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The crackle of burning embers fills the living room — that primal sound that’s comforted humans since we first tamed fire. Wood smoke mingles with the lingering scent of pine needles from the Christmas tree and leftover scented Christmas candles. Outside and across the backyard at my art studio, the porch by the outdoor fireplace has become our gathering place for holiday moments, including that magical night when old painting friends reunited — brushes in one hand, Christmas cookies in the other, a model to pose,15 years of weekly painting nights warming us as much as the flames.

The Box in the Garage

This weekend we’ll be boxing decorations, each ornament wrapped and boxes labeled, stored on sagging garage shelves until next year’s resurrection. Time to remove the wreaths, the four-foot toy soldier, and the Christmas lights. It’s the ritual of transition — the careful packing away of one season to make room for whatever comes next. And we are entering a new season.

But there’s another project that’s been haunting me that finally got attention this week. Thousands of photos finally made it from old hard drives to my phone/cloud. Still waiting: more years, more boxes, slides from the pre-digital era when every shot cost money and seemed to matter more.

My father spent his last decade scanning every photo he’d ever taken in his life. Organized them. Uploaded them. What a gift — his entire visual history, our childhood, his childhood, all searchable, all saved. Now that torch passes to me. First Christmas decorations come down, then the garage that’s been ignored for a decade, and then, if there’s time, attack the photos.

When Pixels Become Portals

Here’s what they don’t tell you about old photos: They’re time machines with faulty steering.

One minute you’re organizing files, the next you’re reminiscing over a friend who’s gone, or tearing up seeing your kids as babies, their faces round with possibility. Old photos are reminders of good times and tough times, yet those tough times don’t seem as bad now. Looking at photos is bittersweet, especially as two of the kids won’t be here after Christmas. 

My son Berkeley is moving five hours away for his dream job next week. Brady is already on his own and supporting himself. Grace will stick around as she’s starting a new job next week. Bittersweet because I remember when I became independent and never again lived at home, and I know those kids may not be here for any length of time again. The house grows quieter. We celebrate their launches while mourning the noise.

The Fat Kid Still Lives Here

Then came the photos I wasn’t ready for. Elementary school. That overweight kid with greasy hair and thick glasses who didn’t have the strength to climb the rope. The gym teacher who used my struggles for cheap laughs. The locker room towel snaps. The whispers, the snickers, the pointing, the bullying. I had not seen those photos for several decades, and the moment I did, the pain returned. I quickly realized that the very same pain is stuck in my subconscious mind, which speaks up to prevent more pain when making decisions.

It was an “aha moment” for me, an epiphany of sorts. Years of being mocked as the weak fat kid explains why I have to fight myself daily to work out, and why I tend to overeat. The mocking undermines my confidence in certain situations, quietly in the dark corners of my brain.

Decades later, when strangers laugh in a restaurant, my first instinct? They’re laughing at me. My adult brain knows better. My child brain doesn’t care about logic, which explains why some goals never get achieved — because my self-esteem in some areas is rotten from my first 10 or 12 years.

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Author and hypnotist Jim Curtis explained it perfectly on Lewis Howes’ podcast last week: Our self-talk programs our subconscious mind, which drives 85% of our decisions. Those childhood experiences become our “I am” statements:

“I am fat.”
“I am not athletic.”
“I am the one they mock.”

Curious, I looked it up, and research from Stanford’s Carol Dweck backs this up — our mindset literally shapes our reality. Neuroscientist Dr. Joe Dispenza’s brain scan research shows how repeated thoughts create neural highways that become our default patterns. Negative thoughts and negative talk actually impact your outcomes.

My buddy Chris used to mock my positive mindset. “Be careful what you say,” I’d warn him when he’d complain about work killing him. “Your subconscious is listening.”

Turns out, it really is.

The “But” That Breaks Dreams

This week — this quiet week between Christmas and New Year’s — might be your most important of 2025. Because right now, you’re considering setting some goals or making New Year’s resolutions.

But here’s the trap: State any goal out loud. Listen quietly to what your brain says immediately after.

