The angry sound of a trillion BBs is hitting the old metal roof of this Texas ranch house as a thunderburst opens up overhead, dumping a tsunami of water so vast it will flood all the nearby rivers in minutes. Here, the Texas Hill Country stretches in gentle waves of limestone and cedar, vineyards catching early light like strings of jewels draped across the landscape. A hawk circles overhead, its cry echoing off the hills as it navigates thunderheads the size of skyscrapers. Last weekend’s drive through these rolling hills still lingers — the old farmhouses weathered by decades of sun, the way light plays across the land at golden hour. It’s not Tuscany, but maybe that’s exactly the point.

Italy’s Siren Song

Three weeks since returning, and Italy still inhabits my bloodstream like a fever I can’t break. Florence calls with the voice of every Renaissance master who ever mixed pigment on a worn wooden palette — and I can’t get it out of my head.

My right brain — the creative me, the dreamer, the one who loses hours drowning in a single Caravaggio — refuses to let go. I can still smell the turpentine of ancient studios, hear the scratch of charcoal on paper from my lesson at Studio Ten, see afternoon light pouring through magnificent windows onto marble floors worn smooth by centuries of artistic pilgrims.

The Florence Academy of Art represents everything my creative soul is starving for: three years of intensive training, daily immersion in techniques refined over generations, the simple luxury of showing up each morning with nothing on my mind but becoming better. Not managing. Not building. Just becoming.

The Texas Chains

Texas holds me with different chains entirely — golden ones, perhaps, but chains nonetheless. My left brain — practical, responsible, annoyingly logical — keeps running the numbers. The empire I’ve built over decades sits here, rooted in this soil like those ancient live oaks that refuse to be moved. Employees depend on me. Millions trust and rely on me showing up.

More than that, my work transforms lives. I don’t just teach painting techniques; I help people discover who they might become. I help them live their dreams and find their tribe. It’s not merely a living — it’s a legacy. How do you abandon something that gives others the very transformation you’re desperately seeking for yourself?

The Ghost of What Might Have Been

Memory is a particular kind of torturer. Fifteen years ago, after selling our San Francisco-area house, I floated the idea to my wife: What if we raised the kids in Italy? What if I spent three or four years at the Academy while they grew up speaking Italian, eating real gelato, and understanding that the world extends beyond the American suburbs? She seemed on board. The kids would have thrived. I was ready. She was warming to the idea.

Then Pooter the dog got cancer, and everything derailed. Life got complicated. We moved to Austin on a whim, the kids got established in schools and friendships, and leaving would have been disruptive. Then somehow 15 years evaporated like morning mist burning off the hills, and that window slammed shut while I wasn’t watching.

Now I kick myself with the particular venom reserved for roads not taken. Fifteen years. Gone. If I wait another 15…

When Dreams Collide

Two dreams collide in my chest like continental plates grinding against each other, creating earthquakes in my soul. Can both exist? The romantic in me wants to believe in miracles of time management: Wake at 4 a.m. to work for a couple of hours and do meetings, head to school at 8, study art in Florence all day until 7, work the business and homework until midnight, sleep five hours, repeat. The realist knows that sounds less like ambition and more like a scheduled breakdown. Would I last a semester? A year? Would exhaustion destroy both dreams instead of fulfilling either?

The Mathematics of Impact

Multiplication matters more than any single painting I might ever create. That’s what the practical voice whispers when I’m brutally honest. If I stay here, keep building — I can touch exponentially more lives. Train millions more artists. One person studying in Florence is addition. Training others to teach and transform? That’s multiplication. But does that math mean my own dreams have to die on the altar of service?

I recall Richard Schmid telling me of his dilemma. “I could be a brilliant artist or a brilliant concert pianist. I wanted to be both, but I knew I could only do one well.”

The Retirement Lie

Some cheerfully suggest retirement as the solution, as if I’m suddenly going to transform into someone who retires, quits working, and heads to Florence with my RV. That’s not happening. I’ve seen what happens to driven people who stop driving — they park permanently. It’s like putting regular gas in a body that runs on jet fuel. 

The Betrayal of Romance

What if Florence is a fantasy I’ve polished so bright it bears no resemblance to reality? What if I get there and discover three years of intensive training doesn’t deliver the transformation I’ve imagined? Or worse — what if it does, and then I face an entirely new conflict: abandon my carefully built business to pursue this newfound artistic mastery, or try to merge them, creating yet another impossible balancing act?

The Distance Between Dreams

An Italian family visiting Texas might feel exactly what I feel walking through Florence. The romance isn’t in the place — it’s in the distance from our daily lives and the difference from what our day-to-day surroundings look like. They might stand in my Hill Country at sunset and think, “This is what I’ve been missing. This simplicity. This space. These wide-open skies.” Meanwhile, I’m longing for their narrow cobblestone streets and Renaissance light.

We always want what we don’t have. But sometimes, just sometimes, that wanting is telling us something true.

The False Binary

Experts would say I’m manufacturing a false choice. That I’m creating binary thinking as a defense mechanism — it’s easier to say “this OR that” than to do the harder work of finding “this AND that.” But what if some choices really are binary? What if some dreams require all of you, not just the leftover pieces?

The Artist’s Answer

The artists I most admire would tell me something different: Stop talking and start doing. Pick one. Any one. Because the only guaranteed failure is spending another 15 years debating which dreams deserve to live while all of them slowly die.

The Space Between

But here’s what the voice of hard-won experience whispers: Conflicting priorities aren’t problems to solve. They’re tensions to manage. The pull between creation and multiplication, between personal mastery and collective impact, between the romance of Florence and the reality of Texas — maybe that tension is where the real art happens.

Not in choosing one over the other, but in living creatively within the space between them. Or maybe that’s just another excuse.

Testing the Waters

What if I started drawing every single morning, right here, before the day’s demands arrive? What if I tested the brutal schedule now, at home — eight hours of art study daily, life drawing locally, getting up at 4 and working until midnight? What if I scheduled one month next year — just one — to study somewhere, anywhere, with no guilt attached?

What if instead of treating this as an all-or-nothing proposition, I treated it as an experiment in living?

The Deathbed Test

Here’s what I know with absolute certainty: On my deathbed, I won’t regret the business I built or the lives I changed. But I will regret the art I never attempted, the skills I never developed, the version of myself I never met because I was too busy being practical. That regret will burn hotter than any success will shine.

