Keyword: red

  • Seek & Find

    “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?

  • One of One

    “One of One” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is available 🟢 Shop this art!

    When I was in art school in the late nineties, the goth look was in. A significant segment of art kids wore all-black clothing, Doc Martens boots, and fingernails painted with dark colors. I found it fascinating to observe that the ones intent on bucking the system, sticking it to the man, and expressing their individuality all looked…exactly the same.

    It’s scary to stand out.

    We learn this at a young age, when simply being our weird, unique selves can lead to us being shamed and ostracised at recess, on the school bus, or even across the dinner table by a sibling or parent.

    And so, much of life is a careful effort to blend in.

    Just look at the cars we drive, most of which are either black, white, or some combination of the two.

    Or how we take fashion cues from tastemakers and trendsetters because getting caught wearing something out of style is akin to death.

    We must be careful to curate what we say in public for fear of being cancelled.

    In the case of my art school companions, we even blend together in our rebellion.

    Now, some would explain this as an evolutionary feature, not a bug. There’s safety in numbers, after all. We’ve learned to blend in because there’s danger in straying too far from the herd.

    The thing is, we’re not here to sink to our base animal instincts. We were created for a higher purpose. We were made for greatness.

    We are born originals. The problem, as St. Carlo Acutis observed, is that most of us die as photocopies.

    As an artist, I sell prints of my work. Some of them are timed releases, some are limited editions, and some are open editions (available all the time). 

    I sell a lot of them, but they’re all really just fancy photocopies. 

    And none are worth as much as the original. A print sells for less than a hundred dollars. The original can sell for thousands.

    Ask anyone who has purchased one of my original paintings, where you can see the texture of the canvas, feel the brushstrokes with your fingers, and observe the luminosity that emanates from dozens of thin layers of oil paint, and they’ll confirm: Nothing beats an original.

    Sadly, too often we settle for being photocopies.

    It’s been said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

    Maybe if someone else is imitating us. 

    But if it is we who are doing the imitating, then imitation is the sincerest form of boring.

    It is good to learn from those who came before us. It’s possible to find a measure of success by imitating someone else. 

    But the best you’ll ever be is a second-rate version of them.

    This is not a call to stand out for the sake of standing out, or to pretend to be something you’re not. It’s about having the courage to be more of who you are. It’s a reminder that safety should not be our highest virtue. 

    You are free to opt for the safe path. Most people do.

    But you will not be able to escape the gnawing sense of dissatisfaction, the quiet desperation, the ever-present sense in your soul that there’s more to life, and this ain’t it.

    The reason I made the hero in this painting red was because of the lesson I learned from red shoes. After years of wearing safe, plain, predictable shoes, I started pining for red ones. The people I saw wearing red shoes always seemed to be so brave and adventurous, somehow getting more out of life. I wanted that, but I was afraid. I was afraid of standing out too much, but mostly I was afraid that I’d be found out as a fraud.

    Adultitis tried convincing me that I wasn’t one of those “red shoe people.” I wasn’t fun enough, brave enough, or free enough. 

    Eventually, I stood up to Adultitis and got the red shoes. The fears ended up being empty threats. I’ve worn red shoes on stage for every speaking engagement for about two decades now. I love ’em. They make me feel more fun, confident, and free, like a guy who decided it didn’t matter what other people think. 

    Of course, red shoes are not the secret to defeating Adultitis.

    Being brave is.

    What are your red shoes? There is probably something in your life you’ve always (but probably secretly) wanted to own, do, or be, that you’ve talked yourself out of. Maybe Adultitis sold you on the idea that you’re just not “that type of person” and it would be safer to blend in.

    But maybe you actually are that type of person.

    Maybe the fear is a smokescreen keeping you from becoming all God created you to be.

    Maybe twenty seconds of embarrassing bravery will open the door to a new level of confidence and unimaginable opportunities.

    Maybe your example of standing out from the herd will be the spark that lights the way forward for someone else, giving them courage to be brave, too.

    “To be nobody-but-yourself—in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else—means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”

    —E.E. Cummings

    Is any of this safe? Hell no. Of course not.