“I want to double my income … but I’m not smart enough.”
“I want to get in shape … but I’ve never been athletic.”
“I want to write that book … but who would read it?”
“I want to meet Elon Musk … but why would he care to hear anything I have to say?”
“I want to be successful enough to own my own jet … but I’ll never be rich enough.”

Those “buts” are assassins. They murder dreams before they draw their first breath.

The research states that you need to place yourself in your “I am” statements even if you don’t believe them. “I am a world-class artist.” “I am the president of my company.” “I am the owner of a Gulfstream jet.”

Rewriting the Operating System

We’ve all heard all the stuff about goal-setting, but the goal is only part of the story. There’s more that’s required. We need a strong reason why we want it. We need a deadline. We need to understand what we face so we know how to overcome those things, and we must absolutely reprogram those “but” comments that float into our consciousness when we set a goal.

It looks like this:

Goal: What you want
Purpose: Why it matters to you (make this huge)
Deadline: Exactly when it needs to be done (not “someday”)
Roadblocks: External obstacles to overcome
Beliefs: The internal saboteurs

That last one — that’s where the real work lives.

Because that overweight kid who couldn’t climb the rope? He was traumatized at 12. But why is a grown man still letting a 12-year-old’s pain run his life? He doesn’t have to, yet most of us are carrying far too much PERCEIVED trauma from our past.

The Paradox of Comfort in Pain

Here’s the sick psychology of it: Sometimes we stay broken because broken feels safe. I just learned that psychologists call it “repetition compulsion” — we recreate our wounds because familiar pain feels safer than unfamiliar healing. A misbehaving child gets more attention by misbehaving, and somehow, it feels comforting, even though he or she hates it.

But awareness is the first step toward rewiring.

What Matters Now

What are you still carrying from your childhood self that your adult self needs to release?

If, like me, you spent years with unrealized goals, it’s important to listen carefully to those voices in your head when you write down your goals and dreams. Take note, then work to reprogram and overcome those thoughts by trying to figure out what drove them in the first place. Then work to retrain your subconscious with rational adult thoughts instead of irrational childhood thoughts.

Unexamined beliefs are prison bars we build ourselves, and most of us don’t even realize we’re holding the key and have the ability to reprogram our past.

You probably have a little more time this week. What if you used it for self-examination? What are the old wounds that never healed? How are those wounds getting in the way of living your fullest life?

Here’s to burning what needs burning, keeping what needs keeping, reprogramming what needs to be changed, and knowing the difference.

Happy New Year.

Eric Rhoads

P.S. These three things would be a great start if you’re feeling undeserving or unqualified:
​
December 31 deadline is approaching for Winter Art Escape — a week in Hilton Head and Savannah, painting beside others, making friends who understand why we chase light and shadow. Details at winterartescape.com. 
​
January brings Watercolor Live — three days online with masters like Thomas Schaller, Shelley Prior, and Antonio Masi — 24 in total, teaching their secrets online. Whether you’re starting fresh or refining skills, this is your chance. Register at watercolorlive.com. 

​​May’s Plein Air Convention in the Ozarks — 1,200 artists, 80+ instructors, the world’s largest gathering of outdoor painters. Where else can you learn from and paint with dozens of top masters in one week? Lock in the lowest rates at pleinairconvention.com.

The high-pitched clanging of the flagpole cuts through the morning air like a metallic rooster, beating out a rhythm that echoes off the distant Adirondack shore. I’m wrapped in that perfect combination of pine-scented air and the kind of silence that only exists when you’re far enough from civilization that your phone has given up trying to find a signal.

My morning tea steams in the cool breeze — tea is a habit I picked up in China last week, though I’m pretty sure the monks who taught me didn’t intend for it to be consumed while wearing swim trunks in an Adirondack chair. The sun is already making promises about another scorcher, and I can feel my bare arms getting that familiar tingle that says, “You’re going to be diving into that lake by noon.”

This is where the magic happens — not in boardrooms or conference calls, but in these stolen moments when you’re forced to sit still and let your brain catch up with your life. It’s here, listening to the water lap against the dock, that I always have the same predictable post-vacation revelation: “I want fewer meetings, fewer commitments, and I want to think about my business, not run it.”

