“Seek & Find” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is available. 🟢 Shop this art!
My wife has a remarkable superpower for finding hearts in nature, hiding in clouds, flowers, and even her sourdough bread.
One day, we walked along a pier in Lake Michigan. We talked about our business, kids, and future. We lingered at the end of the pier, then walked back, resuming our conversation. Kim casually mentioned seeing fifteen hearts during our walk.
I had seen exactly none.
I marveled at her talent.
But is there such a thing as talent for seeing hearts in nature? I’m not so sure. It’s not like having a beautiful singing voice, exceptional sprinting speed, or a penchant for math.
Kim has a knack for spotting hearts because she spends a lot of time looking for them.
What seems magical to others is often the result of lots of practice.
I once wrote a book about seeing. In it, I talked about storms, the metaphorical kind that blow through our lives. I also wrote about one of our most underrated superpowers: the ability to choose what we look for in the midst of those storms.
Yes, the storms will come. Scary, devastating, faith-shaking storms. They are a given, right up there with death and taxes and missing socks.
But those who see the silver linings are usually the ones looking for them.
It’s not a talent; it’s a practice.
The more you practice, the better you get.
This is true with finding hearts in nature as it is with anything.
So, will this year be worse than last year? Or will it be your best year ever?
Here’s the secret: You don’t have to wait to find out.
The trap is letting external circumstances dictate our answers: the news headlines, the outrage du jour on social media, the ups and downs of life.
It’s hard to view a year of hardship as anything but negative. However, a decade might offer perspective, transforming it into a valuable gift. A little time and practice might turn up a whole host of hidden blessings.
I’m not suggesting you pretend that the tough or terrible moments don’t suck. Being sad, mad, or angry is part of the human experience. We don’t have to bury those emotions under some false blanket of positivity.
Just remember that storms are part of life. The best year isn’t one without failure, conflict, tragedy, or loss.
Kim took the photo that inspired this painting. She saw a heart in the sky near the lighthouse. I enhanced it slightly and added dozens more. I can’t count them all, and you might find some I didn’t add.
That is how it is with cloud watching and wonderhunting and the counting of blessings.
The more you practice, the more you’ll see.
Those who seek shall find.
☕ How would you assess your ability to spot the “hearts” in your life? What’s one way you could practice getting better?
“Beyond the Bathtub” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is available 🟢 Shop this art!
I could have stayed in the bathtub.
Way back when, after completing my schooling and earning a degree, the safe path was waiting for me. A decent job in my hometown. It wasn’t particularly exciting, but it was close enough to what I went to school for that I could rationalize it as making sense. I could have taken the job, gotten married, bought a house, and started collecting benefits.
It was tempting, and by most standards, the smart thing to do. The only problem is that I knew exactly what life in the bathtub would look like for the rest of my life.
I may have been shy and quiet, but I grew up observing people who decided to stay in the bathtub. Whether they rationalized it as a smart choice or insisted they didn’t have any others, I could always sense a certain sadness, simmering just below the surface.
Life outside the bathtub is fraught.
The ocean is vast. The edges disappear as the shoreline fades from view. The waves toss us around until we’re seasick. At times it feels like we’ll drown—or be swallowed by something much bigger than ourselves. The current carries us in directions we never would have chosen. It’s disorienting. Terrifying. Unpredictable.
Of course we prefer to remain in an environment we can control!
The problem is that it’s not much of a life.
The bathtub is safe, controlled, and predictable. But it’s also small. Constricting. Eventually the what-ifs become impossible to ignore. What’s outside these walls? What am I truly capable of? Where might I go if I ventured beyond the edge of what I can see?
I was the kid my relatives called a scaredy-cat. Honestly, not much has changed. I’ve never become especially brave or outgoing.
I just knew there was life beyond the bathtub.
Although I’m just a tiny rubber duck, I sensed I was made for a bigger shore, farther away than I could get to on my own.
So I put my trust in the One who made the water, the waves, and the wind.