The Window Opens

I’m thankful to be fully alive, healthy, and with choices. The kids are grown and launched. College is paid for. The business runs smoother than it ever has when I disappear for weeks. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe it’s exactly the right time. Maybe this is the window I’ve been waiting for, and I’m just too scared to climb through it.

Maybe the romance isn’t in Florence or Texas at all. It’s in finally having the courage to stop choosing and start doing. If it’s important enough to be, it will become a priority. Or I’ll find another excuse.

Your Turn to Choose

If you’re reading this and nodding because you too have a dream gathering dust while you do the responsible thing — stop nodding and start planning. Not someday. Not after you retire. Not when the timing is perfect. The timing will never be perfect. Life will always get in the way.

What’s one small step toward that dream you could take this week? Not the whole dream — just a step. Call it research. Call it exploration. Call it foolishness if you must. But take it. Because 15 years from now, you want to be someone who tried, not someone who almost did.

I’ve already started life drawing, and I’m exploring art programs. It’s not Florence yet, but it’s movement toward my dream. Movement is everything.

The Courage Question

My friend Cesar Santos, one of the most accomplished classical artists alive, burned every bridge behind him, sold his house, moved to Florence, and changed his painting style entirely, putting his entire income at risk to follow new dreams. This took tremendous courage and doubled my respect for him.

Two women I met at the Academy, after raising kids and being caregivers for everyone else, decided it was their turn. They moved to Florence to study art. It took tremendous courage and unbridled passion. I admire this kind of courage and wonder if I have it in me.

What dreams do you have that require you to muster that same courage?

Letting go of comfort requires tremendous bravery. Moving out of our comfort zones to take risks with unknown consequences. Are you ready to let go and get uncomfortable?

Or will you be like me, writing about it 15 years from now, still wondering?

Your Dreams Can’t Wait — Neither Should You.

Eric Rhoads

Is it my imagination, or is there a hint of apple cider floating in this crisp fall air?

Yesterday’s drive from Chicago to Door County, Wisconsin, transported me back to a childhood paradise. The harvested cornfields, roadside pumpkin stands, and orchards heavy with autumn fruit stirred something deep within me. Fall has always been my favorite season, and Wisconsin — with its sprawling farms — feels like the landscape of my childhood, where every breath carried the promise of possibility.

But here’s what struck me most: That apple cider scent didn’t just smell good. It triggered a flood of memories, taking me instantly back to childhood orchard visits, sticky fingers wrapped around warm cider cups, and the safety of family traditions.

Mental Time Travel

We all carry these invisible triggers. The taste of black grapes transports me to my grandmother’s garden arbor. The opening notes of “Have You Seen Her” by the Chi-Lites still choke me up, instantly returning me to that intersection as 17-year-old me drove my dad’s ’67 GTO, tears streaming, after my girlfriend Corky broke my heart.

These flashbacks can be beautiful gifts — or invisible prisons.

For decades, I let one devastating moment define my choices. Getting fired from the company I founded hurt so deeply that I stopped taking the very risks that had built my success. One traumatic experience became a cage I carried everywhere, limiting what I believed possible.

Here’s what I’ve learned: Our childhood brains couldn’t process what our adult minds can easily handle, and pain can be revisited to let go.

Rewriting Our Stories

That joke my father made at my expense during a family camping trip? It haunted me for years. But when I revisited it with my adult perspective, I realized it was harmless teasing between a father and son. The wound I’d been nursing was entirely of my own creation.

Sometimes our “truths” are just old stories we’ve never questioned.

I recently watched a friend discover this firsthand. For 30 years, he’d avoided a particular food, convinced he was allergic and would “break out in hives.” When I gently suggested he try it again, he looked at me like I’d suggested skydiving without a parachute. But he did it — and loved it. “I can’t believe I missed eating this all these years,” he said.

How many opportunities are we missing because we’re still operating from old, unexamined beliefs?

From Limitation to Liberation

As one of the two heaviest kids in elementary school, gym class became my nightmare. The humiliation of not being able to climb the rope or keep up with exercises made me physically sick. I started skipping school entirely rather than face that shame.

That trauma kept me heavy most of my life. The thought of exercise triggered those old feelings of inadequacy and embarrassment, though I did not realize it. But once I reframed exercise as a celebration of what my body could achieve rather than a reminder of what it couldn’t, everything changed.

As author S.M. Brain Coach writes in Subconscious Mind Reprogramming: “Making a pivotal decision, dedication to the new path is crucial. Commitment isn’t just about intention, it’s about action.”

The Frequency of Possibility

Ron, Corky’s father, gave me a gift that changed my trajectory. “She’s worried about you because you’re so negative all the time,” he told me, then taught me the power of positive thinking. That conversation became so transformational that I dedicated my first book to him.

Research now confirms what Ron intuitively knew: Positive thoughts operate on a different frequency and attract positive experiences. When we consciously shift from limiting to uplifting beliefs, we literally reprogram our minds.

Your Personal Inventory

Here’s my challenge to you: What moments are still holding you back? Where do you carry wounds that your adult brain could easily heal?

Start building your list:

• What experiences still make you avoid certain situations?
• What voices from the past still whisper limitations in your ear?
• What opportunities are you not seeing because old stories are blocking your vision?

Then create affirmations that are the exact opposite of those limiting beliefs. Read them when you wake up and before you sleep. As Brain Coach suggests: “Regularly count your blessings; this positive reinforcement can overwrite negative subconscious patterns.”

The Practice of Gratitude

When I learned to pray, I was taught to begin every prayer with gratitude for what I already have. Thousands of years later, neuroscience confirms this ancient wisdom: gratitude literally rewires our brains for possibility.

Your scars don’t define you — they can become your strength. When you transform pain into wisdom, every wound becomes a launch pad for freedom.

You have everything to gain and nothing to lose. What story are you ready to rewrite?

Eric Rhoads

It’s peaceful, sitting lakeside in the Adirondacks, on the dock and staring aimlessly at the morning mist rising off the water and pondering what I’m grateful for as I think about some of the wonderful moments in my life. Today, before the sun started to think about painting the sky pink, the loons acted as my alarm, starting the day with their haunting loooooon call across the lake. It’s not just a sound — it’s a two-way conversation that’s been going on for thousands of years, since long before we humans showed up.