My assistant back home probably has this speech memorized by now. She knows that within a week, I’ll be right back on the merry-go-round, gripping those painted horses for dear life, convinced that if I let go, I’ll be flung into professional oblivion.

The Advisor’s Curse

My business advisor keeps telling me, “You do too much. Do less. Go deeper.” He’s absolutely right, of course. I’d probably be more successful if I just laser-focused on one thing. But here’s what he doesn’t understand — I’d rather be a scattered genius than a bored specialist. It might be all about the money for him, but it’s not for me. Adventure is my currency.

The thought of retirement makes me break out in hives. Picture this: All these brilliant ideas keep bubbling up in your brain, but instead of acting on them, you’re supposed to … what? Take up pottery? Learn to play shuffleboard? Watch Netflix until your eyes bleed? That’s not retirement, that’s intellectual purgatory.

I can’t imagine telling my brain, “Hey, thanks for all the creativity and ambition, but we’re done here. Time to focus on perfecting your golf swing and arguing about the weather.” My idea-energy would turn into frustrated energy, and frustrated energy in a retirement home is how you end up being that person who complains about the temperature of the pudding.

Chinese Wisdom Applied

Here’s something fascinating: In China, everyone retires at 60. Yet the elderly are revered as the wise ones. The great artists and professors I met don’t just disappear into some retirement-adjacent void. They become valued advisors, hanging around campus like intellectual emeritus ghosts, finally getting to work on the things they never had time for.

Meanwhile, in America, we’ve somehow convinced ourselves that 65 is the magic number when your brain expires and you’re supposed to hand over the keys to productivity. It’s like we’ve collectively agreed that wisdom and experience are cute but ultimately useless compared to the raw energy of youth.

But here’s the plot twist nobody talks about: While the young workforce has speed and stamina, the seasoned folks have something infinitely more valuable — the ability to spot patterns, avoid landmines, and understand that not every hill is worth dying on. You have to pick your battles. 

The Longevity Game

I know a guy — John Kluge, once the richest man in the world — who told me he didn’t really get rich until he was 70. His secret? “When my friends all retired and got bored playing tennis and golf, then died too young, I kept pitching.”

I kept pitching. Three words that should be tattooed on every eyelid.

Think about it: We spend decades accumulating knowledge, building relationships, and learning from our mistakes, only to voluntarily bench ourselves right when we’re hitting our intellectual prime. It’s like training for a marathon your entire life and then deciding to take a nap at mile 20.

The math is brutal — every decision I make now could result in a decade-long pursuit. I can’t afford to waste time on useless endeavors, but I also can’t afford to waste time sitting still. The window is closing, but it’s not closed yet.

The Retirement Conspiracy

Here’s where I put on my tinfoil hat for a second: What if retirement is just a cleverly disguised way to ensure that experienced, potentially disruptive voices are quietly shuffled off the playing field? Think about it. If you’re bored, disengaged, and focused on your lawn care, you’re not exactly going to be challenging the status quo or competing for resources.

I’m not saying there’s a secret cabal plotting to neutralize senior citizens through forced leisure (though that would make an excellent Netflix series). But I am saying that a society that encourages its most experienced members to become professionally irrelevant might be missing out on some serious wisdom.

To my younger friends: That slower-moving person in your meeting might not have your energy, but they probably have pattern recognition that would make AI jealous. To my older friends: Your rocking chair is not a throne, and your TV remote is not a scepter. Try staying relevant so you can keep up with the 30-year-olds.

The Spectacle Factor

Life is supposed to be spectacular. Not spectacular in the Instagram-worthy, look-at-my-avocado-toast way, but spectacular in the holy-cow-I-can’t-believe-I-get-to-exist-in-this-universe way.

We’ve somehow convinced ourselves that the natural progression is: work hard, achieve some stuff, then gracefully fade into comfortable irrelevance. But what if that’s completely backward? What if the real adventure begins when you finally have enough wisdom to know what’s actually worth pursuing?

I’m not advocating for becoming a workaholic septuagenarian (though if that’s your thing, more power to you). I’m advocating for rejecting the notion that your best days are behind you just because your knees creak a little more than they used to.