That choice came with no certainty, no safety, and no benefits package. There were seasons when I felt lost at sea. Driftless. Doubtful. Overwhelmed. Afraid.
You know what? I still feel that way sometimes. There are always temptations to pull into a safe harbor somewhere and settle down. To quit while I’m ahead.
But I can’t go back now.
Since giving my life to the Creator of the ocean, I’ve seen things, accomplished things, and experienced things I never would have known had I stayed in the bathtub. I’ve been swept up in an adventure that’s been wonderful, beautiful, and breathtaking.
The decision isn’t to become adventurous.
The decision is to leave the bathtub.
Everything else follows.
We’re destined for a life beyond the bathtub.
Of course it isn’t safe. But it is good.
Is it time for you to experience what lifeis like beyond the bathtub?
“Don’t Fight Fight with Fire” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 16. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
If you try to do anything worthwhile, you’ll likely suffer skeptics and critics.
When you encounter naysayers, you have a few options. You can allow them to stop you. This is generally not advised, especially if they are little more than bullies. Or you can use their doubts as fuel.
This is what I recommend, but with caution.
You see, that fuel burns hot. If you rely too much on it, you can end up consumed with anger and rage. If it becomes all about proving someone else wrong, rather than pursuing something worthwhile that brings you joy, you will be the loser in the end.
When I was younger, I idolized Michael Jordan. Besides his athletic prowess, I also admired his work ethic, determination, and persistence. But I also remember the speech he gave when he was inducted into the NBA Hall of Fame. Despite having accomplished everything a player could possibly achieve and being widely regarded as the greatest of all time, he was still holding on to grudges from decades gone by. Perceived slights from his high school basketball coach, teammates, reporters, and fellow competitors. He was still trying to torch them all to prove his dominance, spitting out petty barbs to people he perceived as having wronged him. He came across as bitter, shallow, and small.
Those slights he used to fuel his competitive drive seemed to have consumed him, leaving him charred.
It’s natural to want to right perceived wrongs. But as many wise people have said, “Withholding forgiveness is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”
Our culture today seems more combative than ever. Trash-talking is considered an art form. We are urged to use the haters to fuel our rise, and then, when our success is undeniable, use it to torch them. When we win, it’s open season on our opponent. We must reign fiery retorts and comebacks down upon them, shaming them into submission. The more clever the comeback, the more street cred we receive.
But there’s a better way, and the Wright Brothers are a great example.
As you might imagine, the race to be the first to fly was heated. The two were fiercely competitive, but they never badmouthed their competitors, choosing instead to compliment their good qualities.
One of their biggest rivals was a man by the name of Samuel Langley. He was the head of the Smithsonian, one of the most respected scientists of the day, and by far the most well-funded individual pursuing the problem of flight. He portrayed a haughty pride over his self-perceived inevitability of success. Ultimately, he experienced a very public, very humiliating failure.
One that opened the door for the Wright Brothers to gloat.
As I read David McCullough’s book about them, I found myself rooting for Orville and Wilbur to do some sort of well-deserved verbal victory dance.
They never did.
McCullough writes:
“Neither brother was ever to make critical or belittling comments about Langley. Rather, they expressed respect and gratitude for the part he had played in their efforts. Just knowing that the head of the Smithsonian, the most prominent scientific institution in America, believed in the possibility of human flight was one of the influences that led them to proceed with their work.
Wilbur told Octave Chanute in a letter written some years later: ‘He possessed mental and moral qualities of the kind that influence history. When scientists in general considered it discreditable to work in the field of aeronautics, he possessed both the discernment to discover possibilities there and the moral courage to subject himself to the ridicule of the public and the apologies of his friends. He deserves more credit for this than he has yet received.’”
How kind. How gracious. And frankly, how epically badass.
Taking the high road and responding with kindness possesses an underrated level of effectiveness. For the Bible tells us that when you treat your enemies with kindness, “you heap burning coals upon their head.”
Don’t let the naysayers stop you. You can turn them into motivation, but be careful about using them for fuel.