That call echoes off the mountains and settles right into my bones, making me realize that I’m just a guest here, and not even a particularly important one in the grand plan.

Like clockwork, as if someone said, “Cue the birds,” a giant bald eagle comes swooping in overhead like he owns the place — which, let’s be honest, he pretty much does. Wings spread wide as my mother’s old ’55 Buick, riding the thermals with the kind of effortless grace that makes you wonder why we humans work so hard at everything.

All summer long, we’ve been watching two baby loons ride around on their mama’s backs like tiny feathered passengers on the world’s most elegant water taxi. They started out as little puffballs that could barely keep their heads up, and now they’re almost ready to strike out on their own. Soon they’ll be practicing takeoffs and landings, and we pray the eagles don’t intercept them for a morning snack.

Reliving the ’80s
Though I’m not one to live in the past, I often think about some of the great moments in my lifetime, like the years between 1980-86, when I had my first radio station. The excitement was uncontrollable when we finally made the move. Our radio station had outgrown its Provo roots, and Salt Lake City — 45 minutes north — beckoned with its larger market and greater possibilities. Our signal now blanketed the Salt Lake Valley, but the ad agencies wouldn’t bite. To them, we were still outsiders, a Provo station playing dress-up in the big city. The daily commute to meet potential advertisers was becoming unsustainable. Something had to change.

Real estate prices in downtown Salt Lake hit me like a cold mountain wind. The prime locations were laughably out of reach. So I did what desperate entrepreneurs do — I got creative. I found a forgotten corner of the city, a neighborhood where most people quickened their pace and avoided eye contact. The old Crain plumbing warehouse stood there like a monument to better days, its upper 8th floor mostly vacant because tenants felt the area was too dangerous. It was all we could afford.

Being a Pioneer?
We transformed that empty space into vibrant studios, and when construction was complete, we threw a party that shook the rafters. With audacious confidence, we declared this forgotten district would become the city’s new media hub. Amazingly, people believed us. Within months, a celebrated restaurant opened on our ground floor. A major advertising agency relocated down the street. Like dominoes falling in reverse — building up instead of knocking down — the neighborhood transformed. Creative agencies, media companies, and art galleries flourished where decay once reigned. We had unknowingly wielded the cultural influence of a popular radio station to resurrect an entire district. Sometimes being first isn’t about being brave; it’s about having no other choice.

But the greatest treasure wasn’t the real estate transformation — it was the people I discovered in that old warehouse.

Three Guys and a New Tenant
Three guys shared a cramped office down the hall, fellow pioneers in our urban frontier. Henry was bootstrapping a direct mail company with more ambition than capital. Brent worked as a freelance TV and radio engineer, his desk perpetually buried under circuit boards and cable spools. And then there was Jackson, a former television news anchor who’d traded the teleprompter for entrepreneurship.

We became inseparable, our after-work conversations stretching long into the evening. Henry eventually vanished into the entrepreneurial ether — we lost touch years ago. Brent came to work for me, met his future wife at our station, then moved away. He’s since passed on, leaving memories of laughter and late-night technical miracles. But Jackson — Jackson remains a lifelong friend, one of those rare connections where months of silence dissolve instantly into hours of conversation.

The King of Conversation
Everyone who left Jackson’s office said the same thing: “What an incredible conversationalist! I feel so energized after talking with him.” This universal reaction made me pay attention. I studied Jackson like an anthropologist observing a master craftsman. Here’s what I discovered: Jackson wasn’t a conversationalist at all — he was an excavator of stories. He asked questions with genuine curiosity. He listened with his whole being. He reflected back what he heard, making people feel truly seen. In a world full of broadcasters, Jackson was a receiver, and that made all the difference.

The Art We’ve Lost
We all hunger to be heard. It’s a fundamental human need, as basic as shelter or warmth. Yet somewhere along the way, many of us — myself painfully included — become addicted to transmitting instead of receiving. Just last week at Boathouse Yoga, I met a woman and immediately found common ground. But instead of exploring her story, I hijacked the conversation with my own tales. The awareness hit me like cold water: I was so desperate to be understood that I’d forgotten to understand. I could tell by her eyes I’d lost her. But it was too late. 

The Bible speaks to this ancient wisdom: “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak” (James 1:19), and “A fool finds no pleasure in understanding but delights in airing their own opinions” (Proverbs 18:2). These aren’t just religious platitudes — they’re blueprints for human connection.

I’ve catalogued some conversation killers over the years:

The Jumper interrupts mid-sentence, unable to contain their own thoughts. I worked with one who would cut me off 30 times in a single hour, talking 95% of the time while actively not listening the other 5%. They’re so busy formulating their next statement that your words bounce off them like rain off a windshield.

The Droner delivers monologues without pause, without breath, without mercy. One colleague was so committed to his soliloquies that I’d put him on speakerphone, offer an occasional “uh-huh,” and complete entire projects while he talked. The tragedy? He never noticed.

The Judge weaponizes every conversation into a tribunal. “That’s a terrible idea.” “You shouldn’t do that.” “What you’re doing is wrong.” They distribute unsolicited verdicts like a court clerk handing out subpoenas. After encounters with Judges, I find myself taking alternate routes at parties, treating them like social land mines.

The Negative finds fault in everything you say, never encourages, always looks for problems.

Tony Robbins once observed that “We’re all just scared little boys and girls,” and that truth reverberates through every failed conversation. I started life painfully shy, avoiding eye contact out of fear, inadvertently signaling lack of interest when I desperately craved connection. My father’s only communication training came when I was 8: “Firm handshake, look ’em in the eye, say hello with confidence.” Yet he was a master — making instant friends, remembering details from conversations years past, making everyone feel like the most important person in the room.

The Transformation
I’m rewriting my conversational DNA as we speak. Though my ego craves the spotlight, I’m learning to dim my own lights so others can shine. My new practice: Listen fully, regardless of duration. Probe deeper. Resist the urge to redirect toward my favorite subject — myself. Approach each conversation with love, recognizing that if someone needs to speak, I need to listen.

This isn’t about self-denial; it’s about discovering that real connection happens in the space between words, in the questions we ask rather than the stories we tell. When my mind races ahead to solutions, seeing the answer 10 steps before the speaker arrives there, I’m learning to guide rather than rescue, to walk alongside rather than charge ahead.