The Final Pitch

Too many young lives end too early. The time you waste might be the only time you get. And I refuse to believe that the grand plan involves us slowly transitioning from dynamic humans to furniture that occasionally comments on the weather. When you were young, did you actually dream about growing up, working for a while, then sitting in an overstuffed recliner all day watching the news for 10 years till they carry you out?

So here’s my challenge: Instead of asking, “When can I retire?” ask, “What impossible thing do I want to accomplish next?” Instead of planning your exit strategy, plan your next adventure. Instead of winding down, what if you wound up? Maybe you’re only telling yourself you’re tired because you’re bored and depressed (there, I said it, now I’ll get angry emails).

The flagpole is still clanging as I write this from the dock. It’s a rhythm that echoes off distant shores, a beat that suggests movement, persistence, and the refusal to stand still just because the wind is blowing.

The question isn’t whether you’ll eventually have to let go of the merry-go-round. The question is: What will you do with all that momentum when you finally decide to jump off?

Eric Rhoads

PS #2: Picture this: You’re standing in a grove of golden maples, paintbrush in hand, surrounded by the most spectacular fall colors nature has to offer. The air is crisp, your canvas is alive with autumn’s fire, and you’re sharing this magical moment with fellow artists who quickly become lifelong friends. This isn’t just a dream — it’s my Fall Color Week retreat in the Midwest’s premier autumn destination on Lake Michigan. For one incredible week, we’ll paint together from sunrise to sunset, explore hidden scenic gems, and create art that captures the fleeting beauty of fall. After hosting dozens of these retreats, I can promise you this: The memories, friendships, and artistic growth you’ll experience will last far beyond the changing leaves. Join us at www.FallColorWeek.com

The morning breeze carries the scent of salt and sea oats through my screened porch, mingling with the rich aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. A brown pelican glides past, wings spread wide, barely skimming the waves. The rhythmic sound of surf provides a gentle backbeat to the cheerful chaos of shore birds arguing over their breakfast finds. Just another Sunday morning on Florida’s East Coast, where nature’s theater plays out against a backdrop of cotton-candy clouds and cerulean skies.

The neighborhoodʼs starting to wake up. I can see the neighbor next door is already tending to her hibiscus, their bright red blooms a stark contrast to the sandy soil. Her grandson zips past on his bike, the playing cards in his spokes creating that familiar rat-a-tat-tat that takes me back to my own childhood in Indiana. I feel blessed that I had a great childhood, but it’s probably not as good for a lot of kids today.

A Trip to Chicago

When I was 11, my buddy and I hopped a three-hour train to Chicago from our small town in Indiana. Just two kids with some Christmas-shopping money and a crude map of the city. We walked miles from the train station into the Chicago Loop, wandered through Marshall Field and Company, and made it home with our Christmas presents intact. No phones. No hovering parents. Our parents weren’t worried sick — it was just another adventure in a time when kids could be kids.

These days, that story makes people gasp. “You did what?” they’ll ask, eyes wide with disbelief. And I get it. I was the same way with my own children — hovering at the end of the driveway until the school bus disappeared around the corner, living in constant fear of seeing their faces on milk cartons. We traded freedom for safety, adventure for security.

Strangers Among Us

So many of us have become so transient that we don’t know our neighbors. We moved to one place where the neighbors never introduced themselves for over a year. Yet when we moved to Texas, we had three casseroles and plates of cookies on the day we moved in. These gestures make such a difference.

But sitting here, watching local kids zip around the street on their bikes, I’m reminded that pockets of that old way of life still exist. In small towns across America, in tight-knit neighborhoods like this one, where people still bring casseroles to new neighbors and check on each other when they’re under the weather.

The pelican makes another pass, this time successfully snagging a fish from the waves. Nature’s reminder that some things don’t change — community, connection, the need to look out for one another. Whether it’s sharing fish with your flock or sharing cookies with your neighbors, we’re all in this together.

Staying Connected

A couple of weeks ago, during a brief cold snap (yes, we get those in Florida), a neighbor brought us soup. Not because we were sick, but because “it’s soup weather, and I made extra.” That’s the kind of community my father talked about during the Great Depression — people helping people, just because that’s what good people do. If you needed something, you knew you could rely on your neighbors. Though these days asking to borrow an egg is like asking for a gold bar, it’s important to find excuses to stay connected.

