The morning light illuminates golden-green pollen as it drifts through the sunbeams, nature’s own glitter suspended in air and tickling my nose, much like the scent of sweet perfume from the color-filled wildflowers that filter among the spring grasses, growing wildly out of control like a rumor at a small town diner. 

Here I sit comfortably on my long, covered Texas porch overlooking the distant hills as I spot a smattering of Indian paintbrush, LYF (little yellow flowers), and a couple of iridescent bluebonnets lending their fragrance to the breeze. 

A chorus of bees hum their industrious melody among stands of tall greenery, within earshot but thankfully not within reach. We recently made our way back from the warmth of Florida beaches and have now returned to the ideal spring climate, the comfortable perfect days before the oppressive Texas heat sets in. 

It’s good to be home, and just in time for Easter. Happy Easter to you!.

Solitude Embraced

Sundays offer a different quality of silence than other days. It’s a chosen quietude rather than an absence of sound imposed by circumstance. My phone remains face-down, notifications accumulating unheeded. There is luxury in this deliberate disconnection, this small rebellion against perpetual availability and the dopamine rush of being needed. Somehow I’ve managed to resist reading my social media for a full month. I feel like I’ve had a restful time away. Oh, if I could give it up entirely and still survive in business. 

Wisdom Distilled

As I cradle my mug, I ponder the strange headlines about scientists working to cheat death through 3D-printed organs and brain transfers. Immortality in a lab, they promise. And recently news that if you sit in a hyperbaric chamber every day for 60 days, you can gain the health and cognition you had 20 years ago. Maybe I could check my social media while in a hyperbaric chamber while getting red light therapy after swallowing my 30 daily vitamins to reverse my aging? Hmm … something more to do.

Do we really want to live forever? Or should we give others a chance at their turn on earth? 

Tales Transcend Time

My great-great-grandfather has now lived for about 270 years. He was a Tennessee sheriff with wisdom that outweighed his ammunition. Legend tells how he spotted a fugitive by a campfire, and, instead of rushing in with guns blazing like some dime-store novel hero, he removed his badge, approached unarmed, and said, “Howdy, stranger, can you spare a cup of coffee?” Over flames and conversation, he disarmed the man with interest rather than intimidation. Eventually, he admired the fugitive’s gun, held it in appreciation, and only then made his arrest. Five generations later, I sip my coffee and realize I know a man I’ve never met — his patience, his cunning, his humanity — all preserved not in formaldehyde but in family narrative. He lives on.

Legacy Through Osmosis

Scientists tout hyperbaric chambers promising 20 additional years, while I silently transmit centuries to my children without even trying. My father’s entrepreneurial confidence flows through me like genetic material, not because he lectured me on business principles, but because I witnessed his phone calls, his negotiations, his presence. “Dad College” had no tuition but paid dividends beyond calculation. Now my children roll their eyes at my intentional lessons but absorb my every interaction — how I speak to strangers, how I treat their mother, how I navigate disappointment. They’re downloading my operating system whether I acknowledge the file transfer or not. It’s how I’ll live on … like it or not.

Immortality’s Mirror

I wonder which of my expressions my daughter will unconsciously mirror at 40. Will she inherit my laugh or my scowl? My generosity or my occasional insanity? The thought sobers me faster than my caffeine. We chase longevity supplements and cryogenic preservation without realizing we’re already achieving a kind of immortality through behavioral inheritance. I’m embarrassed recalling the times I’ve complained about bad drivers or slow service with my children watching — those moments potentially echoing through generations like ripples in ancestral waters.

Deliberate Eternity

As I take the final sip of my now-cooled coffee, loaded with lion’s mane to prevent Alzheimer’s, cinnamon to reduce inflammation, and MCT oil to superpower my brain, I wonder if wisdom follows the same pattern — revealing deeper notes with time and perspective. 

The longevity movements focus on extending our individual timelines, but they miss that we’re already smeared across time like watercolors bleeding beyond their borders. My great-grandfather’s jovial nature and creative business skills were adopted into my father’s life through osmosis, then unknowingly transferred to me — a kind of immortality achieved not through science but through story and presence. 

Perhaps my artistic side comes from my mother’s Aunt Ruth, whose oil paintings hang in the homes of her descendants, skills and passion probably acquired from a generation or two before her.  Our mental DNA and behavior may have been passed down for hundreds of generations. We don’t need hyperbaric chambers to transcend our lifespans; we need mindfulness about which parts of ourselves we’re programming into the future.

