“Balancing Act” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
How many Froot Loops can you stack on top of one another before they topple over?
How tall would someone’s tower have to be for you to find yourself impressed?
We often relish the opportunity to declare how many activities we’re balancing. Like a status symbol, our busyness signals our importance. We could pretend the pink ones are work responsibilities, the yellow ones are family and household chores, maybe the orange ones are volunteer commitments, and the green ones are hobbies…All hail the one with the highest stack of Froot Loops!
I am always in awe of people who seem to be able to operate smoothly amidst a schedule bursting at the seams. My personality type is such that I easily get overwhelmed when I’m trying to stack more than a handful of Froot Loops at a time.
I recently added something new to my morning prayer routine. After looking back on the previous day and reflecting on what went well and what I could have done better, I try to identify the most important thing to accomplish in the day ahead.
And let me tell you, it’s bloody hard.
I mean, it’s a simple question. And sometimes it’s easy because there’s a specific, obvious task that needs to be completed: Deliver this speech. Finish the manuscript for editing. Paint the ceiling.
But most days, it’s not so obvious.
Answering this question goes against my inherent desire to cram my day like a Volkswagon Beetle stuffed with seventy-six circus clowns. When I survey the day before me, I usually see a smorgasbord of Very Important Things, all seemingly equal in significance. If I happen to settle on something like “spend time in the studio,” I have to fight the urge to also write “andfinishthisandworkonthatanddontforgettotakeoutthegarbage.”
I’m not alone, am I?
The science is clear. We get a tiny yet thrilling dopamine hit every time we check something off our almighty to-do list – regardless of how essential the chore actually was – which encourages us to rush headlong into the abyss of productivity.
I have to remind myself that the question “What is today’s most important thing?” is not asking for the ONLY thing I need to do that day. Or asking me to only do ONE good or worthwhile thing all day.
It’s merely asking me to declare the most important one.
Because, unfortunately, despite my desire to bend reality and make my home in the multiverse, there can only be one most important thing. (See this reflection on how we magically changed the meaning of the word “priority.”)
I have found that oftentimes in this process, my most important thing is to “be open,” because the most important thing hasn’t yet revealed itself at six-thirty in the morning. But that awareness is vital because it makes me more likely to notice it when it comes.
I encourage you to try this, especially if you’re having a hard time balancing all the Froot Loops. Its power comes in forcing you to pause, nudging you to slow down, reflect, and be intentional.
Why does this matter?
This matters because when I don’t identify the most important thing for the day, I’m liable to rush off and accomplish a whole hell of a lot of things. Which seems good and feels great. But if the sheer volume of activity crowds out what was actually the most important thing I needed to do, my life slowly veers off track.
It doesn’t matter how many Froot Loops you can balance if you were supposed to be paying attention to the Cheerio.
“The Monarch” by Jason Kotecki. 40 x 60. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
His name was Joel, but I called him Mr. Dawson. He was one of the best leaders I’ve ever known.
On the surface, Mr. Dawson was just a regular guy who coached youth baseball. But he was kind, humble, and strong, albeit not in the “benchpress dump trucks” sort of way. A rare autoimmune disease took several fingers on one hand. But he was able to balance a baseball with it while holding a bat with his other hand. During practice, he’d carefully toss the ball upwards and whack it with the bat in the direction of a fielder.
When I played Little League, he managed an opposing team, but his vote helped me land on the all-star team. He became my coach after drafting me when I turned thirteen and moved up to Junior League. I was an occasional pitcher. My fastball wasn’t very fast, and I didn’t have a curveball, but I kept the ball over the plate. The good news is I rarely walked anyone, but the bad news is batters usually salivate at the prospect of facing someone who throws slow and straight.
The back of my baseball card was not impressive.