Is Social Media Social?

It’s easy to get discouraged by the endless stream of negativity on our screens. Social media shows us the worst of humanity on repeat, making us forget about the best parts. But here’s the thing — we can choose to live differently. We can choose to be the neighbor who brings the soup, who watches the kids ride their bikes, who creates the community we crave. It starts by putting yourself out there, getting to know your neighbors and local shop owners. 

Deep Investment

What if we were all more generous, thinking less about ourselves and thinking more about others? Not because we want something, but because we just want to be neighborly. What if we got out more, interacted more, and were the first to make an effort to get to know the neighbors? What if we spent less time doom scrolling and more time invested with our community?

Feeling Grateful

This morning, as I sip my coffee and watch the sun climb higher over the water, I’m grateful for this little pocket of the world where children still play freely and neighbors still hold block parties. It’s not perfect — nothing is — but it’s real. It’s a community, and it renews my faith in humanity.

While chatting across the fence, our neighbor invited us to a birthday party for her husband next week, and on the other side, I wandered through the gate into my neighbor’s garage to see his progress on his 1960s muscle car — which he has taken apart — and he’s beaming with the joy of his project. Sometimes it feels good just to stand around and shoot the breeze. It helps us feel connected.

Carly Simon Was Right

And just like that, I’m reminded that the good old days aren’t gone — they’re happening right now, if we choose to create them. These are the good old days. All it takes is opening our doors, sharing what we have, and remembering that we’re all in this together, one cup of coffee, or soup, one neighbor at a time.

As the local kids ride by, playing cards in their spokes are louder now, a chorus of childhood joy. The pelican soars overhead, heading home to its own community. And me? I’m right where I need to be, in this moment, in this place, building the kind of world I want to live in — one neighbor at a time.

Eric Rhoads

P.S. It’s almost like magic when you make up your mind to learn something. Years ago, my dad wanted to learn about a certain type of investing, so he found the world’s leading expert, befriended him, and invited him to visit him at the lake. They cooked something up, and the guy moved in for the summer and they worked together every day for three months. Within three months, my dad was also one of the leading experts in that topic. 

That concept led me to the idea of teaching people to paint with the world’s leading experts. At my Adirondack event, two people painted well right out of the box, though they had never done it before. I learned that in both cases, they had watched a lot of my videos over and over. Though they were not learning in person, video can have the same impact. That’s why I’m so driven to capture the biggest names: so the world can have their minds forever and they can train more people than they ever could in person. 

If you want to learn anything, make up your mind, devote the time, and you’ll master it. 

The other way we’re doing this is by creating online events. These events are immersive, and the magic of immersion is that you can ramp up fast by devoting a concentrated amount of time. 

For instance, if you decided you wanted to learn pastel, you could set aside four eight-hour days for instruction from a top master, and focus on pastel all day. At the end of those four days, you could have a clear understanding of the concepts, because of the time and repetition. Will you be a master after four days? Nope. That takes decades. But you’ll have ramped up fast and you’ll understand the core principles, and then you just need to practice. Then, a year later, if you do it again, you’ll be way ahead, and you’ll understand concepts you did not understand before.

We do four events a year. Each is four days, and each is designed to immerse you to help you learn fast. Thousands of people have learned to paint for the first time when they did not believe they could, and thousands of others have elevated themselves by devoting four days a year, and, in some cases, four days several times a year. 

The other thing I find fascinating is that I learn faster when I’m forced out of my routine and comfort zone. For instance, I’ve been an oil painter most of my painting life, and I had no desire to learn other mediums like pastel or watercolor, because I still have not mastered oil, which is a lifetime of work. Yet when I started these online conferences, I felt the need to practice what I preach, so I studied at Watercolor Live and Pastel Live, and in both cases, it had a positive effect.

Not only was I learning something new, which was invigorating, my brain was constantly asking, “How can I apply this technique to oils?” The result was that I was reinvigorated, and I learned new things I could apply to other things. And the best part is that I discovered that I now want to do different mediums when I’m in different moods and want different effects. 