Tomorrow’s Ancestors

Setting down my empty cup, I realize that today I am someone’s ancestor — perhaps someone not yet born but destined to know me through the stories my children will tell, through the habits they unconsciously absorbed when I thought they weren’t paying attention. The greatest form of immortality isn’t avoiding death but creating life worth remembering, worth emulating, worth passing down like cherished recipes or heirloom furniture. The bluebonnets beyond my window will wither by next week’s heat, but their seeds ensure next spring’s revival — just as our words and deeds plant themselves in generations we’ll never meet.

Wisdom Distilled

Perhaps the true path to immortality isn’t found in laboratories or hyperbaric chambers, but in the conscious cultivation of our legacy. Science may eventually print new organs or transfer consciousness to younger vessels, but it cannot manufacture meaning or transmit values. (Or can it?) 

Our immortality project began the moment we entered this world and will continue long after we leave it — carried forward in the mannerisms of our grandchildren’s grandchildren, in stories told around future fires, in approaches to problems solved with wisdom accumulated across centuries. We live forever not by escaping death but by embracing the profound responsibility of life fully lived in full view of those who will carry us forward. 

The most potent immortality isn’t measured in extended years but in extended influence — the invisible inheritance we leave that shapes worlds we’ll never see.

And what about the lives we touch, those we influence — who may change forever, then influence the outcomes of their future offspring?

The real question isn’t whether you’ll live forever. You will. The question is: What version of you deserves that kind of immortality?

Eric Rhoads

The Florida humidity descended upon us like an overeager aunt at a family reunion — unwelcome, smothering, and absolutely unavoidable. This morning, the fog rolled in with theatrical flair, a dense curtain of moisture so thick you could practically spoon it into your coffee. My patio, normally offering panoramic views of the shoreline, now revealed nothing but ghostly outlines of what might be trees or might be strangers lurking with nefarious intent — impossible to tell in this atmospheric soup. The pelicans, those prehistoric-looking buffoons of the sky, pierce through the silence with their haunting croaks, invisible sky-beasts announcing their kingdom. “I’m here! I’m here!” they seem to crow, though nobody asked. And hiding behind this temporarily enchanting meteorological performance lurks the true villain of our coastal story — the oppressive heat that’s limbering up in the wings, ready to make us all regret our real estate choices for the next five months. Time to leave.

MASTERMINDS OR MADNESS?

About 15 years ago, I found myself in one of those suspicious motivational conferences, the kind where speakers pace stages like caged panthers and use words like “paradigm” and “synergy” with alarming frequency. The concept du jour? Masterminds. Though I’d encountered this in Napoleon Hill’s work (you know, those Depression-era self-help books your grandfather swore by), I’d dismissed it as some antiquated prosperity gospel. Then speaker Lee Milteer took the stage — a woman who could probably convince penguins to buy ice — and explained how we’re all essentially bumbling around in our own mental echo chambers. She pitched her group with a price tag that made my credit card whimper in advance. Against all logical judgment, like a moth to an expensive flame, I joined.

TERRIFYING TRUTH MIRRORS

The night before my first meeting, I tossed and turned like a novelist on a deadline. I desperately needed accountability, yet feared it with the intensity of someone about to have their search history read aloud. What masochistic impulse drives us to simultaneously crave and dread honest feedback? The meeting itself was a carnival mirror of revelations — I saw my own business flaws reflected in every other “successful” person there. Turns out those polished LinkedIn profiles and confident elevator pitches were elaborate facades hiding the same broken plumbing I was dealing with. The relief was refreshing, like finding out everyone is equally insecure and flawed.

UNEXPECTED BUSINESS THERAPY

A few months later, something shifted. Parts of my business began performing like they’d been secretly training for the Olympics. The group had become my business therapy — a place where my mental blockages were not only diagnosed but treated with the combined wisdom of people who’d already made the mistakes I was currently perfecting. After milking that first mastermind cow dry, I moved on to a marketing-focused group. Different players, same game — except this time the collective brainpower tackled my marketing strategy like the bees swarming around a honeycomb.

ADDICTION TO PERSPECTIVE

I hopped from group to group like someone channel-surfing for business wisdom. Five years here, five years there — each offering a different flavor of tough love and strategic insight. And though I’m still in a group I’ve loved for the past five-plus years, I succumbed to the inevitable entrepreneurial urge to create my own thing, launching an Art Business Mastery group for artists looking to transform their passion into profit. The irony wasn’t lost on me — I’d gone from reluctant participant to the very person inflicting accountability on others. Like an ex-smoker turned anti-tobacco crusader, I became evangelical about what I once feared.

