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Home2024-01-11T11:45:21-05:00

When Money Trumps Ethics (And Why It Shouldn’t)

The steam rises from my coffee in lazy spirals this morning, dancing with the Florida sunlight streaming through my hotel window. The ceramic mug feels extra heavy today, weighted perhaps by the words that have been living rent-free in my head all weekend. The bitter aroma of my dark roast mingles with the lingering scent of a bitter feeling, and somewhere outside, a blue jay is having what sounds like an existential crisis. Welcome to the club. The Knot in My Chest I take a sip and let the warmth spread through my chest, hoping it might dissolve the knot that’s been sitting there since Friday. You see, I just witnessed something that would make even Machiavelli wince — a masterclass in how to turn a big gain into a much bigger loss. The Dating Game Gone Wrong Picture this: You’re dating someone for a year. You’ve met the parents, picked out curtains together, and are about to sign a lease. Then suddenly, they call someone else, not you, to have them tell you that they’ve found someone richer and prettier. Oh, and good luck with those curtains! That’s essentially what happened in my business world this week, and let

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Breaking Free from Groundhog Day

The raptors are putting on quite a show this morning, diving from the Australian pines into the water with surgical precision. Nature’s own fishing exhibition, complete with squeaking commentary from above. As I sit here watching this display of survival (and breakfast), I can’t help but think about today being Groundhog Day — that peculiar tradition where we let a rodent meteorologist in Pennsylvania determine our seasonal fate. Politicizing Groundhogs You know, some folks are now protesting the whole Groundhog Day ceremony as animal cruelty. Soon we’ll be trying to protect the small fish from the big fish, and the big fish from the whales. (I spotted two white whales off our coast this week — talk about a reminder of nature’s magnificent food chain!) Sometimes I wonder if we’re overthinking things that “just are.” Groundhog Day, the Movie Speaking of Groundhog Day, I’ve been feeling a bit like Bill Murray lately — minus the charm and comic timing. Wake up, work, meetings, same dinner rotation, same TV shows, same bed. Rinse, repeat, yawn. It’s what I call the “comfortable rut syndrome.” I both love and hate routine. It’s like that old friend who’s great to have around but sometimes

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Our Quest to Stay Vital

Less than a week after snowballs melted in my gloved palm, I’m stretched out in a lounge chair, watching late January sunlight paint the distant mountain in watercolors. The morning air in Austin still carries winter’s bite, but the sun promises 70 degrees by noon. It’s warmer here than in Florida, but in a few days Florida will return to its sunny self. A cardinal flashes crimson against the live oak’s winter-bare branches, while somewhere in the distance, a tractor hums its morning song across the back 40. This is the kind of morning that reminds you that being alive is a gift worth unwrapping slowly. The kind that makes you question why we spend so many precious hours under fluorescent lights when God’s own lightbulb is putting on a free light show.  Time Flies I’m shocked that our first month of the year has already passed. Time slides by these days, faster than a rattler disappearing under a rock. One minute you’re making resolutions over champagne, next thing you know you’re watching Valentine’s chocolates go on clearance.  My grandmother used to tell me that the years speed up as you age, back when I was too busy being immortal

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When The Final Dirt Falls

The familiar hiss of the espresso machine provides a gentle backdrop to the quiet murmur of Sunday morning as I stare across the water, pondering the distant shore. No dolphins have graced these waters in the two weeks since I arrived in this coastal paradise — the unseasonably chilly days keeping them at bay, much like the thoughts I’ve been trying to hold at a distance. Steam rises from my cup, colliding with the cool air, carrying the rich aroma of freshly ground beans — a temporary comfort as my mind inevitably drifts to Friday’s farewell. A Walk in the Woods Warm afternoon light filtered through giant twisted oaks, their Spanish moss swaying like ancient beards in the breeze, casting long shadows across the rough forest floor. Each step brought a symphony of crunching leaves and breaking twigs, nature’s percussion accompanying our solemn procession. A tear entered the corner of my eye as I shoveled a load of fresh earth and spread it across the body of an old friend as he lay inside an open grave. The moment was raw, real, unlike any funeral I’d attended before. Bad News Calling  Just barely a week ago, we received the call

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No More Mr. Nice Guy

Ah, Sunday morning in Florida — where I’m supposedly sitting on the beach, my coffee sporting a tiny pink umbrella, watching the sunrise paint layers of clouds in spectacular colors while I soak up vitamin D. At least, that’s the dream version! Truth is, I am in Florida, but even paradise got caught in the arctic blast sweeping across America. Though I have to chuckle — my version of “cold” means trading my short sleeves for long ones. I know my Northern friends are probably rolling their eyes right now! And in a week it will be back to 70 degrees for most of the winter. My Therapist Told Me This This morning’s slightly chilly contemplation has me thinking about something a therapist once told me: I’m a “pleaser.” You know the type — we’re the ones who light up when we can help others succeed, who’ll go the extra mile (or ten) to support someone’s dreams. Some might say it stems from deep psychological trauma — or something — but honestly? I’ve grown pretty fond of this part of myself. There’s something magical about watching others thrive because you lent a helping hand. Plowing Forward But here’s where it

