrigley Field faithful.

What a difference a year makes.

You see, exactly one year earlier — to the day — a kind neighbor was helping me clear trees from our driveway with a chainsaw so that I could make it to the airport for a speaking engagement. A 112-mile-per-hour straight-line wind had descended upon Sheboygan the night before, ripping 150 trees out of the ground in a matter of seconds, leaving a splintered mess in its wake.

What are the chances?

For weeks on end, we lived with the constant reminder of the trauma, as our backyard was a jagged landscape of splintered trees and shredded memories. 

We had to hire professional lumberjacks to take them all away, leaving behind an uneven patch of land, a bumpy scar reminding us of all that was lost.

Eventually, fifty-seven dump trucks of dirt were brought in, and the land was leveled. Grass seed was sown, but for a long time, it lay barren and lifeless.

Progress was being made, but it was happening so slowly that it seemed like life would never return. The financial aftermath still hangs heavy over our household.

But exactly one year later, not only did I experience the highlight of catching a foul ball at a Cubs game, but I sat at the edge of our bluff, overlooking the grandeur of Lake Michigan. 

With my bare feet in luscious green grass.

It’s a reminder to me of the baffling duality of time. It goes from dragging on mercilessly to passing by in the blink of an eye.

We went from “Will this fresh hell ever end?” to “Wow, that happened a year ago?” 

When things are going badly, it feels like time stands still and the odds of a turnaround seem impossibly low. Yes, good times are fleeting, but so are the bad. 

As the young girl reminded Eric Draven in The Crow, a favorite movie of mine, “It can’t rain all the time.

Blessings can appear out of nowhere when we least expect them. If you’re in one of those “will this ever end?” periods right now and you need to know the odds of a turnaround, take heart.

The chances are very good that something amazing is about to happen.

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🤔 I wonder…what is the most amazing, unlikely thing that happened to you in the last year?

Our first official Moonrise Movie Night! Can you spot the “red” moon peeking out from the horizon?

I pulled out a notebook and pushed aside the bowl of creamers and the container of jellies.

My family was at one of our favorite breakfast spots, our go-to place for celebrating big milestones. This day was decidedly less joyful, however, more of an escape from a nightmare we recently experienced.

A few miles away, our house was an island in an apocalyptic landscape. A week before, a hurricane-force straight-line wind mutilated an idyllic stand of 150 pine trees into an ugly riot of splintered, uprooted sticks, violently strewn about.

Amidst the aftermath, it was hard to imagine anything good coming from it. But Kim and I have adamantly taught our kids to ask an important question anytime a storm sweeps through our lives: What does this make possible?

I took a sip of coffee. With all the faith I could muster, I reminded my kids that God was working even then, and He was going to turn the mess into something magical. Opening to a blank page in the journal, I declared that it was time for our family to dream again.

What new possibilities did this sudden and unexpected clearing make possible for our backyard?

Slowly, ideas bubbled up. It started with a list of fruit trees and visions of the delicious bounty they’d someday provide. Maybe a strawberry patch. Some raspberry bushes. Someone suggested a vegetable garden. Then a BB gun range made the list.

I don’t know who said it, but eventually, we added “movie nights.” 

A vision grew of this new open space being occupied by a group of friends gathered to watch a movie on a huge screen overlooking the lake, with the moon rising from the horizon. Dubbed “Moonrise Movie Nights,” it became a dream that sustained us for the many months it took to clear the trees, receive fifty-five dump trucks worth of dirt onto our property, and wait for the grass seed that was planted to transform from something reminiscent of a teenage boy’s chin into something that looked like a real lawn.

Weeks of research on the best options for a screen, projector, and sound system led to our first trial run as a family. That necessitated adding a few more cords and cables to the setup. Along the way, we picked up a retro red cooler for drinks and an old-timey popcorn machine on a cart.

On the eve of Independence Day, a year and two weeks after the storm, we held our first official Moonrise Movie Night. I was giving an informal tour of my studio to the group of friends who had joined us. Recounting the history behind one of my paintings led to the recollection of the evening’s origin story. I got a lump in my throat realizing how far we’d come.

As the darkness fell, we gathered around the screen on blankets and lawn chairs, with popcorn and bomb pops, to watch The Muppets. The weather was perfect. Halfway through the movie, the moon made her dramatic appearance. Bold and red at first, like the sun, then slowly glowing white as she ascended, tossing diamonds onto the calm lake below.

