“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?
“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.”
“We Can’t Let Winter Win” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is available 🟢 Shop this art!
One thing I love about the Midwest is the seasons. Real ones. Not like those they claim to have elsewhere, so-called “winters” with an occasional snow flurry and temperatures that sometimes flirt below forty.
In Wisconsin, our seasons are pure, not pretenders.
I like that, because it allows me to fully embrace the beauty and lessons of each one. It’s a reflection of life, which has distinct seasons, no matter where we live.
If we’re honest, we’d prefer life to be one long, glorious summer, filled with sunshine and popsicles. But no. There are seasons of autumn, times for slowing down and saying goodbyes. And there are long winters of loneliness, where life feels frozen solid, and hope gets buried under a blanket of snow.
Of course, spring always follows, but sometimes it seems to have overslept.
In Wisconsin, there is always a point when you’re pretty sure winter is over.
Live here long enough, and you realize it’s not.
There’s always one last gasp. One final snowstorm. One more cold snap that steals spring away, just as you were about to elope together on your way to summer.
That might be the most deflating, difficult part of winter: The moment when it appears it will never end, and you don’t know how much more you can take.
Life feels like that sometimes, when it seems like winter’s gonna win.
Winter wins when it convinces us that nothing will ever change.
Winter wins when we let disappointment over unmet expectations turn into resentment.
Winter wins when we allow ourselves to be buried under a blanket of apathy.
Winter wins when we decide to give up and let the hope within us flicker out.
But it doesn’t have to get the final say.
This painting is a reminder that we can’t let winter win.
The 8-bit sunflower is reminiscent of a video game, because I think that’s a good way to think of it. When you’re in the middle of one of life’s winters, everything is heavy. Summer looks so far away. We see all the things that need to change for us to go from where we are to where we want to be, and it feels insurmountable.
Sometimes the answer to the darkness that weighs down on us is a little levity. Making a game out of it is a way to rise above the life-and-death seriousness of our situation. It takes us ever-so-slightly outside ourselves to give us perspective that is a little wider than the restricted, optionless way winter can feel sometimes.
Part of what makes a game engaging and fun is that there is a challenge to it. But the key is for it to be a doable challenge. So instead of focusing on all the ways we are frozen in place and how many more days of winter are ahead, make a game out of finding even one tiny clue that spring is on its way. You don’t need to defeat the Final Boss and save the Princess; you just need to make it past this level.
Today.
The game is this: Figure out how to win today.
It doesn’t have to be big.
It could be one five-minute prayer.
It could be getting dinner on the table.
It could be dumping the bottle of vodka down the drain.
It might just be getting out of bed.
Sometimes the win is just giving it one more day.
I’ve experienced many winters, especially in the early days of building our business. I once got some advice from a business colleague I’ve never forgotten. He, too, was an entrepreneur and knew how discouraging it was to feel like you made one step forward only to take three steps back. He shared a simple policy he lived by. On those really hard days, the days when he didn’t think he could go any further, he promised himself he’d give it one more day. He gave himself permission to abandon ship after that, but not before he gave it one more day.
Sure enough, the next day always brought some glint of hope, a new reason to believe. There was rarely any huge breakthrough that magically happened. Maybe it was a small sale. Maybe it was an encouraging word from a friend. Maybe it was just a good night’s sleep.
Just a baby step forward.
We win when we find evidence that spring is on its way.
We win when hope bursts through a blanket of apathy.
“Jailbreak” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x16. Oil on canvas. Original is available 🔴 Shop this art!
Remember paint-by-numbers?
You know, the beloved craft project in which an image is broken down into sections, each labeled with a number. Fill in each section with the color that corresponds to the ascribed number, and you achieve something that sort of resembles a work of art.
Kinda, but not really.
It might look pretty, but it’s not art.
It’s a plan. It’s a system. It’s one way of doing things.
But it’s definitely not art.
There’s no risk involved. No creativity. There’s none of YOU in the work.
When you finish building a desk from IKEA, do you stand back and proclaim that you have just created a work of art?
No. You were merely following instructions.
A paint-by-number can be a fun, relaxing way to spend an afternoon.
Unfortunately, too many of us settle for a paint-by-number life.
We believe that if we follow the rules, do what we’re told, and stay within the lines, we’ll end up with something that sort of resembles a successful life.
Kinda, but not really.
Oh, it may get you a nice job with a nice benefits package and a nice house in a nice neighborhood with a nice car and 2.5 very nice kids, but I’m not sure that I’d call that a masterpiece.
Just as a paint-by-number gives you the illusion of having made art, this path gives you the illusion of a well-lived life.
We didn’t come up with this on our own, of course. Society and governments would very much prefer us to adopt the paint-by-number route. We’ve been conditioned this way, beginning in school.
The prospect of a paint-by-number life is not all that different from those standardized tests we were given, the kind that can be graded by a machine, where the objective is to fill in each section correctly. The only difference is that instead of using a number 2 pencil, you get to use color.
Just not all of them.
We’re not unwilling participants, however. Part of us craves the comfort and security that comes from embracing a paint-by-number method: “Just tell me what to do to have a safe, comfortable, successful life.”