Can a bird change its markings? We’re about to find out.

My new mantra: Become a gentle spirit — more loving, understanding, supportive. At work, I’m painfully practicing silence, letting others speak first, resisting the gravitational pull toward conversational dominance and the need to solve every problem. What if we all listened more, interrupted less, avoided monologues, and cared more about hearing than being heard? The paradox is beautiful: By creating space for others, we often find ourselves truly heard for the first time.

The Best Speaker I Ever Saw

I once saw a speaker on stage and said, “I want to be like him. Brave, confident, and in control on stage.” I approached him after and asked him how to learn what he knew, which resulted in my spending five life-changing days in New York and writing a very big check I could not afford to write. The end result was remarkable, as I came to understand many of my issues and made directional changes, along with challenging myself and putting myself in situations that made me uncomfortable. I only wish I had discovered it sooner. If only we could be taught these skills in school.

I changed then, and I can change now. But it’s never easy. Being comfortable and not changing is easy.

How are you doing in the listening department? 

Are you listening, jumping to conclusions, judging, dominating the conversation, being negative, or over-talking? 

I’ve been guilty of them all, and I”m going to try to train my brain to be less of what I was and more of what I should be. Won’t you join me?

Sometimes the most profound journeys begin not with speaking, but with finally learning to listen.

Eric Rhoads

The sunlight dapples through the palm fronds outside my Florida window, casting intricate shadows across the deck in the back yard where I sit with my coffee this morning. A gentle breeze carries the scent of jasmine and salt air, while a pair of sandhill cranes strut purposefully across my boat dock. The distant rumble of thunder promises an afternoon shower, but for now, the sky remains a brilliant blue, unmarred by clouds. The beauty of this tropical morning truly awakens my senses. And soon our winter here will be over and we’ll return to a new adventure.

Haircut Wisdom

The recent passing of a world-famous celebrity was met with “I don’t know who that is” by the 30-year-old who was cutting my hair. “He was a huge star, he did all these amazing movies.” Yet the response was, “Never seen him, never heard of him.” My realization from that moment is that legacy may not matter. No matter how famous, there is no guarantee you’ll be remembered. Sure, there will be film buffs who remember him for a generation, and his IMDb profile or Wikipedia page will live on forever. But as I think about all the moments in this man’s impressive life, where he must have been striving to get discovered, to get film roles, and to get fame, it has all gone up in smoke because he outlived most of his contemporaries, and the next generation who knows him — my generation — is the next to fade into oblivion. And the one interview I did see about him said, “He was grumpy on set because he demanded perfection.” Some legacy.

So why bother? I did not know Gene Hackman, but lots of my friends knew him because he was an artist. Many people I know painted or took classes with him. It’s hard to know if acting in films was “just a job” or was an obsession. Did he do it to become famous, or did he become famous because he was so good at it?

The Great Seduction

Fame is a seductive beast. I’ve never experienced much of it, other than a few fleeting moments in my career. I define fame as “You can’t go anywhere in the world without someone recognizing you.” My acquaintance Pete Rose, the baseball player, was addicted to it. He could not get enough. One day at lunch for a business meeting, we were interrupted at least 50 times for autographs and photos. He loved it. But when he asked for another meeting because we couldn’t get our meeting done and time ran out, I insisted on a private room. It seemed like a good idea, but then we were interrupted at least 10 times by his employees asking him to sign baseballs. He needed constant attention. Isn’t that what drives the desire for fame?

Becoming a Somebody

I once went to a radio broadcast industry conference and felt like a nobody. No one knew me, no one paid attention to me, I had nothing to offer anyone. So, I told myself, next year at this time, I’ll be well known and be a somebody. By implanting that into my subconscious, I found myself buying a failing radio industry trade magazine, writing weekly editorials, and grabbing attention with my controversial thoughts. A year later, everyone knew who I was, wanted my attention, spent time with me, and invited me to the best parties.

A Confession

If I’m being honest here, and a little vulnerable, I think some form of attention or fame is what drives me. I don’t understand why; I got lots of attention from a loving family as a child. But I built my first career as a radio DJ, and one of my life goals has been to act in a major motion picture. The only acting I’ve done was high school theater and a student film in San Francisco. On radio, people knew my voice and my name in the towns I worked in for short periods of time. And it was a lot of fun to hang out and meet lots of famous musicians (though most of them at the time were drug addicts, and I didn’t do drugs).

A New Spotlight 

Almost five years ago, when I started my daily YouTube show, Art School Live, it was like going back to my DJ days. Only this time, I was on camera. And because of high viewership during COVID, I had a couple of moments where I got unexpected attention. (Now at 17.5 million views!) Once in Mexico, walking down the street, a stranger approached and said they watched me daily; once in a restaurant in Austin, someone interrupted my dinner for a photo and autograph. Maybe a couple of other times, one a few weeks ago, during my Winter Art Escape artists’ retreat. It’s hardly fame. It’s just a couple of people who like what I do in a very small playground.

My Happy Place

I have to admit that I love going to an event and being acknowledged on stage or being asked to speak. My favorite thing is to be on stage at the Plein Air Convention, or anywhere, pulling stunts and having fun. In fact, I might like it a little too much, and I don’t understand why I have this need to be noticed. Am I a narcissist? Insane perhaps?

Am I Crazy?

I recently asked an AI about these feelings, wondering if there was something wrong with me. The response suggested a mix of normal human traits — a desire for recognition, some mild narcissistic tendencies (not pathological), and existential questioning about the meaning of effort and legacy. The AI pointed out that these traits might be amplified by career choices and cultural influences rather than representing any deep-seated flaw.

Inner Conflict?

There is a tug of war going on with my life. This goes back to my desire to live with humility and not centered on my ego. But the conflict I face is whether or not legacy matters. Should I do things to be remembered? It’s unlikely, so it may not be worth the effort. Even my books won’t be noticed in 50 years. 

Deeper Truth

Perhaps what matters isn’t being remembered forever, but rather the impact we have in the present moment. Gene Hackman may not be known to every young hairstylist, but his work touched countless lives during its time. The joy, insight, or entertainment he provided was real, even if temporary. Maybe our obsession with leaving a permanent mark is missing the point entirely.