    But it’s the only way to feel alive.

  • Wild One

    Photo by Kim Kotecki

    It’s a journey. 

    One requiring great courage and faith.

    Unlearning old ways. Discerning new discoveries. Curiosities wondered. Answers received.  Borrowing courage from those ahead of me.

    The gift of confidence bridges long distances between the inevitable and what could possibly be on an unchartered path.

    On this winding road of possibilities I have found… a wild one.

    With undeniable beauty, your bright colors reveal to me that this journey is something remarkable.

    You are not blending in, hiding safely in a field of wildflowers. No, you stand out, seemingly unprotected from the elements, but undeniably safe.

    Your imperfections shine with a depth of vulnerability, connecting us deeper with beautiful honesty and compassion.

    Pure. 
    Delicate.
    Graceful.
    Genuine.
    Radiant.
    Stunning.
    Wonderful.

    You are free to become who you were created to be… wild one.

  • Gummy Bear Doing Sit-Ups

    “Gummy Bear Doing Sit-Ups” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    When I was a teenager, my mom called me a dreamer.

    She didn’t mean it as a compliment, but she wasn’t wrong.

    I’ve always been idealistic, my head regularly inhabiting the clouds. I’d sing along with John Lennon’s Imagine and revel in the fact that we were soul mates. You’re NOT the only one, John. We’re in this together!

    I took pride in that side of myself. But when my mom labeled me a dreamer, and I knew it wasn’t a compliment, it got my attention.

    Of course, my idiot teenage response was, “What does she know?”

    Eventually, I would relate to Mark Twain, who said, “When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years.”

    When I graduated from college, I had big dreams. I was going to marry the love of my life. I was going to become a successful artist. And I may or may not have imagined the small town I came from erecting a statue in my honor one day.

    But in order for my dream to work, I needed my parents to let me live with them in the year between graduation and the wedding. That would give me the financial runway to knock on doors, get my name out there, and start making things happen.

    I knew I needed a plan. I put together a multi-page document outlining my detailed strategy and financial projections. I don’t know if my parents let me stay with them for that year rent-free because of the brilliance of my plan, or because that’s what parents do, and there really wasn’t another option. And as most business plans go, big chunks of it fell apart when it got punched in the mouth by reality.

    But it did give me focus, direction, and accountability to do the work that propelled me forward on my journey. It exposed me to an important truth I’ve seen at work again and again in the last twenty-five years:

    The most successful people balance hopes and dreams with practicality and hard work.

    If you spend all your time with your head in the clouds, you may come up with a world-changing idea or two. But if you don’t have the initiative and work ethic to put toward them, they’ll never materialize. 

    World-changing ideas are worthless without execution. 

    On the other hand, a relentless work ethic that lacks vision is wasteful. People in this camp default to letting someone else tell them what to do – which is unlikely to lead to happiness – or they toil without purpose, methodically plodding along in no particular direction. 

    When you keep your head down all the time, you’re blind to the road signs pointing to exciting possibilities.

    A rocket ship requires practical thought, precise calculations, and productive persistence to achieve orbit. But it requires a dreamer to imagine they can reach the stars in the first place.

    It’s a tricky balance, and my experience leads me to believe people are usually stronger in one area than the other. As I shared, I am a dreamer at heart. But getting where I am today required a lot of hustle, sacrifice, experimentation, and experience gained from failure.

    Henry David Thoreau gave us the blueprint when he said, “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.”

    My mother’s candid observation was meant to be helpful. And it was. It inspired me to buckle down. Maybe at first just to prove her wrong, but eventually simply because she was right.

    What camp are you in?

    If you are more of a dreamer, maybe you need to spend time putting your ideas into action with a little elbow grease. It’s more comfortable to live in Dreamland, where reality doesn’t rudely poke holes in your grand visions. Don’t be discouraged by the failures you encounter, for they are not arrows piercing the heart of your dream, but merely guideposts pointing you in the direction to go.

    If you are more of a “nose to the grindstone” type of person, perhaps you need to give yourself permission to wonder aimlessly and dream of something better. Sure, it’s more comfortable to stay in work mode than get your hopes up for a future that may never happen. But that only leads to a future you never wanted. Don’t worry about figuring it all out before you begin. Plant your flag on a future summit and use your work ethic and practicality to plot your path there one step at a time.