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The Need for Speed

Imagine waking up to nature’s own aquatic circus. As I write this, dolphins are pirouetting through crystal waters, their playful squeaks harmonizing with the gentle swish of palm fronds overhead. The sun — a blazing orb of amber and rose — is painting the horizon in colors that would make even Van Gogh jealous. This is Florida in December, our reward after a cross-country odyssey from Texas with our four-legged navigation team. Last night we arrived under cover of darkness, like treasure hunters seeking the Promised Land. The fridge might be as empty as a politician’s promise, but somehow I’ve managed to conjure up coffee and road trip leftovers. The grocery store beckons, but it can wait until after church. Some mornings are too perfect to rush. Life as a Pinball: Confessions of a Derailed Goal Setter Let me tell you about 2024. Imagine being the silver ball in the world’s most chaotic pinball machine. Flippers of fate sent me ricocheting in every direction, and I found the gutter more times than a bowling ball thrown by a toddler. Here’s the deliciously embarrassing part: I, the supposed guru of goal-setting, completely dropped the ball on my own planning. It’s like

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The Most Important Note of the Year?

Imagine waking up to nature’s own aquatic circus. As I write this, dolphins are pirouetting through crystal waters, their playful squeaks harmonizing with the gentle swish of palm fronds overhead. The sun — a blazing orb of amber and rose — is painting the horizon in colors that would make even Van Gogh jealous. This is Florida in December, our reward after a cross-country odyssey from Texas with our four-legged navigation team. Last night we arrived under cover of darkness, like treasure hunters seeking the Promised Land. The fridge might be as empty as a politician’s promise, but somehow I’ve managed to conjure up coffee and road trip leftovers. The grocery store beckons, but it can wait until after church. Some mornings are too perfect to rush. Life as a Pinball: Confessions of a Derailed Goal Setter Let me tell you about 2024. Imagine being the silver ball in the world’s most chaotic pinball machine. Flippers of fate sent me ricocheting in every direction, and I found the gutter more times than a bowling ball thrown by a toddler. Here’s the deliciously embarrassing part: I, the supposed guru of goal-setting, completely dropped the ball on my own planning. It’s like

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Counting Down to Our Last Christmas

The twinkling of Christmas lights stretches for miles across the Texas landscape as dawn breaks outside my window. Inside our cozy home, the scent of pine needles and a roaring fire mingles with my morning coffee while I cuddle up under a thick blanket, fending off the unusual chill in the air that makes it feel more like Christmas than our typical Texas weather. A Christmas Request A few weeks ago, my college-age son approached us with an exciting proposition: joining his four best friends on a pre-Christmas adventure to Brazil. They planned to hike, surf, sail, and immerse themselves in the local culture. Of course, they hoped we’d contribute to their expedition. After careful consideration, we agreed it would create wonderful memories — with one crucial condition. He had to be home before Christmas. As seasoned travelers ourselves, we knew how easily holiday reunions could be derailed by flight delays, so we requested he return two days early, just in case. Wishing Things Would Never Change As our children grow, mature, and begin falling in love, we’re acutely aware that our time together as just our family unit of five — without spouses or partners — is finite. While

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The Weight of Memory

There comes a time when the question of legacy weighs heavy on our minds. Perhaps it’s triggered by a milestone birthday or simply the growing awareness of our mortality — that silent companion that makes us wonder what traces we’ll leave behind when we’re gone. But what are the odds of truly being remembered? Even the brightest stars fade from collective memory. Consider how time has swept away countless authors, performers, and pioneers who once commanded the world’s attention. Yes, a rare few — the Shakespeares, the Einsteins, the Monets — have transcended their eras to become eternal fixtures in human consciousness. Yet mention Johnny Carson to today’s youth and you’ll receive blank stares, despite his decades of cultural dominance. Even most U.S. presidents are not remembered. The Ego Dance Still, my ego persists in this peculiar dance, urging me to carve something permanent into the bedrock of history. Why this relentless drive? Even now, the achievements that once defined me remain unknown to my own children, and most of what I’ve accomplished will likely drift into the mist of forgotten things, preserved only in the memories of those closest to me. Perhaps the real question isn’t how to be