Being Authentic No Matter What

What if instead of chasing fame as a form of immortality, we focused on creating authentic work that matters now? What if the measure of success isn’t being remembered by strangers a century from now, but how deeply and meaningfully we connect with those around us today? Perhaps the greatest legacy isn’t a name etched in stone, but the ripples of positive influence that continue long after we’re gone, even if no one remembers where they began. Investing in raising great kids is probably the highest form of legacy. 

Advice for Fame Junkies

If you find yourself drawn to the need for recognition, here’s what I’ve learned: Examine your motives honestly. Ask yourself if you’re seeking attention to fill a void or because you genuinely have something valuable to share. Channel your desire for recognition into creating work that serves others, not just your ego. Enjoy the spotlight when it comes, but don’t let it define your worth. Cultivate sources of internal validation that don’t depend on applause. And remember that even the most famous people are eventually forgotten — so focus on living meaningfully today rather than being remembered tomorrow.

There is no doubt that ego has driven a lot of my decisions throughout my life. And because of it, I’ll be able to look back at some accomplishments that perhaps changed the lives of others. The influence on others is more meaningful than stroking one’s own ego.

Is Pride OK?

I think we all want to be proud of what we accomplish. Many of us live for those moments when others share how much they value us. While others, including some of my family members, never want to be in the spotlight, because they’ve been with me when dinner was interrupted by a well-meaning follower. Yet pride can take you down if you let it. Manage it carefully.

The Right Purpose

There isn’t a right or wrong, yet I felt the need to understand my motivation and what causes it. And we would have no monumental buildings or bridges, technology, or great sports teams if people were not driven by recognition. There is nothing wrong with it — unless it turns you into a narcissist who cares about no one else and has no empathy. I’ve met “stars” I would not want to spend an hour with because they are so self-focused or so unpleasant, and there are others I’d love to spend a few days painting with. Two days painting with Tony Bennett were delightful. He was humble, and interested. On the other hand, an encounter with a world famous actor (sorry, no names) revealed this supposed nice guy to be a nasty person. 

Perhaps there’s wisdom in that — creating not for legacy or fame, but because it’s what we’re called to do. The beauty we create and the lives we touch — that matters now, in this moment. And maybe that’s enough.

Eric Rhoads

The rumble of rockets soaring through the air and the sight of giant balls of fire in the sky never seem to lose their excitement here on the Space Coast of Florida, where I’m spending much of the winter. They say a big one will make your teeth chatter, something I’ve yet to experience, but a massive rumble and sonic boom are felt with each launch, just 11 miles from my dock. With two or three rockets going up a week, we set our alarms, even in the middle of the night, to experience each launch. So far there have been 10 this year that we’ve been able to view from our dock.

The Rockets’ Red Glare

When friends come to visit, we love watching their jaws drop in amazement when we visit the Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral. The size and scope of these machines is mind-boggling, as is the tech behind them, and it takes thousands of people to make them fly. Clearly Elon Musk and his team possess something special, doing things others have been unable to accomplish, like landing a spaceship (which we had the pleasure of watching this week) or reusing ships that previously would have become space trash. Of course, later this year NASA’s Artemis mission will take man to the moon again. 

One Small Step

When I was a kid, I watched the moon landing from the National Boy Scout Jamboree at the national park in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. I was a reporter for a local Indiana news outlet and won a prize as the most ambitious scout reporter there. I thought by now we would be living on the moon. But at the moment, the closest I can get is to do my own moonshot.

Have you considered your moonshot?

Entrepreneur Peter Diamandis has famously coined the term “moonshot,” meaning the big thing you do in your life that seems impossible to achieve. 

I’ve always thought that if you’re going to live a life, live it with gusto, try to do things that significantly change the world, and live boldly in pursuit of big ideas that seem impossible.

What does YOUR moonshot look like?

Tap into your big dreams, the things you always thought you would do. Then ask yourself, “What about that frightens me? What feels unobtainable?” Then ask yourself, “What else could I do to make it even more spectacular?”

Break It Into Chunks

They always say the way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. If you take your giant goal and break it down into small, easier-to-obtain chunks and manageable objectives, it’s easier to track your progress and not be overwhelmed. Sometimes moonshot ideas are so big we can’t do it alone. Who else could you work with who shares a similar vision? Collaboration is a great way to get things done more quickly. 

Expect Things to Turn Out Differently

Whatever you set out to do, it won’t end up exactly the way you envision it. So keep an open mind, and don’t be so set in your ways that you miss better ways of accomplishing your goal. You have to be willing to experiment, and to adapt when you hit obstacles. Expect and embrace obstacles as growth.

Be a Risk-Taker

Not everyone can go to the moon. Only those who are willing to take the risks get the giant rewards.  And stay committed — never give up. I have a moonshot project I’ve been working on for five years. I keep getting kicked in the teeth and discouraged, and I am not letting go. I will find a way. You can too.

Your moonshot does not have to be about space. It’s about ideas so big they seem impossible, ideas that change your world and hopefully the world around you.

What big idea do you want to pursue?

What’s stopping you?

I want to remind you of something I said last week: My father started a company at 70, another at 80, and another at 90. All were moonshots for him. He never told himself he was too old. You’re never too old or too young. Dream big, and execute.

YOU CAN DO THIS!

Eric Rhoads

PS: In spite of Covid being over, our online events designed for Covid times are still getting massive worldwide audiences and continue to be strong. My next one is about landscape and plein air painting, called PleinAir Live, and it’s coming in March. I’ll see you there.

A flood of orange light splashes on the red Adirondack chairs surrounding the fire pit behind my Texas ranch house, making them glow orange-red. The bright green grasses are also glowing in orange. 

Sitting on the red cushions of my creaking old wicker couch, the warmth of the sun rapidly removes the cool from the overnight air, making for a perfect short-sleeves-and-shorts day in the middle of winter. On days like this, I still love Austin — but when the cold comes, I fully intend to escape to get closer to the equator. Yes, I’ll admit I’m becoming a snowbird, running as fast as possible from the cold, which I no longer care to endure — though I’ll put up with it until the holiday passes. It feels more like Christmas when it’s cold or snowing. But after Christmas, I’m ready for the tropics.