Perhaps not surprisingly, I’d never been the winning pitcher of a game. I could claim it was because the teams I pitched for were never that good, but then again, neither was I. For some unknown reason, Mr. Dawson decided to make it his mission that season to get me a win. It took a while, but somehow, his persistent belief in me sank in. I actually started believing it was possible. I don’t even remember the score of the game when it finally happened, but I do remember the feeling. I remember his proud smile. And I remember being happier for him than I was for myself.
That’s what the best leaders do: believe in people.
Oftentimes, those people don’t believe in themselves. Sometimes it’s for a good reason, and sometimes it’s the natural result of not having anyone in your life who does. But the good leaders see a spark. Heck, maybe the spark doesn’t even exist, but their belief that it does is so convincing, it’s as if they are somehow able to will it into existence.
This painting was inspired by C.S. Lewis’s character, Aslan, the Christ-like figure in The Chronicles of Narnia. It’s a great image of the best kind of leader: brave but vulnerable. He’s confident in knowing what he’s about, but kind enough to welcome the lowliest creatures into his friendship and protection. Malcolm Forbes said, “You can easily judge the character of a man by how he treats those who can do nothing for him.”
People are fragile beings, like the butterflies in this painting. I sure was when I was thirteen, a shy, skinny kid with oversized glasses playing on a team stocked with much better athletes, trying to figure out who he was and what he had to offer.
The best leaders walk with us out of our past and into our future, accompanying us from who we’ve been to who we can be. We all need people like that in our lives. If someone believes in you, consider yourself lucky. And take them at their word, even if you can’t yet see what they see.
Mr. Dawson died too soon from cancer shortly after I moved on to high school, more complications of his condition. By then a close friend of the family, I saw him face his final battle and the unknown of the next life with bravery and good humor.
Sometimes in life, we are the butterflies. We are fragile and need to believe the people who care about us are right when they tell us they see greatness within us.
Sometimes in life, we are the lion.
We are called to be leaders who seek out the lost, the young, the weak, and the forgotten. Our job is to look for the good in them, believing in them as long as it takes until they can see it for themselves.
“The Good Neighbor” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
This print is part of “Adultitis Fighters,” a series of paintings by Jason Kotecki featuring real and fictional characters who serve as role models in the fight against Adultitis.
Mister Rogers, known for his iconic television show “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, was able to connect with people on a deeply human level and was an unwavering example of kindness and empathy. He respected children as individuals and validated their emotions and thoughts. Mister Rogers understood the importance of play, creativity, and imagination in both children and adults’ lives and reminded viewers of the joy and laughter that can be found in everyday activities.
“Often when you think you’re at the end of somethingyou’re at the beginning of something else.”
“It’s good to be curious about many things.”
“Everyone longs to be loved. And the greatest thingwe can do is let people know that they are loved and capable of loving.”
“Greatest Of All Time” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 24. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD. 🔴 Shop this art!
How many Super Bowl rings does it take to become a goat?
I am not referring to those four-legged cheese-making mammals with a taste for tin cans.
I’m talking about the label of “GOAT” – the Greatest Of All Time.
As I write this, Tom Brady recently retired after twenty-two seasons in the NFL. He was the 199th pick in the draft, yet ended up with seven Super Bowl rings and threw more touchdown passes than anyone in history. He never played on a losing team. He is widely regarded as the GOAT, at least when it comes to quarterbacks.
Frankly, I’m still getting used to being labeled a “goat” as a good thing. In 1986, Bill Buckner was called a goat for letting an easy ground ball roll past him in a World Series game, and it definitely wasn’t meant as a compliment. (Ah, the ever-present thin line between hero and villain.)
Debating the greatest of all time is a juicy topic for sports talk radio, but what makes the discussion so compelling? Why such an obsession with greatness?
Besides the fact that we like comparing things (and arguing!), greatness stirs something within us. We are inspired when we see it manifested, be it in the long and decorated career of Tom Brady or in the gold medal performance of figure skater Nathan Chen.