    Both ways are hard. But great things don’t come easy. 

    This gummy bear knows what’s up.

    Dreaming of six-pack abs is a good start, but it amounts to nothing without any sit-ups.

    But the sit-ups are a waste of time if we never ponder why we wanted the six-pack abs in the first place.

  • Rudolph

    “Rudolph” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    I had a bully in middle school.

    His name was John B. (I’m withholding his last name because I am sure he matured into a nice man with great kids and has started a charity to feed homeless cats.)

    But he was a jerk back then.

    He looked like a swollen eggplant with hair. A year older than me, John B. never punched me or beat me up. He never separated me from my lunch money. No, John was an orator, preferring to use his words to belittle and humiliate me.

    It all began when we had to draw our shoes in art class, and the teacher hung our work in the hallway. Now my brothers and I weren’t lacking anything we needed, but our family didn’t have the money for name-brand shoes. Nikes were a pipe dream, so I had to settle for Nucleus high tops instead. (In case you’re wondering, that company no longer exists, so bullies now have to focus their attention elsewhere.) Ironically, I thought they were pretty rad, discount store origins aside.

    John B. didn’t.

    Every day between classes, he’d point me out and belittle me for my off-brand shoes. I wanted to punch him in his smug, fat face. Considering he was much larger than I, that wouldn’t have ended well. So I was left to endure the stomach-churning mockery and shame until a new art project made its way to the wall.

    It could have been worse. It’s small potatoes in the grand scheme of things. But whoever said “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” is a dolt with oatmeal for brains. Of course words hurt! And sometimes they have longer-lasting effects, with the emotional scars remaining long after any broken bones have healed.

    One day in my more recent past, I  was watching the deer in my backyard, and I thought about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, another victim of bullying. I wondered what he might look like in real life, if his nose really did light up and wasn’t just some silly illuminated cartoon clown nose. My brain is a weird place, but it’s the question that inspired this painting. 

    It also led to a very powerful experience.

    As the piece progressed, it took on a life of its own. The deer’s piercing eyes grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. They were vulnerable, revealing someone who was sad, hurt, and alone. Someone who maybe wondered why he was made broken. And someone totally unaware that the source of ridicule, the very thing he wished he could be rid of, was actually a gift.

    I thought back to my run-in with John B. I remembered the anxiety I felt each day, hoping not to cross paths with him in the hall, resentful that my parents weren’t well-to-do enough to afford Nikes. 

    Looking back now, find it notable that John B.’s criticism was about the brand of shoes, and not the effectiveness of the drawing. The drawing was really good. His taunting certainly didn’t cause me to feel pride in my talent, but perhaps he was jealous. After all, a poorly drawn nondescript shoe hardly would have garnered as much attention. 

    I get that now. 

    But not then. Back then, I wanted to blend into the shadows and disappear. 

    Sometimes the darkness is inviting because it promises to keep you hidden from the scorn, the sticks, the stones, and the fists. But embracing the darkness isn’t the answer. 

    It turns out that the one thing you can’t escape in the shadows is yourself.

    And can I be honest with you?

    John B. was a jerk. But he’s not the biggest, meanest, most terrible bully I’ve ever faced. Not by a long shot. 

    That title goes to me.

    I’ve said worse things about myself than John B. ever did. I’ve been told that I am the worst husband, son, father, and friend…by myself. I’ve been reliably informed that I’m not smart enough, brave enough, or talented enough by someone who should probably know: me. 

    Why are we so willing to treat ourselves more horribly than we’d ever treat another person? Our inner bully criticizes our every move, never giving the benefit of the doubt. It showers us with the most vile, hurtful, poisonous self-talk. It accompanies our days with a drumbeat of doom, a never-ending echo that we have nothing to offer and we’ll never be enough.  It counters every morsel of virtue with a mountain of evidence proving that we suck.

    Then someone like John B. comes along and merely confirms what you already believed about yourself all along.

