When we look toward the future, two voices compete for our attention. Fear tells us to run away. Curiosity invites us to step forward.
Fear whispers, “It’s too much. I can’t keep up. Better to stop trying.” Curiosity responds, “I don’t understand…yet. Let’s see what happens.”
Fear closes.
Curiosity opens.
Fear imagines disaster.
Curiosity imagines possibilities.
Fear isolates.
Curiosity connects.
The world is changing quickly. The pace can feel overwhelming. Many will react with fear. A curious spirit asks questions. It wonders what could be.
Curiosity doesn’t remove uncertainty but transforms how we deal with it. When we lead with curiosity, we move from paralysis to participation. We see the unknown as a chance to grow.
“Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.” – Marcus Aurelius
We already have the tools we need. Curiosity and our ability to learn. What we need is the courage to use them.
The glass slipper fits perfectly. The prince takes Cinderella’s hand. The castle doors swing open, and as the camera pans out over the kingdom, the narrator’s voice declares, “And they lived happily ever after.”
The end.
What comes next?
Did Cinderella and her prince travel the world together? Did they have children who drove them to the brink of exhaustion? Did she struggle to adjust to palace life? Did they face illness, loss, or financial strain? How did they support each other as they learned to build their life together?
“Happily ever after” is a blank canvas. It conjures a series of images in our head. Successes we dream of, milestones we hope to reach, adventures we’re planning, moments of pure joy we can almost taste.
For some, happily ever after is a corner office overlooking the city, business-class flights to international conferences, and coming home to a modern apartment where everything has its place.
For others, it’s Saturday morning pancakes with kids mixing the batter in a cloud of flour dust or teaching their daughter to ride a bike. Quiet evenings on the porch planning their next camping trip.
Still others may crave a life of endless travel, vagabonding from place to place, sampling cuisine from every corner of the world as they go.
There are as many versions of happiness and fulfilment as there are people.
Social media tries to curate our happiness by showing us picture-perfect moments. Engagement photos against stunning backdrops, vacation snapshots from exotic locations (often peering over two perfectly poured wine glasses on a balcony), career announcements celebrating promotions and new ventures.
These snippets of other people’s lives create a happiness catalog. A collection of achievements and experiences that can feel like requirements for a well-lived life.
We may start believing that fulfillment looks like someone else’s Instagram story, someone else’s LinkedIn update, someone else’s holiday letter.
Seeking fulfillment by following someone else’s template is always a fool’s errand.
Sure, be inspired by someone else’s success. Maybe borrow a travel idea, or try something new. But their world operates differently than ours. Their values, circumstances, and dreams belong uniquely to them.
What brings them deep satisfaction might leave us feeling empty. What fills our hearts might seem trivial to them.
True fulfillment can only come from our own perspectives, our own values, and our own definition of what makes us, and those we love, happiest.
Real “happily ever after” is wonderfully messy and beautifully imperfect. It blends all the goals and aspirations we have with all the compromises and adjustments we’ve made along the way.
Goals that seemed essential in our twenties might be irrelevant in our forties. The dreams we never imagined decades ago can suddenly become our life’s new mission.
This evolution reflects an ongoing process of learning who we are and what truly matters to us. Independent of what we thought we would want…or what others told us we should want.
Happily ever after lives in the ongoing appreciation of what we’ve built and who we’ve become. Our story matters because it’s still unfolding and it’s authentically ours. It doesn’t need to resemble the someone else’s highlight reel.
The glass slipper that fits you perfectly will look nothing like Cinderella’s. Maybe it’s a hiking boot, flip-flops, a running shoe, or something very formal, made of fancy leather…or no shoes at all.
You choose.
And that’s exactly as it should be.
Photo by Ella Heineman on Unsplash – because one of my greatest joys is making breakfast for my kids and grandkids on a Saturday morning…a wonderful part of my happily ever after.
We know about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and how our wants and desires are like a pyramid that goes from our basic needs up to our desire for self-actualization. The Pareto Principle reminds us that 80% of our results come from 20% of our efforts, helping us focus on what truly moves the needle. Saint Ignatius’s Spiritual Exercises guide us through discernment, teaching us to distinguish between what brings life and what drains it.
But there’s another framework worth considering: the evolution of what we consider important throughout our lives.
As kids, we know what’s most important. It usually revolves around attention, followed by winning at whatever we are doing, which we think will get us more of that attention we crave. Everything feels urgent. Every disappointment feels permanent. The world revolves around us, and that’s exactly as it should be for a child learning to navigate life.
Teenagers start to focus on freedom, independence, and figuring out what they’re going to do when they grow up (whatever that means). They often reject what their parents value. Sometimes for good reasons, sometimes solely because rebellion feels necessary for finding their own path. What matters most is breaking free from the constraints that feel suffocating, even when those constraints were designed to protect them.