My next four-day event is Pastel Live, which is coming up this August. It features master pastel painters, each of whom do things differently, and who paint in different styles. It’s phenomenal to see the outcomes people get from attending. It’s a great entry into art for those of you who want to learn for the first time. And a great way to capture a lot of information from great artists and put it in your brain. 

I’ll be hosting and hope to see you there. PastelLive.com

Eric Rhoads

PS: Never in my life have I seen so much strife, so much conflict, so much polarization over the state of our country. You cannot solve it on the 4th of July, but you can destroy relationships by trying to change the minds of those around you. Before you open your mouth with a beer-induced disagreement, remember, these are people we love, who we want with us again next year. Keep it civilized. Have some fun. Change the world on a different day and celebrate the freedom we still have.

PS 2: Do you remember that feeling you got as a kid when you were lying on the floor coloring, feeling about as happy as you could?

Do you remember someone admiring your work and putting it up on the fridge for all to see?

I loved that feeling, but lost it somewhere along the way. But it was rekindled when I was about 40, with my first art lessons. Even though I had moments of frustration because my hand could not do what my brain had in mind, I still was in a state of joy making art.

One of the reasons I do what I do is because I love seeing people light up when they realize they can create art, even after they have told themselves they don’t have the talent required.

One of the best and easiest ways to learn art is to start with pastels, which you use kinda like crayons … pick a color and lay it down on the paper. It’s a great medium for newbies, and it’s something you can do your whole life. Pastel gives you a lot of flexibility, some brilliant, intense color (more intense than any other kind of painting), and you don’t have to learn about brushes, oils, and cleaners. It’s as simple as stick-to-hand-to-paper. (I’ve posted a couple of pastel paintings I love below.)

You may have heard me say I can teach anyone to paint. It’s true. Even those who don’t believe it themselves. Because painting is a process, not requiring talent. (Talent comes later, when you want to get to the highest levels, and talent is really just lots of experience and time painting.)

Take some time for yourself this August to attend Pastel Live online. You’ll never regret it. And take our Essential Techniques Day first. Pastel Live is four total days of top artists teaching techniques in different styles and approaches to pastel. And it is not much more than a dinner out with friends. But unlike that dinner, this will provide you with joy for a lifetime. In fact, if you attend and don’t feel you got your money’s worth after the first day, let us know and we will refund 100% of your money.

I encourage you to sign up now. Pastel Live, August 17-19, Essential Techniques Day August 16. Save up to $600 here.

Have you ever been somewhere so quiet, you can hear only a slight ring in your ears? As I walked through our old lake house, it was so quiet, my steps were amplified across the wooden floor. When the door slammed behind me as I entered the old octagonal screened porch (built in 1894), the slam startled me because there was no other noise. No water lapping, no boat sounds, no birds tweeting or loons looning. It truly is the sound of silence as the lake is enveloped in fog, so thick I can’t see more than darkness across to the other shore. It’s just me, alone with my thoughts.

A Caring Artist

Last week after one of my daily shows, I was talking to artist Gabriel Stockton about a problem that needed to be solved with an obstinate person who was being difficult. He said, “I just speak light, and I look for gold in every person. I speak love, and beauty.” He then told me that his goal is to do this with his children. “Imagine how much confidence they will get if we stop speaking about their flaws and start speaking about the gold in them.”

I immediately flashed back to a seminar exercise from some years ago: “Reach out to three people every day and tell them something nice about themselves. Then sit back and see what happens.”

You already know what happens. People love to hear how much they are appreciated, how good they are. And, if you do it enough, they want to live up to it. 

The Other Side of the Coin

The opposite is also true. If you’re always pointing out people’s flaws, they don’t feel good about themselves. And, if it seems to be the only way to get attention, will they act out by doing bad, instead of good? 

Yes, But…

Naysayers may argue that people need correction, they need to know where they stand. I don’t disagree, but what if you wrap it in gold? Years ago I was taught to find something wonderful about a person to start that conversation. Then deal with any issues, and then find other things to make them feel good about themselves. I guess you could call it a gold sandwich (with poop in the middle).