Fighting fire with fire leaves both of you as a pile of ash.
“Kintsugi Tortoise” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 30. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD. 🔴 Shop this art!
All dreamers start out delusional.
But perhaps that’s an essential ingredient.
The feeling that their idea is “genius” and the perception of their inevitability of success provide the enthusiasm and energy to get started. After all, no one found the fuel to begin chasing a dream by focusing on all the reasons it could never work.
The critical moment is how the dreamer responds when he or she first encounters adversity.
Or as philosopher Mike Tyson put it, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”
If a dream is big enough and you pursue it long enough, it will break you.
Your confidence will be shattered. Doubt will creep in. Hope will be lost.
Then what?
I’m sad to say that’s often where it ends. The dream dissolves into an emaciated wish, a thin, pale shadow of its former glorious self.
For twenty-five years, Kim and I dreamed of having a lake home. We talked about it on our first date. We spent hundreds and hundreds of hours talking about it, trying to figure out the most efficient way to make it happen while still doing the work we love and feel called to. We tried on dozens of scenarios in our minds, calculating what was possible and what sacrifices might be required.
In the early days, it seemed like just a matter of time before we made it happen. We had pure motives, a little bit of talent, and a desire to work hard. I could see it, clear as day. On the hard days, the steadfast belief that it would come true kept me going. In my naiveté, I figured it would take a year, maybe three at most. (Ha!)
As months turned to years, and our kids got older, doubts crept in. I wondered if I was wasting my time. I wondered if I was only holding on in desperation, and that my death grip on my dream life was keeping me from living my real one.
It was exhausting and soul-crushing at times. While on a family vacation in Florida, and with the kids asleep in bed, I was sitting on the balcony of our rental. Although it was too dark to see them, I could hear the Gulf’s waves pound the shoreline. My heart was broken, and I wished that I’d never had the dream at all. I was overcome by the desire to throw it back into the sea.
I considered that maybe giving it up would give me relief and freedom. I yearned for someone from a Harry Potter book to cast a Memory Charm upon me, to obliviate the dream from my memory.
That night on the balcony in Florida was February 3, 2020. A little over a month later, a pandemic began, and all hell broke loose in our lives.
Yet somehow, just eleven months later, our family moved into our dream home on Lake Michigan. (Never in a million years did I think it would be one of the Great ones!)
Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold (or other precious metals). Instead of disguising the damage, kintsugi highlights the repairs, transforming the broken object into a unique and beautiful piece. It’s a philosophy that embraces imperfections and impermanence, finding beauty in flaws and celebrating the history of an object.
It’s true that if a vessel breaks, it can never be made to look new again.
But kintsugi makes it better than new, because it’s even more beautiful than it was before.
Our brokenness makes us humble. Humility is the most beautiful virtue because it allows our other good qualities to shine fully and be most helpful to ourselves and the world.
These broken places within us are not defects. They are the places where light can shine through. Those golden scars embody a soul that is stronger and a story that’s more beautiful because of the trial.
This painting represents the slow patience that’s required of a person trying to achieve something great. It’s a reminder that we will experience the storms of struggle and brokenness. But it’s also a beacon of hope for brighter days ahead waiting for us if we persist.
The journey may be harder than you expected, but the you that emerges will be better for it.
“Great Expectations” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 24. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD. 🔴 Shop this art!
I have a confession to make.
I fully expected to marry a brunette. I was pretty vocal about it, even. No blondes for me!
In retrospect, the women who caught my eye when I was young — Princess Leia, Lois Lane, Wonder Woman — were all brunette. Most of the girls I dated in high school were brunettes.
But after I met Kim, who was most definitely not a brunette, I didn’t waste any time wondering if I was making the right choice in spending time with her. I didn’t delay my decision to propose because I was holding out for a brunette to come along. I didn’t miss the opportunity of a lifetime because “this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.”
I wish I could say I was that flexible with all my expectations.