As young adults, we’re getting started, establishing our independent life, our financial foundations, our career foundations…at least we’re trying to get these things established. We’re in acquisition mode: getting the job, the apartment (maybe a house), the relationship, the respect (something we crave more than attention at this stage). We often dismiss advice from older generations, convinced they don’t understand how different the world is now.
Then something interesting happens.
As the decades flow by, what was important a few years ago, isn’t. We start to think about how to serve others, help our kids flourish, help their kids flourish. The shift is gradual but profound. From getting to giving, from proving ourselves to improving the lives of others.
Major life events accelerate this evolution. A health scare makes us realize that all the success in the world doesn’t matter if we’re not here to enjoy the fruits of our labor. The birth of a child or grandchild suddenly makes legacy more important than achievement. The loss of a parent reminds us that time is finite, and relationships are irreplaceable.
Sometimes the shift happens more quietly. Earlier this week, two co-workers were discussing the NBA finals and asked me what I thought of Game 2. I had to admit that I haven’t followed basketball since the Magic Johnson era of the Lakers. As we talked, it became clear to me that I haven’t followed any sports—except for the Savannah Bananas baseball team’s shenanigans—in many years.
What captures my attention now? I’m drawn to watching people live their best lives in rural settings, building homesteads for themselves and their families. I find myself rooting for others to succeed in their chosen vocations, nothing more, nothing less. It’s not that sports became unimportant because they were bad. They just became less important than something else that feeds my soul more deeply.
As we get older, preserving our health, and the freedom that comes with it, moves toward the top of our priority list. Interesting how the freedom we sought as teenagers is still important to us in our senior years, but for different reasons. Then, we wanted freedom and thought we were ready for responsibility.
Now, we want freedom to focus on what truly matters. Freedom to be present for the people we love, freedom to contribute in meaningful ways, freedom from the noise that once seemed so important.
There’s a beautiful irony in how we often spend the first half of our lives accumulating things, achievements, and accolades, only to spend the second half learning to let go of what doesn’t serve us. We chase complexity when we’re young and value simplicity as we mature.
Questions worth considering:
– What would happen if we could skip ahead and see what our 70-year-old self considers important? What about our 80-year-old self? Would we make different choices today knowing what they know?
– Why do we have to learn the hard way that some of the things we chase don’t matter? Is there wisdom in the struggle, or are we just stubborn?
– How can we be more intentional about evolving our priorities on our terms instead of waiting for time to do it?
– What if we could honor the lessons each life stage provides without completely losing face and dismissing what came before?
The evolution of importance isn’t about getting it right or wrong at any particular stage. It’s recognizing that growth means what we value will shift.
That’s not a bug in the system. It’s a feature. The teenager’s desire for freedom isn’t foolish. It’s necessary for their development. The young adult’s focus on building a foundation isn’t shallow. It’s essential for future stability.
Perhaps the real wisdom comes in staying curious about what matters most. Knowing that the answer will keep evolving. And maybe, just maybe, we can learn to trust that each stage of life has something valuable to teach us about what’s truly important.
The key is staying awake to the lessons, even when they challenge what we thought we knew for certain.
When you watch a five-year-old, a ten-year-old, even a twelve-year-old create, you see what unfettered creative freedom really looks like. Whether it’s a drawing, a Lego tower, or a clay sculpture, they throw themselves into the process with joyous abandon. In their mind, they can see clearly what they’re making. They know why they’re making it. And there’s almost always a story behind it.
They aren’t self-conscious. They aren’t trying to impress anyone. Sure, they like to show their creations to parents, grandparents, and teachers. But their motivation isn’t just about approval. It’s about expression.
Most children are free from the baggage of expectation. They don’t wonder if what they’re making is good enough. And when they finish, they move right on to the next thing. Their self-worth isn’t tied to the outcome. The value of the work comes from their own perspective, not from what others think.
But around age thirteen (sometimes earlier) things change.
After years of chasing approval, learning the “right” way to do things, being graded and corrected by well-meaning adults, something fundamental happens. Their freedom to create without judgment slowly gets buried. Doubt takes root. Worry about what others might think starts to shape their process. Fear of looking foolish holds them back.
And as the years pass, it only gets worse.
Tell someone you’re going to take up oil painting, stained glass, sculpture, or any new creative pursuit as an adult, and they’ll likely have two reactions: a polite smile of encouragement, and quiet skepticism that anything worthwhile will ever come of it.
Starting something creative as an adult feels strange. It’s outside the bounds of what “normal” people do. It’s far easier to stay in line, avoid looking foolish, and sidestep the discomfort of being a beginner again.