But greatness stretches far beyond the sports world:
🥘We see it in a delicious dish prepared with ease by Gordon Ramsay. ✈️We saw it in the remarkable daring and bravery of Amelia Earhart. 🐯We saw it in the spellbinding gentleness and kindness of Fred Rogers. 🙏We saw it in the compelling selflessness and compassion of Mother Teresa.
The greatness of these individuals is so profound and self-evident, it’s easy to assume they are rare geniuses who possess mystical talents. Their level of excellence appears unattainable for us mere mortals. Their talent is unmistakable, but the individuals we place on the pedestal of greatness are merely human beings whose extraordinary results came from the consistent practice of ordinary things.
Our preoccupation with debating the greatest of all time is a trap that prevents us from striving for greatness ourselves.
It’s easier to argue about the top five saints of all time than to aim to become one.
Am I suggesting you are GOAT material?
Actually, yes.
Hear me out. Usually, the title of GOAT is bestowed on someone famous, known for their professional accomplishments, and often in a domain conducive to measurable outcomes…
But what about people who aren’t famous? Isn’t it possible that some Incan woman possessed unmatched skill as a potter, with her only flaw being born at a time when she couldn’t have her own YouTube channel?
And what if your skill is not as esteemed or public as that of a professional athlete or celebrity chef? Could an unknown Amish grandmother technically be the greatest bread maker of all time? And tell me, who is the greatest school custodian of all time? The greatest dental hygienist of all time? The greatest administrative assistant of all time?
What about domains lacking metrics that are easy to quantify? When it comes to football, we can compare wins, passing yards, touchdowns, longevity, playoff appearances, awards, and Super Bowl rings, all while debating the relative importance of each. But how would one go about naming the Greatest Mother of All Time? The Greatest Father of All Time? The Greatest Wife or Husband or Friend or Next Door Neighbor of All Time?
Most of us don’t have trading cards with our pictures on them, and if we did, they wouldn’t have stats on the back totaling Boo-Boos Kissed, Lunches Prepared, Loads of Laundry Completed, Encouraging Words Spoken, or Hugs Delivered.
Without these metrics a Google search away, what would it take for you to become the GOAT?
If you’re normal, you might be thinking, slow your roll, buddy. I already feel like I’m falling short, day after day. I barely qualify as a good parent, let alone the greatest of all time.
I hear you. Sometimes I feel like I’m leading the league in dropped balls.
The good news is that the seeds of greatness are in our DNA because we each have a spark of the divine within us.
Simply put, you were born for greatness.
Don’t let my famous examples fool you. The dictionary defines great as “remarkable in magnitude, quality, skill, or effectiveness.” The steps to achieve greatness are accessible to everyone. Including me. And you. The steps are simple, but not easy.
🔎 Identify Your Gifts. What talents have you been given? If they don’t immediately come to mind, settle into a quiet place. Take stock of the things you do well. Where do you shine? What comes easily to you? What do you love doing? What do people compliment you for? These are your gifts. Remember, “better than everyone else in the world” at anything is not a requirement for greatness.
🎁 Honor Your Gifts. If you treasure a gift, you don’t take it for granted or throw it in a corner. To give your gifts the respect they deserve, use them, share them, and work to improve them. Shoring up weaknesses can be helpful, but keep in mind that Mister Rogers wasn’t as bold and gregarious as Gordon Ramsay, who was not as gentle or vulnerable as Mister Rogers. Greatness lies in maximizing your strengths.
🔒 Be Committed. Greatness requires the willingness to do what no one else will. Not many are willing to stick to the diet and workout routine that helped Tom Brady stay so productive for so long. Even fewer are clamoring to comfort the sick and clean the sores of people living in the slums of Calcutta, as Mother Teresa did. Amelia Earhart was willing to attempt things no one else had ever done, consequences be damned. Greatness requires immense courage and bravery. You have to be willing to challenge conventional wisdom, buck the status quo, and take a stand without any guarantee that anyone will follow you.