When I graduated from college with a degree in illustration, I expected I’d make my living as a freelance illustrator. A year into that pursuit led me to realize that I really hated taking orders drawing what other people wanted me to draw.
So I shifted all my attention to a comic strip I had been developing called Kim & Jason. I expected that I’d make my mark in the world by following in the footsteps of Charles Schulz and Bill Watterson.
I put everything into it for six years. Along the way, I fell into speaking, and it started to bring in money. Way more than the comic strip. I eventually made the difficult decision to retire Kim & Jason so I could double down on what was working.
With that decision, it felt that the naysayers were proven right: I really couldn’t make it as an artist. But the only reason they seemed right is that my expectations were wrong.
I once heard a talk by Fr. Mike Schmitz in which he said, “Expectations are a thief of peace.”
I recoiled at the idea at first, because I associate expectations with hope, and hope is good. If expectations are the thief of peace, is the antidote to become a pessimist? Lower the bar? Settle for mediocrity? Slack off? That seemed less than ideal.
Then it occurred to me: An expectation is a prediction.
It’s a prediction about what you think — and maybe even hope — will happen. Sometimes it’s little more than wishful thinking, but it could be a legitimate educated guess with actual data to back it up. And sometimes your prediction is correct and your expectations are met.
But it’s still a prediction.
One you might be making with a wildly insufficient lack of information.
Before I actually started freelancing, I didn’t know how I’d feel creating things that didn’t light me up. When I began my comic strip, I didn’t realize how quickly the internet would decimate newspapers and change the landscape. And back then, I didn’t know anything about the business of professional speaking.
Take a quick review of your life right now. How much current frustration, pain, or sadness is the result of circumstances turning out differently from what you expected?
Is holding on to what didn’t happen keeping you from appreciating all the great things that did and are happening now?
Maybe you can relate to this simple example. Recently, I had a wonderful, tremendously productive day that felt like a failure. One project took waaaay longer than I expected, blowing my to-do list to smithereens. Although some tasks got pushed to another day, I accomplished a few other things I hadn’t planned and took advantage of the unseasonably warm day to enjoy an invigorating walk in the sunshine. It ended with a delicious dinner with my beautiful bride.
By all objective measures, it was a very good day. But it didn’t feel like it.
The thing that soured it?
My expectations.
The day simply didn’t line up according to the timing and order of my expectations. Because some to-dos were left unchecked — even though other great elements were added — somehow it felt like I failed.
This is not a cautionary tale against planning or a list of pro tips to bulletproof your plans. It’s a reminder that it’s hard to appreciate accomplishments when they are in the same room as even one unmet expectation, one missed goal, or one unforeseen event that was out of your control.
In the battle between reality and expectations, reality is undefeated.
Expectations really are a thief of peace. They can ruin a day or derail our dream if we’re not careful.
I believe that God plants dreams in our hearts. The details we imagine in the early stages create enthusiasm that serves as fuel to get moving. But oftentimes, those details reflect immaturity, a lack of imagination, or are limited by the fact that we don’t yet have the relationships, technology, or knowledge that will eventually help us to get there.
Art was my first love; the first talent I discovered, and the one that was most nurtured early in my life. It’s easy to see why I would have the expectation of making it as an artist.
But that was before I took a creative writing class in high school.
It was before I discovered a gift for public speaking in college.
It was before I realized “professional speaker” was an actual job.
And it was before I figured out that my art, writing, and speaking could be combined to create something unique and bigger than the sum of their parts.
Like many people, when I was a young adult, I expected my career to go a certain way. It went a different direction, filled with opportunities and experiences I didn’t even know were possible when I was an 18-year-old kid.
But thirty years ago, if I had been given the choice between my original expectations and a full picture of how my life turned out, I’d choose my current reality.
Every. Single. Time.
And yet, here’s the crazy part: because it doesn’t match up with my original expectation — you know, the one I had when I was a naive, inexperienced teenager — I am sometimes tempted to wonder where I went wrong.
Expectations are a thief of peace.