BEAUTIFUL MENTAL DEMOLITIONS

There’s something intoxicating about watching someone’s limiting beliefs crumble before your eyes — like witnessing a controlled demolition of mental architecture that no longer serves them. As a coach, I’ve developed a particular fondness for being the wrecking ball, though I dress it up in kinder terminology for marketing purposes. The “aha” moments arrive like perfectly timed plot twists in a thriller — unexpected yet somehow inevitable. I’m not telling you this to sell you anything, but rather to emphasize the transformative power of allowing someone to call your bluff. True transformation is taking place already.

FRIENDSHIP CASTING CALLS

My friendship roster resembles a carefully curated theatrical ensemble — each player cast for specific emotional and intellectual contributions. Some friends exist purely for belly laughs, while others are painting buddies, and others serve as my personal truth-tellers, unafraid to point out when I’m starring in my own self-deception. 

Do you have someone who loves you enough to tell you when you’re being an absolute idiot? If not, you’re missing the most valuable relationship currency available. Curiously, I’ll accept hard truths from near-strangers that I’d bristle at coming from my own family — a psychological pretzel I’ve yet to fully unravel. I’m trying harder to listen to wise counsel from all corners of my life.

LONE WOLF DELUSIONS

Left to our own compromised brains, we humans are spectacular at getting things wrong. Our thinking isn’t just occasionally flawed — it’s a funhouse of distortions, biases, and self-serving narratives implanted by our parents, our teachers, and those who have innocently skewed our view of the world. Yet our egos, those fragile little creatures, recoil at correction like vampires from sunlight. We desperately need outside intervention, particularly in this era where social media algorithms function as yes-men on steroids, reinforcing whatever nonsense we already believe. Your mental diet requires as much scrutiny as what you put on your plate — possibly more, since nobody develops arterial blockages from consuming too many bad ideas (though society might).

DIGITAL DETOX REVELATION

Remember that cruise where I mentioned taking a social media break? What started as a vacation necessity has morphed into a three-week abstinence that I’m carrying like a sobriety chip. When the scrolling urge strikes, I redirect my twitching thumbs toward either a book or a paintbrush — substituting creation for consumption. The results have been nothing short of revelatory. My anxiety levels have plummeted like tech stocks in a bubble burst, or at least this past week’s stock market, and internal peace has moved in where constant outrage once resided. Most fascinating of all is how the gossip and “news” that friends still share now sounds like dispatches from a particularly unimaginative dystopian novel.

CLARITY THROUGH SEPARATION

Distance has transformed me into an anthropologist of modern communication — observing with detached fascination as others breathlessly repeat claims that would make even mediocre fiction editors demand revisions. The adage about repeated lies becoming truth hits differently when you step outside the repetition chamber. We’re all swimming in a sea of manipulated information, but most never realize they’re wet. Your sanity demands that you occasionally towel off and ask, “Is this actually true, or have I simply heard it so often that questioning somehow feels wrong?”

ACCOUNTABILITY TREASURE HUNT

What structures could you implement to receive regular reality checks?

Where might you source fresh perspectives that challenge rather than comfort? 

How might you discover those reputation-damaging blind spots that everyone sees but nobody mentions? 

Aging, that much-maligned, somewhat painful process, offers at least one gift — the gradual deflation of ego that allows wisdom to sneak in through previously guarded entrances. The young person’s certainty gives way to the middle-aged person’s questions, which I find infinitely more useful.

MENTAL GATEKEEPING BENEFITS

While many of my contemporaries’ brains calcified into human documentaries of outdated thinking or pure belligerence, I find myself increasingly receptive to new ideas — savoring the awakening that comes right before growth. This openness isn’t accidental but the result of vigorous mental gatekeeping. I’ve become ruthlessly selective about what narratives I permit to reside in my brain, which paradoxically creates more space for genuine exploration. The resulting clarity reveals just how masterfully we’re all influenced by forces with vested interests in our beliefs.

ANCIENT WISDOM ENDURES

“Seek and you shall find” — four words that pack the punch of a philosophical heavyweight. This isn’t just biblical wisdom but a cognitive principle with applications far beyond the Bible. When you actively pursue diverse perspectives, you inevitably discover new terrain — mental landscapes previously obscured by the fog of familiarity. 

You need not adopt every new idea that crosses your path, but allowing them temporary shelter in your thinking expands your intellectual real estate. A great awakening, like this morning’s dense fog that transformed familiar scenes into mysterious new worlds, fresh input can reveal beauty in what was previously mundane — if only we have the courage to step out into the mist.

Eric Rhoads