It was a fitting culmination of a dream come true.

I share this story in case you need hope. It could be that a storm has swept through your life recently. Believe me, I know that right now, it might look more like a mess than anything resembling magic.

But perhaps the stage is set for something new to rise up.

My experience has shown me time and time again that God loves bringing forth streams from the desert and turning storms into something stunning.

Have faith. Now might be the time to turn the page and start dreaming big.

I have an odd experiment I’d love to try someday.

I thought of it during a family visit to the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago, after going through several exhibits in a row in which the animals were either hidden or off exhibit. (It’s hard to tell if the jaguar is sleeping in a corner out of view or at the vet for a check-up.) After a few minutes of fruitless searching, we just shrugged our shoulders and headed to the next one.

So I thought it would be interesting to remove all the animals from every exhibit at a particular zoo. How long would it take for the average visitor to realize that the zoo was empty? Pretty long, is my guess. And I suspect that if you allowed a few birds to fly around freely, you’d trick people into going longer before realizing there was not one animal on display.

My family loves zoos, and we’ve been to a lot of them. (We even went to a few on a book tour!) I have discovered that there are two Zoo Truths you can count on:

Truth #1: At least one of the animals you were looking forward to seeing will be off-exhibit or out of view. A bust. Of course, animals are animals. They are unpredictable. They can’t be made to always be “on.” The question is, will you let your disappointment ruin your day?

Truth #2: There will also be at least one animal you’ll get an unexpectedly great experience with. Maybe one you never noticed before, or an up-close encounter with an animal you’ve previously overlooked. If you’re not too busy sulking after Truth #1 materializes, I guarantee you something magical will happen. 

As I said, my family has been to a lot of zoos and has found these two Zoo Truths to be remarkably consistent. At the Lincoln Park Zoo, the giraffes were a bust and the red panda was MIA. (Maybe she was on a sabbatical?) But we saw snow leopards super close, and the young gorillas goofing off were an absolute hoot. Because we are well aware of the Truths, the disappointments were taken in stride, and we were able to savor the magic that was served up to us.

Why don’t we have the same perspective on life? 

Like animals, life is unpredictable. It doesn’t always go as planned. Why are we so surprised when things go sideways? 

Sometimes we become overly invested in having things go a certain way, and we get derailed when they don’t. Maybe you thought you’d have found Mr. Right by now. Maybe you expected your career path to be a little less wonky. Maybe your big dream is taking its sweet old time.

The thing we were hoping for might just be temporarily hidden. It might even be off the table for good.

Not every dream comes true.

That’s Truth #1. But don’t forget about Truth #2.

If we limit the time we spend sulking, and we keep our heads up and our eyes open, we might notice something we didn’t expect. Something wonderful and magical and equally awesome. (Or dare I say…better?)

Alas, none of this is possible unless we practice non-attachment from outcomes and open ourselves to surprises that come out of uncertainty. Kids are natural at this because they don’t have enough life perspective to know what to expect. Everything is new, so they more often experience surprise and delight than adults. 

We can experience it, too; we just need to be more mindful about it. 

I’ve found, at zoos and in life, that reminding myself that some things won’t turn out as I’d hoped, but there will be other cool surprises I never could’ve predicted, serves as a powerful reframe that makes a big difference.

You might miss the giraffe you came to see, but maybe the baby gorilla will be worth the price of admission.

They don’t make Super Bowl rings like they used to.

A recent speaking engagement in Ohio provided me the opportunity to take my son Ben along for a side trip to Canton, home of the Pro Football Hall of Fame. One of the standout displays was its collection of Super Bowl rings.

You can see and compare every ring, from the first commemorating the Green Bay Packers’ victory in Super Bowl I, to the one awarded to the LA Rams for winning Super Bowl LVI. 

The recent versions look less like rings and more like diamond-encrusted paperweights.

The Super Bowl LVI ring is shaped like the stadium, with removable(!) elements that reveal intricate details like the roof, the Infinity Screen, and the field, which is colored with remnants of the actual turf where the game was played. Each ring includes about 20 carats of white diamonds in total, the most of any sports championship ring in history.

Meanwhile, the first Super Bowl ring, designed by Vince Lombardi in 1966, was a one-carat diamond set in white gold.