Unfortunately, our best life is not achieved via the safe, predictable, step-by-step path.
Safety is an illusion, and doing things the way everyone else is doing them is not the path to happiness. Too many people figure this out in midlife, when the paint-by-number method fails to satisfy.
We’re not here to live paint-by-number lives.
Earlier in my career, I searched for a paint-by-number approach. I joined the National Speakers’ Association and got to know many successful people. I tried to copy them, but while they had specific talents and interests and values that contributed to their success, I discovered I had different ones. I searched for a speaker who was also an artist to show me the way. But the few artists I did find weren’t artists in the same way I was an artist, so it didn’t translate.
I thought maybe I was looking in the wrong place. I looked to other artists I admired for a roadmap. That also proved fruitless; it turns out that not many artists are all that eager to stand on a stage and speak to a thousand people.
Lots of experts were happy to sell me their program: “Paint this red and this blue and this green, and you’ll be as happy and successful as I am!”
That fell short, too. It was as if I had red and blue crayons, but lacked a green one that seemed important. Meanwhile, I also had purple and periwinkle, but I couldn’t find a paint-by-number that also included them.
I spent many years frustrated and discouraged, unable to find a prescribed path to success that fit my unique talents, interests, and values.
Finally, I had an epiphany. I didn’t need to wish for or wait until I had the colors someone else had before I could be successful. And those extra colors that didn’t seem to fit were actually an advantage.
I resonated with this realization from Fred Rogers: “I’ll never forget the sense of wholeness I felt when I finally realized what in fact I really was: not just a writer or a language buff or a student of human development or a telecommunicator, but I was someone who could use every talent that had ever been given to me in the service of children and their families.”
I, too, realized that the magic was in combining my seemingly disparate talents. If I took all the crayons I had — even the ones that seemed extra or out of place — I’d be able to create something wholly original.
That’s when everything changed, and my career exploded.
“Escape competition through authenticity.”
–Naval Ravikant
I have original paintings for sale. I also sell prints, which are copies of the original.
They look similar.
But one is worth exponentially more.
“All people are born originals, but many die a photocopy.”
–St. Carlo Acutis
It’s easier and feels safer to copy what other people are doing by living a paint-by-number life. Fit in. Follow the rules. Keep on doing what you’ve always done. Keep telling yourself you’re not creative.
Adultitis would like nothing more for you.
But here’s the thing: they don’t hang paint by numbers in the Louvre.
This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t listen to advice, learn from others, or ever follow best practices. I’m not saying you should strive to be original for the sake of originality.
I’m saying you already are an original.
Or, as Dr. Seuss said, “There is no one alive that is youer than you.”
You were made to be a masterpiece.
You are in the process of building a portfolio. Fill it with adventures. Take chances. Try new things. Do things that don’t make sense once in a while.
Use all the colors you’ve got.
When you get to the end of your life, and you’re looking back at what you’ve created, please don’t let it be filled with paint-by-numbers.
Don’t limit your potential by trying to squeeze yourself into someone else’s tame, safe, predictable prescription for success.
“Doing Nothing” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is available. 🔴 Shop this art!
Doing nothing isn’t really doing nothing.
New parents (and parents-to-be) get lots of advice. Among the wellspring of wisdom are tips on getting your kids to eat or sleep, and keeping them alive while maintaining your sanity.
Perhaps the truest and most common exhortation is: Cherish every moment; it all goes so fast.
We don’t need anyone to tell us this, of course. It’s so obvious that we discard it out of hand with a smile, a nod, and a quip like, “I know; the days are long, but the years are short, amiright?”
The problem is that the entire world seems to conspire against us.
It doesn’t want us cherishing anything. That would require us to slow down for a hot minute. Cherishing, pondering, reflecting…these don’t feel very productive. In fact, they feel a lot like doing nothing.
I remember when my oldest daughter was a newborn. One afternoon, after completing the important work-related items on my to-do list, I relieved Kim by assuming caregiving duties. Lucy and I nestled into the rocking chair, where she promptly downed several ounces and drifted off to sleep. I sat for a few moments, soaking in the silence before the siren song of productivity resurfaced. Now that she had fallen asleep so quickly, I could tackle my email! As I was about to set her on the couch and grab my laptop, it hit me:
Oh my gosh. I’m doing it. I’m missing out on the best stuff.
Sometimes, a sleeping baby is a gift God gives us to help us manage other responsibilities. But I’d already accomplished my important tasks for the day. In that moment, I received a gift: the realization that there will always be e-mail to check, but my opportunities to hold that little sleeping angel were numbered. I became acutely aware that years from now, when I’m walking Lucy down the aisle on her wedding day, I will not remember any of the “productive” things I did that day. But the memory of her button nose, bald head, and peaceful slumber will remain with me forever.
On that rapidly approaching day, I don’t want to find myself wishing I’d spent more time doing “nothing.”