Celebrating Together

Today, all the kids are back home, college breaks have started, and I’ll proudly sit in the congregation at church singing Christmas carols with my kids at my side. I live for moments like this.

Christmas Cards

When I was a kid, we were all encouraged to sign a stack of family Christmas cards. I’d write “Merry Xmas” and sign my name, until my mom saw it and said, “We don’t ever want to X out Christ from Christmas.” Whenever she abbreviated it, she would write “Merry C-Mas.” I still do this today, though I’ve long given up on sending Christmas cards. I still love receiving them, and I especially love reading people’s Christmas letters. As hokey as they can be, you can’t get every detail from Facebook, and they somehow give me that Christmas feeling..

The Great Tree Debate

Right after Thanksgiving, we went out and got a tree. Every year there is a debate about whether it’s time to get a fake one. After all, real trees are more work — watering them, and sweeping up when the needles fall, plus later we have to drag it out and put it by the road for pickup. It doesn’t seem very environmentally responsible, either. But when we tried to sell the concept again this year, the kids reminded us that the trees “are grown to be cut down, and they then turn them into mulch. It’s ecologically sound.” So once again, we resisted plastic needles. 

Creating Cherished Memories

I could have insisted on a fake tree, but part of Christmas is about making memories for the family so they can cherish Christmases past. Traditions are important. Christmas ornaments the kids have put up over the years, and ones from our early marriage and our own childhoods, always go on the tree. The box of ornaments is really a memory stimulator. I wish I had my parents’ ornament boxes — they would be filled with treasures and memories.

Danger! Daddy on a Ladder

The day after Thanksgiving, I got up on a ladder, hung the Christmas lights around the eaves of the house, and put the decorations out front. Though the kids have not acknowledged it, it’s expected and part of what we do at Christmas. Our traditions include a tacky plastic angel with  fiber optic wings that my mother gave to the kids. The other tacky thing is my favorite singing lamppost — it sounded like Bing Crosby. (It used to sing carols, but that part no longer works.) We also put out the tinfoil 1960s Christmas tree from our early marriage. We have three nutcrackers and stockings by the fireplace; when I decided to put the nutcracker statues in a different place, I was reminded, “They don’t go there, they go here.”

The Order of Decorations

Nothing can be out of place. A ceramic nativity scene made by my wife’s grandmother goes by the front door every year. The Christmas village goes on top of the grand piano. The dining table is decorated exactly as it has been the last 20 years, and once in a while we’ll add something new, trying to start a new tradition. We often hang stockings for dearly departed dogs, too, but there were too many stockings to put them all out this year. 

Do you have favorite decorations from your childhood? Mine was a little white plastic church music box that would play “Silent Night” as the doors opened. I think one of my cousins ended up with this treasure. 

New Traditions

Recently, when I was offering marriage advice, I mentioned that families carry their family culture with them at Christmas, and it’s important to honor your mate’s traditions that differ from your own. But I failed to mention that it’s also critical to create your own family traditions that will live on through your kids.

What family traditions have you created?

Speaking from the Stairs

On Christmas morning, before we open our gifts, the kids take turns reading Luke 2 through 20, the story of Christmas, just like I had to do while sitting on the old oak stairs at my grandparents’ house on West Wildwood Street back in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I used to hate it, because I was eager to open presents, but then it became tradition, and I’ve done it my entire life. My kids too used to hate it because, like me, they wanted to open presents, but it was a great reminder to put God first in our lives. We even have a seat at the dining table for Jesus. We put out a plate and everything (He doesn’t eat much).

Christmas Is a Story of Faith

On occasion, if I mention anything about my faith, someone will reach out and ask me to stop doing it and suggest that I will lose them as a reader. My intent is never to offend, and I’m not trying to change anyone. I want to be respectful of everyone. I usually respond by simply saying, “This is who I am, I mean no harm to you or others. I respect you, I hope you’ll respect me.” I even say “Merry Christmas.” 

In 1 Peter (ERV) it says, “You may suffer for doing right … don’t be afraid of the people who make you suffer; don’t be worried, but keep Christ holy in your hearts. Always be ready to answer anyone who asks you to explain the hope you have, but answer them in a gentle way with respect … then people will see the good way you live as followers of Christ, and those who say bad things about you will be ashamed of what they said. It is better to suffer for doing good than for doing wrong.“ 

What I Want for Christmas

When asked what I want for Christmas, I cannot think of a single thing. And rather than buying me something, I’d rather everyone spend that money on someone who needs something. A kid who needs a toy or a sweater, a mom who needs groceries, a dad who needs a little help. This is a time when many people need more than they have. Rather than spending excessive amounts on things we don’t need, let’s spend excessive amounts to make Christmas special for someone else. 

The Gift of Self-Esteem

I was talking to a homeless man one day who had been on the streets for over 12 years. He was shocked that I talked to him, because most people turn their eyes away. He said something I’ll never forget. “I’m here by choice, because I made bad choices. But it’s not just money or food I want. If you can’t or don’t want to give, I don’t expect you to do it, but don’t look away. It does me a world of good when someone looks me in the eye, gives me a smile and a wave. People forget that we need human connections too. You’ll smile at a stranger walking down the street, but you won’t smile at someone who looks different, is in rough clothes, or is dirty. We need that smile more than you know.”

That Christmas Feeling

There is a spirit about Christmas. Things slow for many of us, and as we get closer to the day, we start thinking about the people we love and care about, and it makes us gentler and kinder. But there are others who don’t see that, who might be unloved and needing to feel the Christmas spirit. And for those of us who give only at Christmas, don’t forget that others need that spirit year round.

I hope tomorrow is the most special Christmas ever. Embrace those you love, remind everyone about those who can’t be with you, and pay tribute to the value of family, no matter how insane they may be. The bond of family is deeper than any other. 

Eric Rhoads

PS: This message is spread worldwide to over 90 countries and hundreds of thousands of people. I’m honored that you open your e-mail every Sunday and thankful for all of you who forward messages to friends and family.

Only a tiny fraction of you live near me in Austin, Texas, but we’ll be at one of five services today (probably the 11 a.m.) at Austin Ridge, our home church. We hope to see you there. You can find it online at www.AustinRidge.org.