Holding on to expectations that don’t match reality is a terrific way to go through life frustrated and disappointed.
When we become resentful of missed expectations, we are in danger of also missing other opportunities and blessings we didn’t see coming.
The astronaut in this painting represents a dreamer.
This dreamer has always possessed a spirit of adventure and imagined a life spent exploring the unknown, pushing past the boundaries of human understanding, and experiencing the supernatural enchantment. The dreamer expected this would happen as an astronaut in the context of space.
Instead, the dreamer’s story ended up in the ocean after a visit to Sea World, and now days are spent adventurously exploring the unknown and experiencing enchantment in encounters with sea creatures.
So…did this dreamer’s dream go unfulfilled?
My friend Jessica has some good advice about how we should handle our expectations: “When you write that first story, print it as a draft, triple-spaced with extra wide margins. You do this because you’re anticipating edits.”
Letting go of expectations is not about being pessimistic. One can be optimistic without becoming a slave to expectations. My optimism is grounded in the fact that God has ALL the data, loves me more than I deserve, and tells the best stories. We can make plans and hope for things to go a certain way, while still holding loosely to them, trusting that God may have different (and better!) ones.
If you want more peace in your life, don’t abandon hope.
“Rodeo Dolphin” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is available. 🔴 Shop this art!
This painting is a little bit crazy.
Some people will be quick to point out that cowboys don’t ride dolphins. They’ll scoff that dolphins don’t belong in the sky. They’ll demand an explanation about the meaning of it all.
Those were the same kind of people who scoffed at the Wright Brothers for having the audacity of thinking they could build a flying machine. Humans can’t fly, they said. They don’t belong in the sky, they scoffed. They demanded an explanation for why these two, with no college education, no formal technical training, no experience working with anyone other than themselves, no friends in high places, no financial backers, no government subsidies, and little money of their own, would ever think they could achieve such an absurdity?
To be fair, for more than fifty years, many others before them served as a source of comic relief, mocked and ridiculed in the press for their delusions of grandeur and “childish” flying machines.
Somehow, and to our benefit, this did not deter Wilbur and Orville Wright.
History is filled with people criticized for being crazy.
But, as it’s been said, monuments are not built for critics and statues are not dedicated to fault-finders.
Very often, our dreams appear absurd, especially to others. And especially the big ones.
A horseless carriage?
A self-powered flying machine?
A pocket-sized device you can use to communicate with anyone in the world?
What will they think of next? A flying car? A colony on Mars? A cure for cancer?
This reminder is not reserved for the select few who change world history and have statues erected in their honor. I make a living doing what I love from my studio on the shores of Lake Michigan. Trust me, in the early days of our business, when Kim and I were living on a diet largely dependent on Hamburger Helper and couldn’t afford to run our air conditioning during the hot summer, every bit of my current life seemed far-fetched, to say the least.
Of course, you can’t count on every dream coming true.
But you can count on somebody calling you crazy for dreaming it.
“How Many Watermelons?” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is available. 🔴 Shop this art!
What do motivational posters, charismatic preachers, and embroidered pillows have in common?
They regularly tell us to count our blessings.
If we’re in the midst of a good day, we’d probably admit it would take a long time to count all our blessings. Maybe even longer than it would take to count all the seeds in a watermelon. But theoretically, both could be done.
This painting was inspired by the saying “Anyone can count the number of seeds in a watermelon, but only God can count the number of watermelons in a seed.”
Today is the second anniversary of the day I needed a chainsaw-wielding neighbor to help me clear trees from my driveway so I could drive to the airport for a speaking engagement. The night before, a storm descended upon our home with a terrible straight-line wind that damaged our home and devastated our property. I had to leave my wife behind in a home with no power to push aside the grief to begin the clean-up and call insurance companies.
I can assure you, it did not feel like a blessing.
That storm turned our trees into kindling and destroyed our finances. It wrought great debt and fear, and uncertainty. It brought trauma to our family and nightmares to my kids.
But it was also a seed.