🧗 Keep Going. Nathan Chen’s debut Olympic performance was a disaster, riddled with falls. Gordon Ramsay didn’t make a perfect omelet on his first try. Tom Brady didn’t win every playoff game he was in. The great ones aren’t people who never get knocked down. They’re the ones who keep getting up when they do. Anybody can have a good day, a good week, or even a good year. The greats show up year after year. They are persistent, consistent, and stand the test of time.
🚀 Empower Others. Through his example alone, Fred Rogers inspired millions of people, most of whom never met him, to treat others with more respect and kindness than they might have otherwise. Tom Brady’s drive, high standards, and work ethic empowered his teammates to be better. Mother Teresa built a community of sisters who followed her lead and carried on her work after she was gone. Your own humble journey toward greatness may be your most enduring legacy.
We can’t count on being considered the greatest. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t strive to be great.
It’s unlikely that you or I will ever be publicly regarded as the “GOAT” of anything. Unless you’re Muhammad Ali – “I am the greatest!” – the title is bestowed on you by others. We can’t control it. Who cares?
When it comes to greatness, everyone else is irrelevant. I agree with Hemingway, who said, “There is nothing noble to being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.”
There is one category you can be assured of being the GOAT, and that’s the category of YOU.
Your job is to be the Greatest You of All Time.
If you learned a new thing today or did something to improve your craft or make yourself better than you were yesterday, congrats. You are officially the greatest YOU of all time.
If you got up today after being knocked down yesterday, your legend just gained a new comeback story, and you’re officially the greatest YOU of all time.
If you used one of your gifts to make someone’s day or lessen the burden of another soul, your scoreboard of contributions to the world just increased by one, officially making you the greatest YOU of all time.
Instead of wasting our time arguing over who is the GOAT, may we use their example as inspiration to cultivate our own greatness within us.
Identify your gifts. Honor them by honing them and sharing them with others. Be committed. Keep going. And empower others along the way.
Regardless of whether or not you play in the NFL or make soufflés on TV, those principles are controllable. If you practice them, I can’t guarantee you’ll ever be deemed the GOAT by pundits, historians, or late-night callers on talk radio.
But I will guarantee that people will be inspired by the greatness they see within you.
“If There Was A Problem” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 20. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
What if your biggest problem isn’t a problem at all?
I love watching otters do meal prep.
They float on their back as they work to open an oyster for lunch. They put off a nonchalant vibe, like they’re nursing a margarita on an inflatable raft in a pool at an all-inclusive resort. They have the cool confidence of Vanilla Ice, who famously rapped, “If there was a problem yo, I’ll solve it.”
The situation is actually a matter of life and death because if they don’t eat, they don’t last long. But of course, they are well-suited for the task, so their body language gives away the fact that there’s not much drama involved.
I wonder how our lives would look if we went about our challenges the same way, looking at our problems more like…brain teasers. What if we saw them as fun puzzles to solve, like oysters that just take a bit of patience and persistence to crack open? Too often, we (and when I say we, I mean me, but perhaps you can relate), run around in a frenzied state, lamenting the sorry state of our affairs and worried that we’ve already eaten our last meal.
I, for one, have perfected the craft of rejoicing over all the times God has blessed me and provided for me, while feeling absolutely certain that He’s forgotten about me this time. Sure, there was that time I never thought I’d be brave enough to make it through freshman year. That time we had less than $100 in the checking account. That time, the mechanic left a rag in the engine that prevented us from decelerating on the highway. And the time we came home from vacation to find bullet holes and glass in our living room.
Sure, those all worked out ok. But this time…?
Sometimes I look back at old journal entries and come across my account of a five-alarm dumpster fire written as if it were the sign of the pending apocalypse. With a few years of hindsight, I often have to work to even remember the event.
Like just today, I stumbled across an old photo of a car that had been in an accident. The hood was crumpled like a Shar-Pei, and it reminded me a lot of a silver Grand Am we used to have. Upon further inspection, it was our Grand Am, and memories flooded back of a fender-bender that happened after a family outing at the zoo. That, too, seemed like a disaster at the time. It was apparently so disruptive to my life that I’d forgotten all about it until I saw the photo in my photostream.