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Trimming the Dead Wood

It’s as dark as a shadow’s whisper and silent as the space between heartbeats. The sun isn’t even thinking about peeking its bright head over the distant mountain. No birds are tweeting; they won’t awaken for at least another hour. The world holds its breath in these last moments of night, when even the wind seems to have tucked itself away to sleep. The darkness wraps around everything like a thick velvet cloak, making familiar shapes into mysterious silhouettes that stand guard over the sleeping earth.Getting ZZZZsThe dogs are still snoring peacefully, their breath echoing from all the way across the house. Carefully and quietly in my stocking feet, I tiptoe cautiously through the kitchen, avoiding the coffeemaker so I don’t wake the dogs and my wife. Silently I slip out, suitcase in hand, headed for the airport. The keys jingle softly in my pocket — a sound that suddenly seems as loud as church bells clanging in this pre-dawn stillness. Each creak of the back door’s hinges feels like it could shatter the delicate quiet, but somehow the peaceful breathing from the bedroom remains unbroken.Sneaking OutThe morning dew has already settled on my car, its droplets barely visible because I

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A Peaceful Thanksgiving

It’s quiet and peaceful around the house. One of our kids is home from college; the others will show up by Thanksgiving day. And soon, the house will be filled with cheer and laughter as the holidays begin and visitors begin to arrive from other places. It will be one giant slumber party. And then the house will be quiet again, one week from today.Thanksgiving FitsAs a child, Thanksgiving and Christmas were my two favorite holidays. I loved them because it was a gathering of family, time to run around like crazy with my cousins, time to see people we only saw at holidays.But some Thanksgivings stand out as overly dramatic … like the time something upset me and I hurled my plate of food across the room out of anger. I remember my aunt saying, “That kid is spoiled and needs to be punished.” She was right. I had a bad temper as a child. Most disagreements were about which football game to watch or which team to root for. If there was political discord, I don’t remember much of it. But this Thanksgiving may be different. WoundedThis year, there are a lot of hurt feelings and wounded people who did not

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Rarely Spoken Success Secrets

A slight chill is in the humid Texas air. My eyes are squinting as the warm yellow sun pops up over the distant purple hill, turning it more pink. Light is splashing everything, and the air is starting to warm up a bit as I sit here on my old wicker couch on the back porch.Playing CoachOne of the most fun things I get to do is coach younger people who want to become successful. I love sharing any wisdom I may have accumulated — acquired through decades of work, decades of mistakes, and decades of pain. Instant SuccessLiving in a fast-paced Instagram-and-SnapChat world, all the gurus are online sharing 90-second sound bites of wisdom and selling success courses. It’s really no different than when I first craved success; only the delivery method is different. I listened to tons of cassettes, and later CDs, learning from the hot gurus at the time. Of course I’ve attended dozens, maybe hundreds, of seminars, classes, and events in my career. In fact, I was at the first, or one of the first, Tony Robbins events in Fort Lauderdale when he first launched his career, and at another event he held so small, there were

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It’s Dream Time

Sketchbook on my lap and watercolors in hand, I’m trying to capture the vibrant pink clouds as the rising sun bounces off their otherwise purple shadows. I’m trying to learn to paint the feel, not just the scene. I think that’s a lifetime goal. Then again, sometimes I forget the goals that are important to me, and then I forget to pursue them. A Basket of Dreams Imagine for a moment that you have a basket sitting there in your kitchen. Beside it are some note cards. Every time you have an idea, or a dream about doing something, you write it down on a note card and throw it into the basket. In my case, I have a document open on my desktop. It’s the basket that all my ideas go into. I have 30 ideas a day, and every one goes in my basket. Lots of Pitches My team will tell you that I’ve been known to drive them a little bit crazy. I’ll have an idea, send an e-mail throwing it to the team, and expect them to do it. The problem is that I keep throwing fastballs. They probably get 50 a year, maybe more. They

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Are You Nervous About Tuesday?

I’m nervous. In spite of the glowing sun hitting the trees and the cool breeze making the grass sway, in spite of the musical birds nesting in the trees above the back porch, I’m nervous. I’m not only nervous, I’m anxious. In spite of my desire to avoid the news cycle and to not become consumed with social media, I’m nervous about the election and the future of America. Wait. Before you assume I’m about to make a political endorsement, just know I don’t do that.  Though I desperately want my favorite candidate to win, for the good of the future of our country, I don’t feel it’s my place to try to influence you just because I happen to have a platform. I’ve spent too many years hopefully building your trust and respect, and for me to try and convince you that my candidate is better is a fool’s game. Nothing I say will change your mind. But I am anxious because the media rhetoric has me believing that if my person does not win, the world will change for the worse. The problem is, the other side believes the same thing.  We all want a better world, a

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Eric Rhoads
Entrepreneur, writer, artist, marketer, and speaker.
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