A Good Listener

Years ago I met a man who became one of my oldest and dearest friends. I would sit in his office and talk with him for a couple of hours, and I’d leave feeling really great about myself. It took me a while to realize that he rarely talked. He was truly interested in me, and he only spoke to ask more questions. “What a great conversation,” I’d tell myself, when in reality, it was me doing all the talking.

It’s All About Me

Someone I know pointed out that at cocktail parties, no one ever asks about her — all people want to do is talk about themselves. My response: If you want to have great conversations, ask people questions about themselves, and they will like you more. But you won’t get to talk about yourself much. (Though we all love it when someone is truly interested.)

This is about speaking gold. 

How much gold are you speaking? 

Are you dominating conversations, or are you truly interested in others?

Are you interrupting people, stepping on their words so you can insert your thoughts, or are you listening with intent to hear and understand?

Are you helping people get the recognition they think they deserve, or are you looking for ways to make yourself feel better by tearing them down?

How would your life change if you focused on speaking gold to everyone in your life … family, kids, grandkids, friends, co-workers?

I’m not suggesting being insincere or being the person who tells people what they want to hear to get something out of them (we all experience that). But being someone truly interested.

A friend on the lake complimented my son Berkeley last week, saying, “He listens with his kind eyes. He truly is interested.” 

Will you try it for a week? 

My guess is that everyone will feel better about themselves, feel better about you, and you’ll get more bees with sincere honey than insincere lemons. And imagine how others will be lifted up with your intent to speak gold.

Eric Rhoads

PS: As we age, we develop, we grow and learn, and hopefully become better humans over time. Life is a series of micro-corrections, and one goal is to get better at speaking gold.

What about you?

Twenty-five years ago I did a speech about 25 things to be more successful. Out of the blue this week, someone I do not know contacted me and told me she had my list of 25 things from that speech posted on her wall, that she read it frequently, and that it helped her change her life. She contacted me because she recently moved and misplaced my list. She asked me to send it to her again because it was so helpful to her. I scoured my hard drives and e-mails with no success. So I told her that not only did I not know where to find it, I probably have changed so much that I’d have a different list of things today. This of course got me thinking about what those 25 things might be. I’m still thinking about it.

One thing I would say today is that success cannot be defined by anyone other than you. We spend too much time focused on the success others tell us we should chase. At one time I may have defined success by the things I had accumulated. Once I accumulated many of those things, and I realized they did not make me happy. 

One thing that makes me very happy, and that would be in my top 25 today, would be that there is real gold in focusing your life on helping others. It’s pretty hard to feel pity for yourself when you are spending your life making the lives of others better. 

The other thing I’d add to my list would be the incredible satisfaction you get when you are stretching your brain. They say most billionaires read two books a week. Once I became obsessed with learning, I became more interested in myself (and hopefully others), less bored, and more invigorated. For instance, I’m obsessed with growth as a painter. Getting good isn’t enough; getting to higher levels is gold to me. And learning things I’d known nothing about has brought me great joy.

For instance, because of the pandemic, we launched online conferences in watercolor, pastel, and some other subjects. I primarily paint in oils, but because I was the host, I attended these events, and because I felt obligated to make sure I was practicing what I preach, I discovered how much I love watercolors and pastels, how much they have made me better even in my oil painting, and how I now feel more confident because I can do more than just one thing. 

Tomorrow, I’ll leave the Adirondacks, return to our soundstage in Austin, and on Wednesday I’ll begin hosting the Beginner/Refresher day of our Pastel Live online event for hundreds of people —  bigger than ever.

If you want to get out of your comfort zone and learn to paint, or try something new, pastel is the perfect place to start because it’s like crayons for adults, only with professional materials. I have engaged the very top pastel artists in the world to teach, and we have attendees and faculty from several countries.

But tonight at midnight is the last chance to capture the current price. After midnight it goes up substantially. Sign up. You’ll not regret it, and if you do regret it, just ask by the end of day one and I’ll refund your money. 

Also, I had three last-minute cancellations for New Zealand, and I just filled two of them. I can fit a couple more people in for this trip of a lifetime. If you already have a passport, we still have time to get flights. Simply go to www.paintingnewzealand.com.