    As I was working on this painting, I could almost feel my heart breaking for little Rudolph, as if I wanted to assure him that he is awesome. I wanted to beg him to pay those bullies no mind. I wanted to remind him that the thing that makes him stand out – the very thing others mock him for – is his gift to share with the world.

    Eventually, I realized Rudolph in this painting was me. 

    And he is you.

    Like Rudolph, there is a light within you. It might be hidden in your pain, your brokenness, or the thing that makes you weird. It pulses when you share it for the good of another and brightens someone’s day. 

    Like Rudolph, you are different. That’s exactly what makes you a wonderfully made, extraordinary work of art.

    You see, darkness doesn’t hide the truth. It uses just enough of it to get you to believe the lies.

    Yes, it IS true that you aren’t enough. 

    The lie is that you need to be.

    Like Rudolph, we just need you to share your light with the rest of us. 

  • One Way To Look At It

    “One Way To Look At It” by Jason Kotecki. 6 x 6. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    One day Kim wrote a social media post about how ugly our backyard is after having been ravaged by a cataclysmic storm. The harsh, violent, apocalyptic hellscape is heartbreaking.

    And very, very ugly. 

    A well-intentioned commenter felt the need to correct her, “No, it’s beautiful.”

    Of course, the commenter is right. It is beautiful, in many real and metaphorical ways. And the photos Kim has taken of the carnage have captured some of that beauty.

    But you know what? It’s also ugly. Especially in comparison to what it was before.

    It can be both. It is both. And that’s ok.

    As I pointed out in my book, A Chance of Awesome, some people look at dandelions and see weeds. 

    Others – mostly kids – see wishes.

    The thing is, both are true. 

    Or take cars. Automobiles are modern marvels that give us great freedom and save us enormous amounts of time. The industry employs nearly two million people. But about 40,000 people die in motor vehicle traffic crashes each year in the U.S.

    So are cars good or bad?

    Unfortunately, our rotten news media has conditioned us to operate without any nuance whatsoever because there is profit to be made in conflict. We no longer seem to have the capacity for critical thinking; we’ve been reduced to the infantile reflex that things are either “good” or “bad.” Every issue is presented as either black or white, red state or blue state, right or wrong, good or evil.

    Ugly or beautiful.

    When it comes to any story – especially the headline-grabbing issues of the day – we’ve been duped into believing we only have two options: be right or be wrong.  

    But life is more complicated than that. Life is both / and.

    When your kid heads off to college for the first time, it’s natural to feel a sense of pride as they move into a new season of growth and independence. It’s also natural to feel sad that your day-to-day interactions with them are coming to an end. 

    Or when a loved one you have taken care of for years has passed away, you probably feel sad that they are gone. It can also feel nice to believe that they are in a better place. 

    But you can also feel relieved that your burden has been lifted. 

    That doesn’t make you a monster; it makes you human. 

    We live in a complicated world with unlimited shades of grey. (Yes, even more than fifty.) It’s not helpful to force everything into an absolute. We don’t have to walk around wearing rose-colored glasses, deluding ourselves into thinking everything is unicorns and rainbows.

    Nor is it especially healthy to point out every potential storm cloud. 

    Both approaches are childish. 

    A mature perspective is acknowledging that life is filled with contradictions. There is good and evil, joy and pain, hope and fear intermingling in all of it. 

    We do have a choice about where we want our attention to dwell, which is one of our most overlooked and underused superpowers. But it’s important to remember that focusing on one doesn’t disappear the other. 

    Life is painful. It is also joyful. Sometimes on the very same day. 

    And that’s ok.

    Acknowledging the ugliness is what keeps us from taking beauty for granted.

  • Teenage Mutant Ninja Sea Turtle

    “Teenage Mutant Ninja Sea Turtle” by Jason Kotecki. 40 x 40. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    If the movies taught me anything, it’s that superheroes wear spandex.

    We’ve been led to believe that superheroes are special. They come from another planet. They are blessed with superhuman abilities. They are super smart, or rich, or got involved in some sort of dangerous science experiment that turned out ok. They typically wear cool outfits while traveling in cool vehicles and wielding cool accessories.
     