A seed that has since produced many blessings…
It connected us to some amazing people.
It taught us how to receive generosity from others with humility.
It provided us with the insurance money to buy a new roof which needed to be replaced.
It opened the door to a new space to play ball and badminton and frisbee together.
It inspired us to be even more hospitable, ushering in Moonrise Movie Nights and the Wonder & Whimsy Society Family Reunion.
It gave us a new view, one that many agree is even more breathtaking than the one we had before.
It strengthened our family and bolstered our faith, bringing us even closer to God.
I suspect that dark forces were pretty happy about the storm, hoping it would destroy us. But I believe God allowed it because even though it brought a great deal of pain, he also knew just how many blessings would spring forth.
I share this not to minimize the pain any of us has experienced, but to offer a reminder that in life, pain and joy can co-exist.
Today is also Father’s Day. My experiences have led me to believe that God is a good father. He wants to hold you in his arms and give you a big, all-encompassing hug, especially if you are struggling with some great trauma of your own. I want to let you know that he is bringing forth fruit from the ashes, perhaps some of which you may already be able to perceive.
I can assure you, the full bounty goes beyond what you can ever imagine.
I’ve just shared many blessings we’ve identified from the storm we experienced. But the thing is, we’re only two years removed from it. How many more blessings have yet to be revealed?
Only God knows how many games of catch I’ll have with my son.
Only God knows all the conversations that will be had around our new fire pit.
Only God knows how many pies will be baked from the fruit trees we just planted.
Only God knows how many photos Kim will take of the wonder that will bloom there.
Only God knows how many family dinners will be shared from our deck overlooking the lake.
Only God knows how many people will be blessed and healed in some way by their time there.
Only God knows what opportunities and relationships will arise from this new space.
The storm was a seed that produced a multitude of watermelons.
And those watermelons are filled with seeds that will usher forth even more.
Only God knows all the things that will be made possible because of a brief moment in time when a hurricane-force wind whooshed through our lives one summer day.
Only God knows the number of watermelons in a seed.
“Stonehenge” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 24. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
I remember the painting critiques back in art school. After spending several weeks working on our masterpieces, we’d all sit in a circle and explain what our paintings were about. Someone would inevitably say their piece was a postmodern reaction to the psychological impact of the industrial revolution that caused existential dread. To me, it looked like a canvas with some paint sloppily applied. It did seem like the students who were better at making “serious” art got better grades. (Or perhaps they were just better at explaining why their art was serious.)
Perhaps this is why, after making this painting of Stonehenge, constructed with ice cream sandwiches, I feel obliged to explain why.
There are many theories about what Stonehenge is, who built it, when it was built, and what purpose it served. Many theories, but nobody knows for sure.
Of course, someone put them there. Someone had a reason for it.
Most theories assume it served some sort of “serious” purpose concerning astrological events or burial rituals. But maybe it was simply a good challenge that helped pass the time because nobody had invented cable yet. Maybe it was a primitive tourist attraction. Maybe it was just for fun.
People flock to Stonehenge not because they know what purpose it served, but because of the mystery. And mystery is fun. Plus, it looks cool. Which is also fun.
Whimsy and fun are often seen as extra, nonessential. But fun is its own reason for being.
Imagine having the opportunity to jump into a pool of noodles. No child would ever wait until they could answer the question, “But what purpose does this serve?”
People with Adultitis need data and statistics before they justify why having fun is important. They can be found, but if you ask me, most of them are common sense.
Employees who are having fun are happier and do better work.
Customers who are having fun spend more money.
Leaders who are having fun attract more followers.
These are theories that explain why we should take having fun seriously. Why not have fun simply because… it’s fun?
We are constantly in the pursuit of happiness. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen someone having fun who is unhappy. Do we really need data to prove that a life filled with fun is better than one that isn’t?
Why did those ancient people build Stonehenge? I don’t know.
Why did I paint Stonehenge made out of ice cream sandwiches? Because I thought it would be fun.