We encountered a problem, we solved it, and life went on.
Most problems in life are like that.
I’m not suggesting we ignore our problems or pretend they don’t exist, but merely to reframe them as cosmic crossword puzzles to decipher, a Rubik’s cube to solve.
It’s realizing that problems are a part of life, and the only people without them are taking up residence in those extended stay resorts called cemeteries. It’s about acknowledging that most problems are not as catastrophic as they feel. It’s about maintaining an attitude that problems are solvable while refusing to underestimate our ability to solve them.
And it’s about accepting that even if you don’t solve the problem right away, even if you’re still trying to crack that baby open, that’s ok, too.
What if we adopted the frame that these problems are not sent to destroy us, but to keep our minds sharp? Novelist and poet Wendell Berry reminds us that, “The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings.”
Perhaps the next time we encounter a problem – especially the kind that leaves us hysterical – we can try a little harder to adopt the posture of an otter with an oyster. Yes, it’s important. But it’s figureoutable and nothing to panic over. Maybe the calm would give us the clarity we need. Maybe an air of nonchalance would invite the playful spirit we need to crack the case.
We are more creative than we give ourselves credit for. We are stronger than we feel. And we are loved by a God who is stronger still.
Like the otter, we are well-suited to overcome any problem we encounter.
“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.
“Insert Coin” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 24. Oil on canvas. Original is available. 🟢 Shop this art!
My Grandpa and uncle used to own a tavern. Once in a while, they’d close it to host family parties. I remember the dimly lit atmosphere and the ghosts of spent cigarettes that hung in the air, but my favorite feature was the row of arcade games lined up against the wall. They were blinking, bright doorways to amazing worlds and grand adventures.
I don’t remember ever being given any money from my parents to play them. But no matter. Each game had a preview segment, showing a minute or so of the gameplay to entice you to feed it some coins. I just delighted in going from machine to machine, maneuvering the joystick and mashing buttons while pretending I was the one controlling the game.
Eventually, the novelty wore off, as the preview always ended the same way. I could pretend for hours, living in a fantasy world, which was fun for a while. But if I wanted to experience the game for real, I had to insert some coins.
Sometimes we live “preview” lives in our own heads. Imagining what it would be like if we made the decision to ask her out. Or put the house up for sale and embark on that quest. Or ask for that raise. Or quit that godforsaken job once and for all. Sometimes those visions in our heads have amazing endings, others have disastrous results, but either way, it’s all fake.
No matter how certain you are of the likely result (good or bad), you don’t know what will really happen until you actually go for it. Knowing for sure? That costs something.
You have to be willing to insert the coin.
It might be a financial investment, of course, but that’s not usually what holds us back. Not really. More often, it’s the fear of the unknown, of not measuring up, or the risk of failure (and the embarrassment that might come from it). Sometimes we shy away from the pain and discomfort it will require. We’re just not willing to put in the work or serve the time to get where we want to be.
A few years after my grandfather closed the tavern for good, I had a friend who was great at video games. My brothers and I would sit and watch him play Super Mario Bros., delighted to see how far he’d get, fingers crossed over whether he’d be able to defeat Bowser and win the game. It too was fun, for a while. But the joy was always fleeting because his success was not ours. It was always more fulfilling to solve a level on my own, even if I never did make it as far in the game as he did.
This painting is inspired by that original Nintendo classic. I’m intrigued by the idea of coming across one of the game’s iconic green pipes in the middle of a wide-open field. What’s it doing there? Where does it lead? And most importantly, would I have the courage to find out?
Life is a lot like a video game. It’s filled with challenges, obstacles, and opportunities to level up. But unlike most video games in which you have a few “lives” to get it right, real life only gives you one.
What a pity to waste it watching someone else’s game or settling for an imaginary version of your own.
What a shame to let fear keep you from fully owning your story and who you are meant to become.
“Proof of Life” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
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.
