Keyword: green

  • True Believer

    “True Believer” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 24. Oil on canvas.
    Original is available. 🟢 Shop this art!

    Dreams always take longer than we think.

    There may be such a thing as overnight successes, but if so, they don’t stay successful for very long.

    More often than not, so-called “overnight successes” are anything but.

    One time, Kim and I spent a couple of hundred dollars on a two-day craft show. That was a big chunk of change for us at the time — about two months’ worth of groceries. We were next to a booth where a guy was selling knockoff Garfield tchotchkes. Meanwhile, we moved a grand total of $7.92 worth of greeting cards. It was rough. Then we drowned our sorrows in sirloin steaks at Outback, which made our negative profit margin even worse.

    I have a lot of stories like that from the early days. Happy times.

    Over the years, I have often felt like the sloth in this painting. Very little progress to show for a heck of a lot of effort.

    But then I think of things like that craft show, and I’m impressed and even a little surprised by how far we’ve come. There is a great sense of satisfaction in what we’ve built and the things we’ve accomplished, regardless of how much distance there is left to cover.

    Anything worth building takes time.

    More time than you think it should.

    Like way more.

    We need to hear that reminder often, because it goes for everything from dream businesses and amazing relationships to paying off Bank of America and mastering the clarinet. Thanks to the proliferation of microwave ovens and high-speed internet, progress always seems to be taking longer than it should. Then the media peddles their stories of overnight success. They catapulted to fame and fortune in one fell swoop; why can’t you?

    When the early buzz of enthusiasm wanes, discouragement is quick to settle in. It is during those seasons that we need to look for and listen to our true believers.

    I’ve been fortunate to have quite a few in my life.

    My Grandma K. made me feel like I was special, just as I was.

    My third-grade teacher, Mrs. Smith, encouraged me to take my artistic talent seriously.

    My Little League coach, Mr. Dawson, helped me believe that I was a winner.

    My high school art teacher, Mrs. Garrett, made me believe I had the talent to do this for a living.

    When I was an uncertain teenager, Deacon Vince saw me as a grown-up with valuable contributions to make.

    When Kim and I got married and launched our business, we were graced with a few true believers who saw the vision, including our parents and our best friends, Sue and Jenna. Theirs were not just empty words of encouragement. They responded with action by offering 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 have 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.

    We need cheerleaders to succeed. They give us the boost we need when our dream seems late in coming.

    There are a few reasons dreams take longer than we think they should.

    One is partly for us to prove how much we want it.

    But it’s also because the most important part of a dream is who we become in the process of chasing it. That’s the real reward.

    When success doesn’t materialize as quickly as you thought it would and you’re discouraged by your dream taking too long, don’t despair. Heed the true believer cheering you on.

    Take it from the sloth. Achieving anything worthwhile is a marathon, not a sprint.

  • Strawberry Fields

    “Strawberry Fields” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    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.

  • What Does The Fox Say?

    “What Does The Fox Say?” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 30. Oil on canvas.
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    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.

  • The Wingman

    “The Wingman” by Jason Kotecki. 60 x 40. Oil on canvas.
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    Life is amazing. It is also hard.

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

    Your happiness depends on it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    This is war.

    And Adultitis is about to get wet.

  • Shocked Chicken

    “Shocked Chicken” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    Thomas Edison has been attributed with saying, “If we did all the things we are capable of, we would literally astound ourselves.” 

    This is true. The potential within each one of us is enormous. 

    But I’ll go one step further. I say that we’d be astounded if we knew how good we already are. Maybe the marketing messages we’ve been bombarded with over the years have convinced us that we really aren’t good enough. Maybe we haven’t received enough positive compliments. Maybe we think the people who do compliment us are just being nice, or don’t know the real us. 

    Please…stop.

    My confidence does not rest in your resume, your highlight reel, or your dashing good looks. It rests in the divine Spirit of your Creator, which dwells within you. 

    You matter. 

    This may come as a shock to you, but you have a special brand of awesome that no one else has. 

    And this world needs it!

  • The Only Prescription

    “The Only Prescription” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    Somehow, the television show Saturday Night Live took a lowly old cowbell and turned it into a pop culture phenomenon.

    The famous skit imagines a studio session with the band Blue Öyster Cult recording their hit song “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper.” Christopher Walken, as “rock legend” Bruce Dickinson (“the cock of the walk, baby!”), singles out the little-used percussion instrument, played by Will Ferrell. Hilarity ensues as Dickinson urges the band to highlight the cowbell in the song.

    Now the script was funny, and Walken and the other actors nailed their performances. But what is most interesting to me is that Ferrell and playwright Donnell Campbell, who co-wrote the sketch, first had to notice the cowbell in the original song by Blue Öyster Cult.

    They noticed something most people didn’t and saw an opportunity.