“Insert Coin” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 24. Oil on canvas. Original is available. 🟢 Shop this art!
My Grandpa and uncle used to own a tavern. Once in a while, they’d close it to host family parties. I remember the dimly lit atmosphere and the ghosts of spent cigarettes that hung in the air, but my favorite feature was the row of arcade games lined up against the wall. They were blinking, bright doorways to amazing worlds and grand adventures.
I don’t remember ever being given any money from my parents to play them. But no matter. Each game had a preview segment, showing a minute or so of the gameplay to entice you to feed it some coins. I just delighted in going from machine to machine, maneuvering the joystick and mashing buttons while pretending I was the one controlling the game.
Eventually, the novelty wore off, as the preview always ended the same way. I could pretend for hours, living in a fantasy world, which was fun for a while. But if I wanted to experience the game for real, I had to insert some coins.
Sometimes we live “preview” lives in our own heads. Imagining what it would be like if we made the decision to ask her out. Or put the house up for sale and embark on that quest. Or ask for that raise. Or quit that godforsaken job once and for all. Sometimes those visions in our heads have amazing endings, others have disastrous results, but either way, it’s all fake.
No matter how certain you are of the likely result (good or bad), you don’t know what will really happen until you actually go for it. Knowing for sure? That costs something.
You have to be willing to insert the coin.
It might be a financial investment, of course, but that’s not usually what holds us back. Not really. More often, it’s the fear of the unknown, of not measuring up, or the risk of failure (and the embarrassment that might come from it). Sometimes we shy away from the pain and discomfort it will require. We’re just not willing to put in the work or serve the time to get where we want to be.
A few years after my grandfather closed the tavern for good, I had a friend who was great at video games. My brothers and I would sit and watch him play Super Mario Bros., delighted to see how far he’d get, fingers crossed over whether he’d be able to defeat Bowser and win the game. It too was fun, for a while. But the joy was always fleeting because his success was not ours. It was always more fulfilling to solve a level on my own, even if I never did make it as far in the game as he did.
This painting is inspired by that original Nintendo classic. I’m intrigued by the idea of coming across one of the game’s iconic green pipes in the middle of a wide-open field. What’s it doing there? Where does it lead? And most importantly, would I have the courage to find out?
Life is a lot like a video game. It’s filled with challenges, obstacles, and opportunities to level up. But unlike most video games in which you have a few “lives” to get it right, real life only gives you one.
What a pity to waste it watching someone else’s game or settling for an imaginary version of your own.
What a shame to let fear keep you from fully owning your story and who you are meant to become.
“Leap” by Jason Kotecki. 20×16. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
Why is it that so many of the people who have found success in America are first-generation immigrants? One big reason is that many of them came from a place that is not so great. They saw America as the Land of Opportunity, and they pursued it with a definitive focus and relentless persistence. They were willing to leap from the known to the unknown.
A big reason people don’t chase their dream is that where they are now isn’t half bad.
They give up the dream and settle for the dreamsicle.
A dreamsicle is sweet and alluring and very tempting. It’s the option most people go for, with its safety, comfort, and surface-level perks. Because of that, you wonder if you’re crazy to even consider abandoning it.
The dreamsicle is the lifestyle that ensures you need to keep your current job for as long as possible.
It’s the boyfriend who checks all the boxes except for the one that matters most.
It’s the job that impresses your parents but gives you Sunday Night Dread.
But eventually, it leaves an unsatisfying feeling in your stomach. Like maybe you shouldn’t have settled for something so easy.
When I first started my business, the prospect of dealing with taxes, paying for my own health insurance, and being solely responsible for the revenue (or lack thereof) felt daunting. Turning down a steady job with killer benefits and staying in a crappy apartment for eight years seemed ill-advised at the time. Now it’s clear that it was one of the best decisions I ever made.
Any time you break away from the crowd and do something different is scary. The leap into the unknown requires us to be the leaders of our own destiny.
But nothing is ever as rewarding or satisfying as chasing the dream in our hearts.
