“Kintsugi Tortoise” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 30. Oil on canvas.
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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.