The smell of fresh-baked gingerbread cookies fills the air and the colors of Christmas are reflecting off the wall as the lights blink on the tree, as though to the beat of the Christmas carols playing quietly in the background. Seeing the tree, breathing its scent, and hearing the music fills my heart, probably because of so many wonderful Christmas memories. 

Already, some wrapped boxes have appeared under the tree; no longer do the boxes have to suddenly appear in the morning after Santa leaves packages while we sleep. No more long nights of assembling bicycles, no more wrapping marathons. Now that the kids are college age, we can take our time and do things at our own speed rather than assisting the man in the red suit. Yet we still put out cookies and milk for Santa, and the nativity set remains lit all night, highlighting the Christmas star. 

An Unexpected Tragedy

Yet there is a dark cloud looming in my heart, since I heard that a good painter friend took his own life last week. I’m not sure exactly how to process it because this was a man as jolly and spirit-filled as Santa, always fun to be around, always thoughtful, and ever encouraging. He was as brilliant an artist as any. Apparently he had been suffering from severe depression.

Part of what bothers me is that I missed it. 

I had not been in touch for a while. We last spoke during a telethon where I co-hosted and he was a guest. Speaking beforehand, he seemed as normal and happy and engaging as ever. There were no outward clues. 

Looking Back

I’m kicking myself for several reasons … the first being that I never had a chance to say goodbye and let him know how much he had impacted my life and career, and how much I cared for him. Of course I could not have known, so I kick myself for not having taken the time to touch base recently. I suppose maybe there is something I could have said or done that might have made a difference.

I’m sure others who were even closer are asking themselves the same thing. Yet we cannot beat ourselves up. 

A Dark Place

The reality is that depression is a very dark place, which most of us, myself included, do not fully understand. Anyone can be affected by depression, and it’s not a sign of weakness. It’s a medical condition to be overcome.

So what are we to do?

I think it starts by being an active listener, and not ignoring things people say that might be clues that they are reaching out for help but don’t know how to ask. We should not judge or overreact, but simply listen. Sometimes people just need to be heard. Be empathetic. And, of course, encourage anyone who seems to be troubled to seek professional help. 

My heart goes out to my friend’s wife, family, and close friends. He had more friends than most of us will ever have, and I guarantee there will be lines out the door at his memorial service.

The Emotional Trigger

As you and I enter the holiday period, it never hurts to remember that the holiday is an emotional trigger for many of the people we know and love. I can remember being alone one Christmas and wishing someone would invite me to something. I did not feel comfortable asking because, well, Christmas is family time.

Who can you include in your celebrations this Christmas?

How can you help others this Christmas?

Who needs to hear from you?

This event is also a stark reminder to me that I need to reach out and talk to my friends more often. The downtime at Christmas is a good time to start touching base. And it never hurts to ask, “How are you doing, really? Is there any way I can help you?”

When I was a kid, my dad invited Raymond McPeak to every Christmas dinner. I never knew any different; he was always there, Christmas and Thanksgiving, until the day he died. My dad met him in the Merchant Marine when serving in the Philippines, and though Raymond was 20 years older, they became great friends, probably because they were from the same town. He lived alone and came home from his job at the Post Office to an empty house every day of his life. He was never married, and was never in a relationship. He was simply a loner. And my guess is that he looked forward to every major holiday. My grandmother did the same thing; her widowed friends were always at her house every Christmas. 

Our job is to take care of each other, to care for those who don’t have what we have.

Now you have your marching orders for this Christmas. Give someone something to look forward to. And listen to them, carefully.

Eric Rhoads

Another great gift is the gift of art … giving someone lessons on how to become an artist. We have some wonderful holiday specials at www.painttube.tv.

Everything is blowing around … palm trees are bending, giant waves are crashing and spraying, wind is whistling, and the hurricane shutters are rattling loudly as a huge storm makes its way across the state. In the distance I can faintly see the towers at Cape Canaveral, and this week I’ve had the treat of watching rockets soar into space while the air around me vibrates.  

When I was a kid, I went to the 1965 New York World’s Fair, where we saw prototypes of Dick Tracy-style talking watches, flying cars, phones with TV screens so you could see the person you’re talking with, and robots who would do your work for you. We were told that one day TVs would hang on the wall like pictures. Rockets were something that happened annually, if we were lucky, and now rockets go up more than weekly. Now I can talk on my Apple Watch just like Dick Tracy, and my phone is the communicator from Star Trek (the only thing missing is the ability to beam me up). I can talk to anyone in the world on my screen. Flying drone cars are available now, as are jetpacks so you can fly, and rockets are going up frequently to put satellites in so we can have high-speed Starlink Internet and TV anywhere in the world. AI robots can do a lot of our work for us, freeing up time. We are living in the future. 

High-Speed Change

The rate of change we’ve seen in the last five years is greater than any change we’ve seen in our lifetimes — greater than any time in history. What happens in the next five or 10 years will blow your mind. You and I have to be ready for an unknown future, which is very exciting but also a little intimidating. For instance, I went to a conference that said, “If you can live 10 more years, you’re likely to live 30 to 50 more years.” Imagine how that impacts our lives. I know people who know their great-grandchildren, but they might end up knowing another generation or two.

Resistance

When I mention such things, I’ve had people tell me they don’t want to live that long. But what if you could do it and be healthy, vibrant, relevant, happy, and have plenty of money? Google says someday you’ll be able to transfer your brain to a new 3D-printed body, eliminating death altogether. (That brings up lots of social discussions I’ll avoid for the moment.) But at bare minimum, tech has changed so much that even now, you can reverse aging with a simple supplement protocol that is proven to lengthen telomeres on your DNA strands, and within just one or two years from now, a person who is 70 could reverse to 65, then 60, then 55. All within a few years. Again, this isn’t science fiction, it’s today. 

Maybe today, thinking about the next 30 years is too overwhelming. But what about the next five or 10? 

Programmed to Assume Age Causes Problems

I was recently with an elderly couple who were experiencing some health issues, and when I asked about why that was happening, the answer was, “Well, of course it’s because of our age.” What I wanted to say (but resisted) was, “I know people 10 years older than you who are not having these problems.” Old age was blamed when the reality is that the culprit was lack of exercise, poor diet, and bad attitude. Of course we can’t control the expression of our predetermined genes, but we can slow it, or reverse it. Physically, I’m younger today than I was a year ago; I’ve actually reversed my aging by following that  protocol, and the result is that I’ve lost 40 pounds, I’m stronger with more muscle mass — stronger than I’ve probably ever been — and I have boundless amounts of energy. 