    During a family vacation in Mexico, we bought a coconut drink from a roadside vendor for about $2. We enjoyed the drink and threw out the shell. (What else would we do with it?) Then I recalled some of the restaurants we visited where frozen drinks were served in coconut shells with tiny umbrellas. Undoubtedly, those drinks sold for a higher price than the same one served in a boring old glass.

    A “useless” coconut shell was transformed into something of value. Enterprising business owners had literally turned garbage into money.

    Of course, flea markets and thrift stores do the exact same thing. And people who buy and flip fixer-uppers? Where most people see a dilapidated lost cause, they see a tidy profit and a future feature in a glossy magazine.

    The most successful people see opportunities that others miss.

    I’d argue that it’s not a talent; it’s a habit. In the middle of the Panic of 1873, a six-year recession, Thomas Edison invented the incandescent light bulb. In 1876, he established GE (General Electric Co.), which is now the third-largest company in the world.

    In the late 1970s, the United States experienced an energy crisis, and inflation ballooned out of control, causing a major recession that lasted for thirty months.

    In the midst of this economic storm, Applebee’s, Ben & Jerry’s, Olive Garden, and Fuddruckers were founded. In fact, all of the following entities were formed during a recession: Burger King, The Jim Henson Company, FedEx, CNN, Hewlett-Packard, MTV, Hyatt Hotels, Trader Joe’s, Sports Illustrated, and Wikipedia.

    The first Apple Store opened in the recession of 2001 and was declared dead on arrival. Which, of course, it wasn’t; it was so successful that in the recession of 2008, many people considered Apple Stores to be recession-proof.

    And according to Forbes, the COVID crisis was a catapult for launching over 4 million new small business ventures, the largest eruption in the history of our country.

    I remember talking to an elderly real estate tycoon during that economic nosedive of 2008. He grumbled about how all everyone seemed to do was complain about the bad economy. All he could see was an abundance of opportunities, and he lamented that he didn’t have enough years left to take advantage of them all.

    Most of the time, the difference between success and failure is determined by what we decide to see.

    Indeed, the best time to buy stock is when the market is down.

    The best time to start a business is when the economy is bad.

    The best business ideas solve real problems.

    We need you to look at the world as a child would, with big dreams, boundless optimism, and a vision of what’s possible.

    We need you to see through new eyes and find the opportunity that is right under your nose.

    We need more cowbell.

  • Good Friday

    “Good Friday” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    My wife took the beautiful photo that inspired this painting.

    There was something about this dandelion that captivated me. 

    He’s reaching the end of the line. He is weary, but remains proud and steadfast. Some called him a weed, disrupting the status quo and infecting the neighborhood. But he knows the truth. He has run his race and is now ready to give it all away, to multiply himself by scattering the seeds to bring forth new life. And in the midst of his sacrifice, with the sun setting on his last day, light shines through as a symbol of the grace within. 

    I call this piece “Good Friday” because it reminds me of that seemingly dark Friday, centuries ago, when all hope seemed lost and evil had won.

    As I write this, the United States is in turmoil over the results of the Presidential election, which went all 2020 on us. Because of course it did. Most of the polls were way wrong, but one thing is certain: it is a nation more divided than either side probably realized. 

    I think it’s fair to say that both sides hoped for a decisive result, and this is everyone’s worst-case scenario. And yet here we are. Regardless of the outcome, half the country will be elated and the other will be plunged into despair. What intrigues me is how thin a line it is between them.

    As I think back to that original Good Friday, I consider how preposterous it would have seemed for anyone who lived through its heartbreak to hear it labeled as “good.” Such a declaration would seem ridiculous, possibly even blasphemous. It sure didn’t seem good at the time. But for those who believed, it actually turned out better than good.

    During times of great uncertainty, I find it helpful to return my attention to things I know are true.

    Let’s start here: I know that the sun rose today. 

    I know that there’s a good chance it will rise again tomorrow.

    I know that I could make a list of 100 things to be grateful for, and it would remain incomplete.

    I know that, contrary to the media narrative, the things we have in common are infinitely greater than that which divides us. 

    I know that the quality of my life has almost nothing to do with who happens to be President.

    I know that I am not called to worry about things I can’t control.

    I know that I am called to focus on the things I can.

    I know that asking the question, “How can I help?” is the best place to start.

    And, if I’m honest, I also know that nothing about the political climate we find ourselves in seems good.

    And yet, I am confident that this moment – and indeed, this year – will prove to be Good, in the end. I grant that may seem ridiculous, perhaps even blasphemous. 

    A big part of what will make it so is how we choose to respond in this moment. We can have our say by seeking to heal divisions that so deeply divide us. Not by trying to win others to our way of thinking, but through what always works: kindness, humility, and love.  