But we are all beginners at birth. Even the rare prodigies had to take their first step (the one that happens long before we see the gifted 5-year-old who can play a piano concerto). For the rest of us, every new skill—whether it’s creative, practical, or professional—requires courage, repetition, failure, and patience.
I’ve learned that when I let go of expectations (not easy) and stop worrying about looking foolish (also not easy), the magic happens. With this new frame of reference, trying something new, something creative, or something unfamiliar, brings a new energy having nothing to do with the outcomes.
It doesn’t seek approval or chase productivity. It simply opens the door to wonder—something we often unlearn as we grow older.
I’m lucky. I get to spend time with my grandchildren, who remind me what fearless creativity looks like. They show me that learning and creating, and the fun we have along the way, are all that matters.
There’s a line in a Frank Sinatra song that asks if we’d like to, “…carry moonbeams home in a jar.” A crazy idea. Moonbeams can’t be contained or put in a jar, but their magic can be carried home just the same. What if we could carry home the kind of wonder and light that moonbeams represent?
Life throws challenges at us every day. Deadlines. Difficult conversations. The relentless tug-of-war between expectations and reality. Yet, amid the noise, we often stumble upon moments of beauty. Unexpected acts of kindness, moments of connection with strangers, or simply a sunrise or sunset that stops us in our tracks. These are moonbeams.
Have you ever met someone for the first time and felt their kindness so deeply that it stayed with you? Maybe it was a stranger who gave you directions with a smile, a colleague who truly listened, or someone who saw you struggling and extended their hand. These are glimpses of humanity’s greatness. Magic moments where we see the best of who we are reflected in someone else.
What if we made it our mission to carry that magic home with us?
It’s easy to bring home the worries of the day. Our frustrations, our stresses, our nagging self-doubt. But alongside these, we can also bring moonbeams: the small, bright moments of beauty, hope, and love that we encounter every day. We can share the wonder of a chance conversation, the joy of something new we learned, or the inspiration we felt when we saw someone overcoming adversity.
Carrying moonbeams is about being conscious of what we pass on to those we love. It’s about choosing to share curiosity instead of cynicism, gratitude instead of grumbling. It’s about being the explorer who brings back stories of the world’s beauty to share with those at home, inspiring them to see the magic in their own lives, too.
Imagine if we all carried moonbeams in our metaphorical jars. How much brighter would our homes, our communities, and our world become?
What if we could embrace the day with the motivated curiosity of an explorer. Purposely looking for the moonbeams—the fleeting magic of kindness, beauty, and connection.
Imagine carrying them home to share, not in jars, but in our words, our actions, and our presence.
Because moonbeams, once shared, have a way of multiplying.
Photo by me, capturing a “moonbeam” of a sunrise view outside my kitchen window the other day
Asking what if about your past is a waste of time. Asking what if about your future is tremendously productive. – Kevin Kelly
It’s easy to focus on what could have been, what you should have done, what someone did or didn’t do to you (or for you), and all the mistakes you’ve made.
It’s even easier to let all that stuff in the past dictate what you’ll do in the future. Our past has tons of built-in excuses. Excuses that help us stick with the status quo, protect us against taking new risks, prevent us from trying something new, or exploring where we’ve never been.
Our lizard brains love the barriers that the past can provide. Like a protective cocoon…one we never have to leave.
What if you choose your future without the limitations or excuses of your past?
That’s the harder and much more rewarding path. You might fail. You might be embarrassed. You’ll surely make new mistakes.
But you might succeed, and you’ll probably discover something you never knew you were seeking.
You can accept the lessons of your past as you drop the past from your thinking.
When was the last time you did something for the first time?
Did you take more than 30 seconds to answer that question?
What if you purposely pursue the surprises that come from diving headfirst into new experiences and adventures?
It’s time to find out.
Photo: My grandson, Charlie, boogie boarding for the first time (about 5 years ago). May we each experience the same joy when we’re trying something for the first time.
Sadness can find us with little or no effort…sometimes on a daily basis.
I see trees of green, red roses too. I see them bloom, for me and you. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
Sadness, defined as anything that’s the opposite of joy:
Emotional pain
Feelings of disadvantage
Loss
Despair
Grief
Anger
Helplessness
Disappointment
Sorrow
Frustration
Guilt
I see skies of blue,
And clouds of white.
The bright blessed day,
The dark sacred night.
And I think to myself,
What a wonderful world
Oddly, we sometimes seek out sadness for our own purposes. Maybe we need an excuse for not being the person we know we can be. Maybe we find comfort in burdening others with our pain.
The colors of the rainbow,
So pretty in the sky.
Are also on the faces,
Of people going by,
I see friends shaking hands.
Saying, “How do you do?”
They’re really saying,
“I love you”.