We live in a culture that worships at the altar of productivity. Adultitis is a sinister foe after all of us. It has tricked us into believing that we should always be busy, always “doing” something. If it’s not shared on social media, it didn’t happen. If it can’t be measured, it doesn’t matter.
A book called How Will You Measure Your Life? by Clayton Christensen sheds light on this. He points out that it is our nature to unconsciously choose the things that give us an immediate, tangible accomplishment over something for which we aren’t likely to see a return for decades.
We can cut the grass, close a sale, finish a week’s worth of lesson plans, deliver a presentation, publish a paper, or redesign our website in less time than it takes to raise great kids or build an awesome marriage.
So we default to efforts that provide an immediate payoff and a satisfying feeling of accomplishment.
In chasing this dopamine hit of achievement — even one that isn’t all that consequential — we confuse the urgent with the important. We unwittingly turn irrelevant tasks into priorities simply because they can be checked off some list. And checking off five things is better than one, even if the undone item was the most important.
Like a junkie craving another high, we feel anxious spending too much time doing nothing.
But doing nothing isn’t really doing nothing. Sure, holding my sleeping baby and soaking in a quiet moment didn’t decrease the messages in my inbox. But it certainly wasn’t “nothing.” Quite the contrary.
Taking the time to do nothing once in a while – especially with the people we love – might be the single most important thing we do all day.
When you carve out time to be with someone you care about, “What are we going to do?” becomes a question that demands an answer. The longer it goes without one, the higher the anxiety levels rise.
Unfortunately, without a specific activity on which to focus our attention, we turn to those little dopamine-delivering slot machines always by our side. Time and again, I see friends or couples together, at the beach, on the train, out to dinner, and their attention is on their phones.
Their bodies are near each other, but their hearts and minds are miles apart.
Together, but not really.
All because we can’t escape the lure to do…something.
Let’s refuse to let the almighty algorithm dictate how we spend our time. What if the answer to “What are we going to do?” was simply, “Nothing. Doesn’t matter. Let’s just be together.” There doesn’t need to be a mission accomplished, a box to be checked, or an objective to be measured.
This painting is inspired by a favorite quote from Winnie the Pooh, who said, “People say nothing is impossible, but I do nothing every day.”
Doing nothing, it seems, takes more effort than doing something.
When Lucy was a baby, and I was savoring a quiet moment alone with her doing nothing, the pull of productivity tried to poison it. Even if I left my laptop closed, I wondered if I should be engaging her more, teaching her more, or coming up with something more “Instagram worthy” to do with her. Was I a bad dad for not wanting to do more than just sit with her?
But the doing nothing was actually…nice.
And it filled me with peace that is oh so hard to come by these days.
Having a little honey, wishing on a dandelion, and enjoying a fine day together might feel a lot like nothing.
Sometimes doing nothing is the very best something you can do.
“Born For This” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
The Wright Brothers were the first to fly, but they weren’t the first to try.
Not by a long shot.
For more than fifty years, humans had been actively working on the problem (after thousands of years of dreaming about it). Many brave people tried for years in vain, often at the cost of their very lives. Most considered it impossible.
But when the Wright Brothers succeeded, they became a match that lit the way forward.
They shared the joy of flying with others. In his first public demonstrations in Europe, Wilbur would take a passenger into the air with him. The brothers also eagerly trained new pilots. Soon after their success, countless others followed, and in short order, aviation boomed across the world.
After fifty years of collective failure, the work and the example of the brothers opened the floodgates. Orville himself lived to see aviation transformed by jet propulsion, the introduction of the rocket, and the breaking of the sound barrier in 1947. On July 20, 1969, when Neil Armstrong, another American born and raised in western Ohio, stepped onto the moon, he carried with him, in tribute to the Wright brothers, a small swatch of the muslin from a wing of their 1903 Flyer.
It reminds me of another pioneer named Roger Bannister, who was the first to run a mile in less than four minutes. People said it couldn’t be done. Doctors suggested you could die in the process of even attempting it. And yet after Bannister proved it was possible, Australian John Landy did it himself just six weeks later.
You can just do things.
But sometimes we need someone to show us a something can be done for us to believe we can do it ourselves.
One family Kim and I knew before having children was a match that sparked our own belief that we could travel with kids. Our daughter Lucy ended up on 34 flights before her first birthday.
And all the homeschooling parents we encountered who had raised successful children doing amazing things in the world were matches that gave us the confidence that maybe would could, too.
What if someone is waiting for you to be the example they need?
You and me, we’re like matches.
A match is not made to sit in a box, unlit, forever. It was designed to create a fire, but not one kept to itself.
You were made with specific talents to achieve a specific purpose. Part of that purpose in life is to make a difference in the lives of others. And just like a match, you get one shot. You have to give it your all.
Of course, it’s scary!
You have the option to embrace the status quo, like the other matches in this painting, preferring comfort and protecting themselves. But they are not fulfilling their potential.
That is not why they were made.
If God planted a dream in your heart, you have the moral imperative to chase it. Because your example might be exactly what someone else needs to achieve theirs.
Your spark can enflame and bring life to others.
As St. Catherine of Siena said, “Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.”
“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.
“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.
“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.