It was striking to see so many life lessons crammed into one compact display.

For one, I think it’s safe to say the NFL is doing very well, especially compared to the humble founding days when owners were required to pay a $100 league entry fee. But while some might see an opportunity for a sermon on greed or the ills of capitalism, I choose to see it as an invitation to consider the progress we’ve made in our own lives. Some of my dreams are still a far way off, but I am grateful when I think about how far Kim and I have come from the early days of our marriage, with our air-conditionless apartment and a steady diet of Hamburger Helper.

Of course, each Super Bowl ring was indeed bigger and more valuable than the one that preceded it. Apparently, we human beings just can’t keep from comparing ourselves to others and trying to one-up each other. 

Also, it’s clear we have a thing for chasing shiny objects. Sometimes they look like rings and trophies. Other times, they look like homes, cars, job titles, and reserved parking spots. The fact that sometimes those Super Bowl rings get pawned reminds me that those shiny objects don’t lead to lasting happiness or solve all our problems.

It was an interesting display, but also a sad commentary on how out of whack our priorities are. If you follow the pattern, there’s a good chance that by 2050, players will be parking their Super Bowl “rings” in their garage.

I am not optimistic that our culture will change much by then.

But maybe we can.

We can change for the better if we spend more time being grateful for how far we’ve come and take a few moments to ask some honest questions. 

Does what I’m currently chasing after hold true value, or is it merely a “shiny object” I can’t take with me?

Am I more focused on beating someone else or besting the person I was yesterday?

In our fast-paced culture, it’s uncommon for someone to step off the treadmill long enough to ask hard questions like these.

But then again, that’s what makes real champions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We recently renovated the rec room in our basement. The transformation mostly consisted of several gallons of paint and some key new decor purchases. In the past, I would have been tasked with the paint job, but this time, we decided to make it a family affair. It was a great idea, mostly because I’d still be working on it — the bead board required four coats alone — but also because it gave us a shared sense of accomplishment and excitement for the finished product.

The kids weren’t token helpers, either. I managed the trim, but they were involved in everything else. 

Lucy is fourteen years old and rides and cares for horses. She can direct a 2,000-pound animal with ease. My eleven-year-old son Ben can make a loaf of banana bread from scratch without any guidance.  Nine-year-old Ginny recently designed, measured, cut, and sewed a new kitchen apron all by herself, complete with a Bluey patterned pocket. 

It’s not magic. My kids are talented and capable, but so is every child who hasn’t been limited by low expectations. One of the hallmarks of our homeschooling philosophy is the belief that kids are capable of way more than society gives them credit for.  

The default mode of Western culture has children being talked down to and underestimated. We act as if they are idiots until they get out of school. Rather than give them reasons for our decisions (if we even know them ourselves), we say, “Because I said so.”

“Because I said so.”

It’s a phrase designed to end the argument, serving as the last word for the person in power. 

The thing is, kids are the only people we underestimate. We underestimate ourselves, too, with that very phrase limiting our own potential.

“I could never do that,” is the stock reply anytime the dreamer within us imagines accomplishing something cool, or a friend suggests making a change that would improve our life. 

I can’t learn that skill. I can’t get that degree now. I can’t handle a transition that bold.

Yes, actually, you can. 

But do you know the main reason you think you can’t? 

Because you said so. 

You’re the person in power. You told yourself it’s not possible, so it isn’t. End of argument. Ultimately, your opinion is the only one that matters. 

Of course, it may be daunting. Difficult. Scary. It might cause you to feel uncomfortable or risk embarrassment. But none of those things make it impossible. 

Rather than telling yourself you can’t do something that might feel overwhelming, at least be honest with yourself. The truth is, you’ve simply decided you don’t want to, maybe for reasons you don’t want to admit or perhaps haven’t even thought about.

We usually get from our kids what we expect of them.

The same thing is true of ourselves.

This isn’t magical “all you have to do is think positive” nonsense. You still have to do the work. But believing something is possible is always the first step toward making it happen. When it comes to your life, you are the one in control. You hold all the cards.

If you think you’re stuck in a bad situation and there’s no hope for your future, you’re right.

If you believe you can go from where you are now to where you want to be, you’re right.

If you believe you are capable of great and amazing things, you’re right. 

How do I know?

Because you said so.