When sadness in its many forms pays a visit, we have two fundamental questions to ask ourselves:
What will we allow inside?
How long will we allow it to stay?
It’s easy to say that we get to decide. That doesn’t mean it’s easy to kick sadness out once it arrives for a visit.
I hear babies cry,
I watch them grow,
They’ll learn much more,
Than I’ll ever know.
What to do? Here’s a list that I have to remind myself of from time to time:
Tune your mind to find joy in the simple things
Seek out and cherish love in your life
Offer forgiveness to yourself and others
Share your time and attention with others
Seek opportunities to serve others first
Observe life with a sense of awe and gratitude.
Joy won’t find us the way sadness can. Joy only shows itself when we take action to greet it warmly with open arms and outstretched hands.
“Happiness is like a butterfly: the more you chase it, the more it will evade you, but if you notice the other things around you, it will gently come and sit on your shoulder.” -Henry David Thoreau
I saw a butterfly today while working outside. I didn’t pay much attention and continued doing my work.
For the next 2-3 minutes, that butterfly kept flitting by and finally landed on my shoulder (only for a few seconds before taking off and flying away).
Then, tonight I randomly saw this quote about happiness and butterflies from Thoreau.
I remember thinking how grateful I was to have that little butterfly land on me earlier today. I’m pretty sure everything else on my mind drifted away for that one quiet moment.
Happiness had gently come to sit on my shoulder.
Happiness is always within reach. If only we take the time to notice it with gratitude.
Today, I needed a reminder and I’m grateful that little butterfly was there to oblige.
When you can’t wait to explore, can’t wait to challenge, and can’t wait to learn…
Why do so many people avoid making a “mid-career” course change, avoid switching companies, jumping to new industries, starting their own company, or even avoid moving to a new department within the same company?
Fear.
They probably won’t admit it, but the fear shows in their “I can’t” phrases (excuses):
“I can’t afford to start at the bottom at this stage of my career.”
“The only thing I recognized at that company was the restroom sign. Everything else was foreign. I’ll never survive over there.”
“The learning curve is way too steep! I’m not a technical person anyway, so I’ll just stick it out in this department.”
“I may not like what I’m doing, but at least I know everything there is to know about this job. I’d have to start at ground zero over there.”
“I was surrounded by a bunch of kids just out of college. I can’t relate to them. I definitely don’t understand what they’re saying.”
What if the “I can’t” phrases were replaced with “I can’t wait!” phrases:
“I can’t wait to dig into a new industry!”
“I can’t wait to learn how these new machines work!”
“I can’t wait to exercise my curiosity again!”
“I can’t wait to forgive myself for not knowing everything!”
“I can’t wait to understand the perspectives of a new generation!”
“I can’t wait to grow and stretch!”
“I can’t wait to give myself permission to fail…every day!”
“I can’t wait to bring my experience and talents into this new arena!”
“I can’t wait to make a profound difference in a new field!”
“I can’t wait to surprise myself!”
I don’t remember who said it first: “Hire the attitude, train for skill.”
Who would you rather hire? The candidate who seems scared, confused, and overwhelmed…or the candidate who CAN’T WAIT to learn, who CAN’T WAIT to start, who CAN’T WAIT to become a valued contributor in your company?
I’ll take the “I can’t wait” candidate every time.
Fear is a normal part of life. But, courage… Courage is what happens when you decide to act in the face of that fear.
When you can’t wait to explore, can’t wait to challenge, and can’t wait to learn, you’ll be one step closer to harnessing your fear and embracing your courage.
By the way, adopting the “I can’t wait” mantra is a good idea at any stage of your life.
What if we start with Sally (the easy starting point), and then opt for more?
Q: “What’s our approach for this year’s audit?”
A: “Sally Method.”
And that’s how an auditor can shortcut their work. It’s a tried and true method for getting a quick start, ensuring consistency with the prior year’s audit, and making sure that’s nothing obvious gets missed.
Q: “What’s our big goal for the new year?”
A: “Let’s see if we can beat last year’s growth by a few percentage points.” (Sally Method)
Nobody can argue against growth, especially if it beats what we did last year.
“We can’t change the rules of the game. It’s tradition to play it this way.” (Sally Method)
Tradition usually wins.
Sally…Same As Last Year (the second L is silent).
It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s safe.
Life outside the box that Sally creates is scary. It’s filled with uncertainty. It can lead to failure. It can lead to embarrassment (something we fear more than failure).
But, it’s also the best place to find new ideas, opportunities for new exploration, and new growth.
What if we start with Sally (the easy starting point), and then opt for more? Not only something more but something different? Something radical, and maybe even a little nonsensical?
When we give ourselves permission to explore and fail, we unleash a power that Sally can’t imagine or contain.
Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership 
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