    And by trusting that the same God who called light forth from the darkness is still in control and is working all things…for good.

  • Proof of Life

    “Proof of Life” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    Every so often in my life, things are going along swimmingly. I know where I’m going, the path is clear, progress is being made. Everything makes sense, and the future is bright. I like it when life is like that.

    But then, seemingly overnight, everything goes dry. Sand has obscured my path, and I feel like I’m in a barren wasteland, uncertain of which direction to head. I wonder if all the progress and clarity I’d experienced was merely a mirage, because suddenly all signs of life are absent.

    I am stranded in the desert, and all hope is drying up.

    Perhaps you’ve felt this way recently. Maybe you feel this way now.

    Growing up in the Midwest, I didn’t have a lot of experience with deserts. Acres and acres of cornfields, yes; barren expanses of desert, no. To me, deserts were hot, sandy stretches of nothing, save for an occasional cactus and those ominous cattle skulls. Of course, they can be those things. Officially, a desert is a dry, desolate, and barren area of land. It often looks dead, void of life and hope.

    But that’s only if you’re not looking closely enough.

    Deserts are harsh, but not lifeless. I took the picture that inspired this painting whilst exploring the Saguaro National Park a few years ago. It was spectacular and unlike anything I ever experienced growing up in Illinois. The signs of life aren’t as obvious as in a jungle or forest, but they are there, just hidden.

    I can’t help but draw some parallels to my roots in the agricultural heartland. Consider planting: After you cover a seed with soil, it is the moment you see its first green shoot emerge from the earth, the first time growth happens since you buried it? Of course not. It was always in the process of transforming; it just wasn’t immediately visible. When you see rows and rows of tall sweet corn or endless fields of amber waves of grain, it’s easy to forget that in the springtime, those acres of soil seemed barren and lifeless even though they’d already been planted.

    Similarly, it can take several months to visually notice the effect of pregnancy. But cells began multiplying and growing rapidly from the first moment of conception.

    In deserts, life is always on the move. We just aren’t always able to see its progress.

    When we feel stranded in the desert, we need to remind ourselves that all is not lost. It’s hard to be patient and stay hopeful when all evidence seems to suggest otherwise. Please know that when you find yourself in the desert, you are not deserted. God is always working, even when He seems silent or absent. 

    It’s hard to believe a plant so hostile and forbidding could produce a bloom so magnificent.

    Hang in there. Good things are happening, right this moment, and will spring forth in time.

    Keep a sharp eye out for proof of life.

  • Make a Joyful Noise

    “Make a Joyful Noise” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    An Easter lily reminds me of a trumpet, jubilantly announcing the good news of Easter morning. It can’t be timid, or it would never be heard over the din of our noisy world: traffic and sirens and ads and 24-hour news cycles that trumpet the latest tragedy or occasion for outrage. 

    What’s easy to forget is that we are part of that noise. It’s important to consider what we are putting out into the world. Are we spreading good news and positive vibes, or are we sharing bad news and negative energy? 

    I am not suggesting we bury our heads in the sand and go all Pollyanna. It’s just that bad news has no trouble finding us and bullies out the good news. I know I am often guilty of focusing too much on the 3% of my life that’s off the rails, while the other 97% is pretty darn good. 

    Of course, no one ever thinks they are part of the problem. Not you. Not me. But sometimes, in our haste to proclaim “our truth,” we can inadvertently contribute to a screeching symphony of disharmony. Diversity of thought is useful, but it can’t exist if we drown out those who think differently with shame, sarcasm, and judgment.

    Let’s say you are a violin, I am a clarinet, and that dude over there is a tuba. If we all just blare out our own thing, it’ll sound worse than a shopping cart falling down a flight of stairs. But those three sounds, although very different, can work together to create something quite beautiful. And if you’ve written off the tuba as an ignorant blowhard, you’re missing the full expression of that beauty.

    Or consider the rainbow. Lose just one color and the rainbow isn’t quite as beautiful. Each hue is unique, with its own distinct characteristics. But have you ever tried mixing them all together? You end up with an ugly, homogenous, muddy mix of grayish brown. 

    In this attempt to force unity, the individuals are silenced.

    The thing is, the rainbow was already unified. Placed side-by-side, together but distinct, each color shines proudly, and beauty is the by-product. A beauty that’s impossible to achieve if a few colors crowd out the others.

    Maybe I’ve jumped too deeply into the Sea of Metaphors. Maybe I’ve let too much of my artsy-fartsy show with all this talk of tubas and rainbows.

    The prescription is simple: In a noisy world, make a joyful noise.

    If we want a better world, we have to acknowledge the fact that our own actions are a contributing factor.

    We all have something important to share, and the world is worse off when we don’t.

    But as we share our gifts and unique point of view, may we always do it with positivity, kindness, and joy.

