A thick bank of fog brightly fills the view from my window. I can barely make out the light gray silhouettes of distant palms and poetic eucalyptus trees. Today is my last full day in “sunny” California; tomorrow I’ll return to Texas.

We lived in Northern California for a decade, and our kids were born in Berkeley. But alas, we moved to escape excessive taxes and other issues that were deteriorating our quality of life and our bank account. But I have to admit, as I rode down the freeway near our old house and saw Mount Diablo, the massive mountain in our area that I frequently painted with friends, I found I had a sentimental tear in my eye.

Since I started painting, I’ve always wanted to live where I was inspired to paint. California provided me variety in droves. We were an hour from an amazing and colorful city, and two hours from the Carmel coast, with giant rocks, crashing waves, and beautiful cypress trees. Or in another direction, I could be in the High Sierra surrounding Lake Tahoe. I used to fly to these places as a tourist, but living here was different.

On this trip I started in San Francisco, drove to the coast, where I painted with friends, then drove to Tahoe for some business, then flew to Los Angeles for more business, and then I drove to Laguna Beach. It was the perfect time away in some of my favorite areas.

But the tear wasn’t just for the beauty and inspired landscape, it was for my friendships. Though I have friends all over the world, there is nothing quite like those you see all the time, almost every week. Thanks to my friend Mitch, a reunion of old painter buddies was orchestrated that included a day of painting. When I left Northern California, I did not realize what I was leaving; when I returned, I realized how much they were missed. We had not been together for a few years, but it was like we picked up exactly where we left off.

A couple of nights ago, I visited the owner of a wonderful art gallery (Huse-Skelly) in Balboa Island, which I’d never before seen. I had dinner with her and her husband and ended up encountering her friends everywhere we turned. I met one woman from my wife’s hometown, and another from mine. They were a group that has gathered at the same outdoor table since COVID, not knowing one another until brought together by circumstance. And as they say, it was the only good thing to come out of the pandemic, and a bunch of them still meet there every Thursday night.

Friendship traditions are so important. In my painting life I have traditions of meeting once a year at three different painting retreats and a convention. The same people come back year after year when they can, and when they don’t they are missed — yet each year new friends become part of the family. At home in Austin, we meet with friends from church once a week on Tuesday nights, something we look forward to. At the lake in the Adirondacks, we have weekly Taco Tuesday with friends, where we meet at their house or ours to cook together and catch up. And when I was living out here, my buddies and I would meet on Thursday mornings and spend the full day together painting. Some of the best times were conversations in the car to and from painting.

Last week I had a stark reminder that life is short and that we need to grab every opportunity to create time with friends to enrich our lives. A young woman, age 31, who I met at our Asheville-area Plein Air Convention, had her house float away and was missing for days, until her body was recovered last week. She was so excited to be able to go to the convention and to get a picture with me, which we found on her Facebook page. I’m thankful she managed to come and live part of her dream. But I’m deeply saddened that one of our art family is gone so young and so tragically, swept away by rushing waters.

This is a reminder that life is short, that the end of life can come like a thief in the night, rarely expected. This week I was conducting an interview with artist Peter Adams on camera, and I asked what he wanted to get done before his life ended. He knew exactly, and rattled off a list and what he was doing about it. 

What about you? 

Could you give me your list and the actions you are taking?

How would you answer these questions?

• I’ve always wanted to _____, but I haven’t because of ____.
• What are the three most important things you want to do before you die?
• If you had one healthy year to live, what are the first three things you’d do?
• If someone was talking about your life at your funeral, reading your accomplishments, what needs to be added to that list?
• Who are the friends you’ve been meaning to see and spend time with? 
• What have you always dreamed of doing but have not because of limited thinking or fear of failure?

Elon Musk asked which is worse… trying it and failing? Or never trying? 

You will fail. I fail all the time. But fail forward. Keep working toward your giant dream. Don’t look back in regret.

There is never enough time or money, but you can overcome any odds. 

Live for your dream.

Live for your bucket list.

Live for the people you love with whom you want to have rich memories 

Eric Rhoads

PS: My heart goes out to everyone impacted by the two major storms and the fires out West. If you can, find a charity you can trust and give something.

In the Carolinas, I trust Brushes for Vincent, which is helping kids and artists, Asheville’s River Arts District, and of course Samaritan’s Purse.

PS2: Last night I had the pleasure of judging and presenting the grand prize at the LPAPA (Laguna Plein Air Painters Association) art show. It was a spectacular event — well-run, highly respected, and very successful. I want to thank them for their hospitality, and my hosts for the lovely accommodations.

A week ago today we concluded my annual Fall Color Week artists’ retreat in Monterey, California. We had perfect, unseasonable weather, and I did the best paintings of my life and met loads of new friends. Thanks to everyone who attended.

My next retreat is called Winter Escape, and it’s coming in February in St. Augustine, Florida.

My next online event is Realism Live, November 13-15. 

Then it’s Watercolor Live in January.

And before you know it, we’ll return to the Plein Air Convention, in Lake Tahoe this May.

See you there!