    Also, their muscles have muscles.

    This painting is an homage to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, who, when they first emerged from the sewer in 1984, clearly challenged the notion of what heroes are supposed to look like.

    The truth is, real heroes hardly ever look like they do in the movies.

    Oftentimes, they look a lot like you.

    The turtle in this painting has emerged from its comfortable ocean surroundings and is wearing a mask that symbolizes two important concepts.

    The first is that it’s not all about us.

    Superheroes often hide their identity, giving them a sense of anonymity. Real heroes don’t do it for the glory, and they don’t demand credit. They serve a cause greater than themselves, and their chief motivation is doing the right thing and helping others. The mask can serve as a physical reminder that it’s not about us.

    Secondly, the mask gives us permission to act “as if.”

    Part of the reason children and adults alike enjoy wearing Halloween costumes is that it gives us permission to be someone different. The mask can be an opportunity to wander outside our comfort zone and try on a new way of acting, to be someone better than perhaps we believe we are. I like the advice from Joe Rogan, who suggested that if you’re unsure about what action to take in a particular situation, ask what the hero in the movie would do. In the beginning, it might feel a lot like acting,  but that way of acting might just stick, and before you know it, you’ll end up doing something that once seemed superheroic.

    Ultimately, being a hero is not about how you look, what you wear, or where you come from. 

    This painting challenges the notion of what superheroes look like and reminds us that in order to become one, we might need to leave our comfort zone in order to take action.

    It might be serving a cause greater than ourselves, standing up for what’s right, regardless of how unpopular it makes us.

    It might be standing up to the bully at work (or the one in our head).

    It’s often as simple as staying under the radar and just helping someone who needs help, whether it’s a child, an elderly neighbor, or a random guy struggling to load something into his car.

    We are all called to be heroes.

    This calling may require sacrifice, a bit of discomfort, and a new way of acting, but it doesn’t require spandex.

  • Make a Joyful Noise

    “Make a Joyful Noise” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    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.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    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.

  • Life’s a Wave

    “Life’s A Wave” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 24. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    The familiar pit formed at the bottom of my stomach like a butterfly battle royal on pay-per-view. It developed after my mom answered the phone and told me it was for me.

    When I was younger, I was afraid of just about everything. New situations always brought an enormous level of anxiety, and phone calls delivered a special level of dread.

    It was a classmate on the other end, asking if I wanted to come over to play.

    For most people, this would be great news, not a situation worth getting nauseous over. But I was not most people. I’ve never been keen on having my plans changed at the last minute. I had a whole day planned of doing nothing ahead of me. Not to mention, I’d never been to Chris’s house before. Talk about a new situation! It was clearly a sensory overload too treacherous for a lazy Saturday.

    I quickly mumbled some excuse about how my mom wouldn’t let me today and hung up. “Whew! That was close,” I thought to myself, eager to return to my regularly scheduled day of surprise-free comfort.

    Only one problem: my mom heard.

    She ordered me to call my friend back up to tell him I could go. Gulp. That wasn’t at all embarrassing! “Hey Chris…hehe…good news…”

    The thing is, I ended up having a great time. There were many similar situations in my childhood in which my mom shoved me out of the nest, and I almost always enjoyed it. Eventually, I started to make little leaps on my own. At some point, I decided I didn’t want to be an 80-year-old guy looking back on my life, wondering, “What if?”

    The fear of regret became worse than the fear of the unknown.

    Life can be a spectator sport if you want it to be. You can watch the action standing safely on the shore. It’s the best way to minimize risk, avoid failure, and stay comfortable.

    The only problem is that it’s not much of a life.

    The real action happens out in the surf. To ride the wave of an amazing life, you have to be willing to leave the shore.

    Sometimes you have to take the plunge into parenthood even though you don’t think you’re ready.

    Sometimes you have to cash in your rainy day fund for a venture that might not work.

    Sometimes you have to book that trip today, because you never know how many tomorrows you have left.

    I cannot guarantee that you won’t wipe out now and again. But the bumps and bruises that accompany a wipeout are more tolerable than the deep ache of wondering “what if?”

    What wave is it time for you to catch?