    And remember: We don’t all have to be the same to work together. 

  • The Peach

    “The Peach” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    Eating a peach, in season, perfectly ripe, is pure magic. But also messy.

    Oh, sure, you can eat peaches before they’re ripe, and they might drip less, but they’re not nearly as good. The best peaches are always messy.

    Now I’ll admit it: I prefer tidy. I like the structure of a good plan. I feel good when the dishes are done and the counter is cleared. I’m easily disturbed when piles stay piles for too long.

    Is that an Adultitis-fueled trait? Perhaps. But I do find that I am more present, relaxed, and creative when clutter and chaos are minimised. In general, I don’t think it’s a terrible trait to have. And I don’t believe that an Adultitis-free life disregards any sense of order.

    That said, I think we can all agree that 2020 has been less than tidy. I recently reviewed a list of all the goals I’d set for the year, and I had to cross out about 80% of them because they’d become either irrelevant or impossible. This year has been a real mess of confusion, conflict, and anxiety. In many ways, it has been a bona fide dumpster fire.

    But can I let you in on a secret? We’re only halfway through, but I suspect I will look back on this year as one of the best years of my life. It might take me a few years to fully own that, but I can already see hints of its truthfulness.

    At the very beginning of the pandemic, Kim and I started doing daily live-streams from our kitchen table. We didn’t know what the future had in store for us, but the message we hammered on over and over was this: look for the opportunity. We encouraged you to ask yourself, “Now that this has happened, what does this make possible?”

    It was the advice we shared, but also followed. 

    This pandemic has strengthened my relationship with God in untold ways. It brought my family closer together. It has pushed me and Kim into making changes in our business that we’ve talked about for years, but never had the time for. It forced us into trying new things and learning new skills that will yield new fruit in the years to come. It birthed a brand new initiative – the biggest one we’ve ever undertaken – that seems destined for a time like this, but twenty years in the making. (More on that VERY soon!)

    I share this because I don’t think this can be chalked up to luck or talent. I share it because it’s a technique available to anyone and because it’s possible for 2020 to be your best year ever, too. 

    Preposterous?

    Look, we all have things outside of our control that work against us, obstacles that rise up to thwart us. But the bigger the obstacle, the bigger the opportunity. Our attitude, our mindset, the frame we choose to operate within, is entirely within our control. 

    You can feel under attack and choose not to play the role of victim.

    You can feel anxious and choose not to cower in a corner and give in to despair.

    You can feel like everything is a mess and still choose to look for beauty. 

    I remember the day we let our oldest daughter take control of her own ice cream cone for the first time. It was a beautiful Madison summer afternoon, and we were hanging out at the Memorial Union, overlooking picturesque Lake Mendota. We braved the super-duper-long line for ice cream and figured that rather than micromanage each lick, we’d give Lucy full reign over her Zanzibar Chocolate ice cream cone.

    Kim handed it to her, and she gave a look of surprise and wonderment that appeared to say, “Are you serious?”


    After getting assurance that she was on her own, Lucy dove right in, her hazel eyes shining with joy. She licked. She smiled. She concentrated. She beamed.

    And she ended up with the cutest brown goatee I ever did see.

    Meanwhile, the chocolate mess invaded everywhere from her nose to her toes. Her shirt and shorts were stained. The real breakthrough came when Kim, seeing the mammoth mess unfold before her very eyes, resisted every ounce of motherly urge to wrestle the cone back from our daughter. She let go of the dirty shirt, the sticky fingers, and the crazy sugar buzz that would be left behind.

    She let it all go.

    Later, she coined a great saying: “Never let making a mess get in the way of making a memory.”

    Please note, I’m not ignoring the mess and the less-than-ideal outcomes that come from it. I’d like to offer a moment of silence for Lucy’s tank top. Several washes and stain-stick treatments later, it was unable to be revived and ended up in the trash bin of history. That’s okay, though; we’ve decided that we’d much rather have the memories of that moment than the shirt. 

    That “deciding” part is the key.

    Seeing with new eyes isn’t about ignoring the mess. It’s about choosing to sort through it to find something good.

    You may find a lifelong memory, stumble upon a new business model, or uncover the opportunity of a lifetime.

    You know how, when people are asked if they would like to change a negative thing that happened in their past, they often say they’d leave things as is, because of the good things that came from it? That’s how I feel about 2020:

    I may not want to RELIVE it, but I don’t think I’ll want to UNDO it, either.

    Sometimes life doesn’t go the way we planned, expected, or even hoped. 2020 will probably go down as one of the messiest years we’ve ever experienced. The question is: Are you improving the odds that this year will go down as one of your best?

    Adventures are rarely tidy.

    Sometimes the greatest blessings spring forth from the biggest messes.