“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.
“Pretty Darn Great” by Jason Kotecki. 40 x 60. Oil on canvas. Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!
This shark is awesome. You can tell how awesome he is by his gold teeth. Obviously, the male sharks want to be him, and all the ladies want to be with him. The fact that he is a success is a foregone conclusion to everyone.
The joke is on the shark, though, because these teeth are not long for this world. You see, sharks continually shed their teeth (some shedding approximately 35,000 teeth in a lifetime!) That’s a lot of lost bling. What a shame!
The tragedy is that gold grill or no, he already was great. He just didn’t believe it.
I don’t know about you, but I make this mistake all the time.
I chase after shiny objects that don’t last to prove my worth, even though deep down I don’t always feel so worthy.
When I was in seventh grade, I would have given anything for a pair of Air Jordans. I didn’t feel cool, but I was certain these shoes would make up for it. I never got them. It’s just as well, I guess, because they wouldn’t have fit me a year later.
Back at the turn of the century, Apple came out with the iBook. The lime green one was awesome. I printed out a picture and put it on my vision board, imagining that my possession of it would make me hip and trendy. Never got it. Of course, if I still had it today, it would be little more than a decorative doorstep.
I have dreams of owning a Porsche 911 convertible someday. I think they are beautiful cars, and I love driving convertibles (my dad used to have one). But can I be honest? Sometimes I wonder if the real reason I want it is to have something to show everyone how great and successful I am.
Now, my faith teaches me that I am wonderfully made in the image of my creator. Frankly, it’s a little hard to believe, most days. After all, I wear bifocals now. My hair is thinning. I eat lots of gluten.
Interestingly, my perspective changes when I think about my own kids. Are they perfect? Hells no. (They take after their old man after all). But they are great. It’s not hard at all for me to see their amazing qualities. And the kind of shoes they’re wearing has nothing to do with it.
Why is it so easy to see the positive traits of others and so hard to see them in ourselves?
There are people out there who are a little too big for their britches. But even in those cases, once you collect a certain amount of wisdom, you realize that all the bombast and overconfidence are merely masking their own unworthiness.
Indeed, most of us are overwhelmed by our flaws and sell ourselves short. We believe the TV and magazine ads that tell us we need to fix this, tuck that, and acquire the new gizmo to feel complete. I don’t know if you can relate, but I often feel suffocated by thoughts that I’m not enough. Not smart enough. Not talented enough. Not brave enough. Each one is like a weed, crowding out the truth.
The good thing about this feeling of “not enough” is that it helps us make room for God. His power is made perfect in our weakness. He picks up the slack and nullifies our deficiencies. We are truly in danger when we think we can do this thing called life alone.
You and I, we are already great. And not in some lame, everybody-gets-a-participation-trophy way.
First, some perspective. Do you know the odds of you even being here? Dr. Ali Binazir crunched the numbers, and when you factor in the probability of your dad meeting your mom…
…and that they stayed together long enough to have kids…
…and the fact that one of the 100,000 eggs your mom produces in her lifetime…
…met the one of the 4 trillion sperm your dad made during the years you could have been born…
…there is a 1 in 400,000,000,000,000,000 (1 in 400 quadrillion chance) of you being alive.
The chance of you being attacked and killed by a shark is about 1 in 4,000,000.
Statistically speaking, you are a miracle. Having beaten odds like that suggests there is a reason you are here. And indeed, there is. You have something to offer that the world needs.
You see, the real reason for your greatness is that you were purposefully and wonderfully made by a loving God. Within you – amidst any so-called flaws you dwell on – is a spark of something divine. That, my friend, makes you priceless.
“When I was a child my parents loved me not because I was good but because I was Madeleine, their child. I loved them, and I wanted to please them, but their love of me did not have to be earned. Neither does the love of God. We are loved because we are his children, because we are.”
– Madeleine L’Engle
You don’t have to keep trying to prove yourself. You can just be.
You may not be perfect, but you are already great.