I’ll Take What I’m Given

I’m not sure I want to live forever, and I’m not even sure what age I’ll want to live to, and I know I can only control it up to a point. I know it’s ultimately in the hands of my Maker. But I love the idea of knowing grandkids, great-grandkids, and maybe more. My brother has his photo with his mother, his grandmother, his great-grandmother, and his great-great-grandmother. People used to live to meet five generations.

So now I’m faced with a new challenge … I have to plan for my future. How do I make enough to live several more decades? And what do I want my future life to look like? Do I want to do more of the same? Do I want to occupy my time with new things?

Get to Know the New You

Whether you’re 20 or 70, it’s a good practice to think about your future self and lay out a plan. If you’re 70 and vibrant, how do you remain vibrant and relevant and healthy? How do you get healthier and in better shape? As my friend Tom told me the other day, “My trainer asked me why I never worked out when I was younger so I could prevent the issues I’m having now, and I answered that I did not need it then; I could do everything I wanted to do. Now I can’t.”

If you’re 25, you want to make a plan to get where you want to be as rapidly as possible so you can begin living the life you dream of. The more you exercise and eat right now, the more you’re buying quality of life when you’re older.

Write a Letter

I like to start with a letter to myself: “Dear Future Eric.” For starters, I want to focus on the next decade, so my letter will address that. How do I want to define my next 10 years? Do I want to work? Paint every day? Play Pickleball? Start a couple of new businesses? Your letter can address the next two or five years, or the next 50. But things change so rapidly, I like starting with 10 at a time. 

Where am I now?

Where do I want to be?

What are the most important things I want to accomplish?

What are the things that bring the most meaning in my life, and what can I plan to make sure those things occur? 

Your letter should define what you want your life to look like so you know what to focus on, what goals to pursue.A Ship Adrift

According to Dr. Ben Hardy, a specialist in this field, research indicates that we tend not to understand how different our future selves will be from our current selves, because we don’t take the time to imagine a new, fresh future. Albert Einstein said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.”  But most of us take more time to plan dinner than we take to plan the next few years of our lives. And if you don’t make a plan, you’re a ship adrift at sea without a map, and you could end up in any port, or on the rocks. 

Reinvention Is Reinvigoration

When we reinvent, we bring new excitement into our lives, giving ourselves new energy and a better outlook. I watched my own father do this. 

When he was 60, he sold his business, reinvented himself, spent a year learning a new business, and then he launched it and ran it successfully for a decade. Then at 70, he sold that business and went a completely different direction, and did that for a decade. At 80, he did it again, and was actively doing it yet again when he died at 94. He never was one of those guys talking about the “good old days before he retired.” Instead, he retired, hated it, and then started a new business. When he got bored, or felt he had done all he could with it, he moved on to the next thing, then the next. As a result, his brain was pliable and sharp till his death. He even went to a Tony Robbins event at age 90 because he wanted to learn new things, and he left there with lots of new friends he stayed in contact with the rest of his life. 

Just because you are doing something today does not mean you have to do it forever. It’s your choice. But finding new things to add to your life will reinvigorate you.

What have you always wanted to do but could not do because of your condition or other restrictions?

What would you do if you did not have to worry about anyone else?

What would you do if you did not have to worry about money or paying a mortgage?

What do you catch yourself dreaming of?

What do you think about that you’re telling yourself isn’t possible?

Write Just Two Pages Today

Again, research shows that people dramatically underestimate how DIFFERENT their future self will be from their current self. Dr. Daniel Gilbert explains that this is because people don’t take the time to imagine their future selves. Pull out some paper and write two pages. On the first page, write all the ways you’re different from who you were 10 years ago. On the second page, write about where your future self could be, and where you want to be 10 years from now,  or what you want the next 10 years to look like. 

This may sound overwhelming, but it’s not. Have fun with it. Be playful. Be truthful with yourself. And don’t judge yourself. Don’t avoid writing something down just because your brain is telling you, “That will never happen.” Write it down anyway. Then once you have your list exactly where you want it to be, read it every day. Suddenly your rudder will steer you toward the future.

“Whatever the mind can conceive and believe, the mind can achieve.” —  Napoleon Hill 

It’s Groundhog Day

In my letter to myself, I’m not only addressing the things mentioned above, but asking, “What are the things I do on autopilot? What are the things I’ve done over and over as a routine? Do I still want to do those? Do I still want to show up at the same places, with the same people?” (In my case, I love the people I interact with.) There are things in my life that feel like Groundhog Day, and it’s time to move on. What about you?

Perhaps you’re happy where you are. Great. Do the assessment and letter anyway, because it never hurts to have reinforcement. But if you want to live a rich, full life, exactly the life you’ve designed, or better, find a quiet spot and write a couple of pages. Look at it a couple of days later, and adjust it as needed, and then make it your guide. You’ll thank me later.

Eric Rhoads

PS: I sent one of my kids and his friend to a Tony Robbins event in Dallas last weekend, and I’m already seeing transformation. I used to think TR was just a motivational speaker, but that’s not what he is at all. He presents valid research on techniques to improve your life, and it’s not the same drivel you hear elsewhere. I’ve been, I’ll go again, and one day, I’ll be onstage with him. Mark my words. If you want to kickstart your life, find a TR event and go. After you get over the sticker shock, do it anyway, because there is no better investment you can make in the rest of your life. 

PS2: As you know, I have been flitting around Europe both on business and some play. I wrote about it here. You’ll learn about one of the coolest things I’ve ever done in my life …  so simple, yet so meaningful to me.

PS 3: Do you know what is proven to lower your blood pressure, improve your attitude, remove your stress, and put a giant smile on your face? When I’m stressed, I go to my studio and paint, and because it’s using a different part of my brain, I forget I’m stressed. Every CEO, MD, lawyer, nurse, or anyone in a stressful job should do it. It has an amazing impact. And ANYONE can do it, and do it well. It’s not about talent, it’s a learned skill. (Maybe I should teach 10,000 people to do it from the stage at a TR event.) 🙂My next training is in January at WaterColorLive.com. It will change your life or I’ll refund your investment.