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.
At kilometer 32 just south of San Felipe, where warm breezes wandered, and stars blanketed the sky — more stars than anywhere I’ve ever been.
Off-road racing brought us there, wide sandy beaches just a short walk away, bathtub-warm waters stretching out forever, the tides carving their quiet stories in the sand.
Under their shady palapa, watching the sun rise and fall on the horizon, Mom and Dad built their place from scratch, one humble project at a time. It was luxury camping at its very best.
Their place was just across the arroyo from the beach, where Dad taught Julianne to drive a stick shift on the wide-open sand.
How I long to beam back there. To see them again.
To hear their voices busy with new plans, to see what they’ve been working on, to sit with them in the shade at cocktail hour, chips, salsa, and all the shrimp we could eat, as the afternoon melts softly into evening.
I’d love to hear who’s come to visit lately.
Both are gone now, but the memories remain. Their laughter rides the breeze, as fresh as the salty air, that still stirs in my heart.
Backstory: A Campo Sahuaro Adventure
When Mom and Dad bought their lot around 1988, it was nothing more than a small concrete slab and four stakes marking the corners of their sandy “oasis.” What made this campo special was its access to a fresh water well…rare in that part of Baja.
Their lot sat on a bluff overlooking an arroyo, with the Sea of Cortez just beyond the sandy beach. In Mexico, buying a lot like this meant purchasing a long-term lease from the property owner. As long as you pay the annual lease (which was under $1,000 per year) you control the land. Anything they built on it was theirs.
Because Mexico has nationalized property in the past, many Americans build semi-permanent structures that can be dismantled and hauled away if needed. That kind of caution remains, even though nothing like that has happened in a very long time.
Being a concrete guy, Dad’s priority was pouring a lot of concrete. He laid down a huge patio that would become the base for everything else, including one of the largest shade structures I’ve ever seen. It didn’t happen overnight. This was a multi-trip (multi-year) endeavor, often coinciding with supporting Team Honda’s off-road racing efforts. They’d haul supplies and tools down along with pit equipment. In the early ’90s, sourcing building materials in Baja was still hit or miss so they brought most of what they needed with them.
By around 1991, Dad was ready to build a workshop. It would be like a shipping container, made of wood, with big swing-down doors on each end that doubled as ramps. He welded little leveling stands to the top of each door so they could serve as sleeping platforms when opened. I slept on those doors under the stars every chance I got.
As with everything at Campo Sahuaro, there’s a story behind that build.
We were down there pitting for Team Honda, which meant several fellow pit crew members were staying at my parents’ place. At that point, it was mostly a shaded patio and a small pump room. Many of the guys were carpenters, so they brought their tools and were ready to build.
Dad’s motorhome was packed. The center aisle was filled with 2x4s, stacked at least five feet high. Getting around inside was nearly impossible. Behind the motorhome, he towed a converted motorcycle trailer that he’d built at least ten years earlier. It was loaded with a perfectly stacked cube of 4×8 plywood sheets. The walls of the future workshop.
I happened to be traveling with them on that trip, ready to help with both pitting and construction. About 50 miles from the campo, we heard a loud crash and scraping noise. We were driving across a dry lakebed, the road raised 15–20 feet above the flat terrain. I looked out just in time to see the trailer tumbling down the embankment.
Dad got the motorhome stopped, and we rushed out to assess the damage. The trailer tongue had sheared clean off under the weight of the plywood. Thankfully, it hadn’t failed earlier, during high-traffic sections of our trip. The trailer was upside down in the lakebed, still lashed to its cargo. That cube of plywood was completely intact.
Within minutes, two vans carrying some of our crew pulled up behind us. We counted heads — at least ten of us, including a few high school football players. It wouldn’t take long to relocate all that wood.
A chain gang formed. We passed sheet after sheet of plywood up the embankment and loaded it onto the vans, lashing them down with tie-downs and ropes we’d salvaged from the trailer. We even hauled the trailer carcass back up the hill. At the very least, we figured we’d salvage the tires and axle.
That’s when an old Toyota pickup rolled up. A local man hopped out. I greeted him with my high-school-turned-Baja-race-pit-guy-Spanish. Lots of smiling, gesturing, and broken sentences later, we learned he was a welder and fabricator. He was heading to San Felipe to visit family and watch the race.
He looked over our trailer, nodding thoughtfully. He said he could take the trailer on his truck bed along with the remains of the tongue and hitch. He’d rebuild it and leave the rebuilt trailer at his brother’s restaurant in San Felipe. We asked him how much he’d charge us for that service. His response was $20(!).
I confirmed that his plan was to haul our trailer back to his shop (about 40-50 miles back), rebuild it, and then he’d tow it all the way down to San Felipe for $20. We told him there was no way we’d let him do that for anything less than $200. His eyes got real wide. I don’t think he believed what I was saying. I said that we’d gladly pay him that amount for all that he’d be doing for us.
We loaded the trailer carcass onto his truck bed, shook his hand, and paid him the agreed $200. We wouldn’t be able to see him at the conclusion of the job, so pre-payment was our only option. He turned around with his new load and headed back to his shop.
We mounted up and continued to Campo Sahuaro, wondering if we’d ever see that trailer again.
The Workshop Rises
The race went great. The workshop was built in a day or two with the expert help of our crew. The carpenters led the way and the rest of us did our best to help and stay out of their way. Copious amounts of alcohol were consumed around the campfire, many snacks and excellent meals were eaten, heroic stories (some of them true) were shared with lots of laughter along the way.
On the way home, we stopped at Baja 2000, the restaurant where our mystery welder said he’d leave the repaired trailer. And there it was.
Not only had he fixed it. He’d reinforced it, straightened the bent parts, and welded it all back together better than before.
Legacy
Over the years, I visited Campo Sahuaro many times, sometimes with my wife and daughters. As mentioned earlier, Dad taught my oldest daughter to drive a stick shift truck on the beach in front of their place when she was probably 12 or 13 years old.
I loved knowing the stories behind everything built there. Most of the stories involved improvisation, imagination, and always perseverance. There were a ton of lessons at their property about staying focused and overcoming obstacles in the pursuit of your goals.
I loved sleeping under that blanket of stars, watching satellites traverse the sky (there’s a lot more of them up there nowadays). I loved swimming in the warm ocean. Most of all, I loved being with Mom and Dad, sharing good times and making memories with them at their special place, 32 kilometers south of San Felipe.
p/c – I asked ChatGPT to make an image of a starry night on the beach based on my story. Amazingly, the image it rendered is mostly how I remember it…except for the houses on the front row (Mom and Dad’s place was on the second row), and the dry-docked fishing skiffs that used the campo as their base of operations.
It’s such a quiet phrase. Almost a shrug. A way of saying, yes, that’s true…but that’s not the whole story.
Life is full of maybe so…
This challenge I’m facing is hard. Maybe so. Someone else got the credit I worked for. Maybe so. The odds are stacked against me. Maybe so. The situation is messy, complicated, unfair. Maybe so.
Maybe so…but I’m not letting that be the final word.
Truth and hope aren’t always in competition. You can fully acknowledge the reality of something and still choose where to focus.
Perspective is a choice.
I’m tired, maybe so. I’ve failed, maybe so. This isn’t how I pictured it, maybe so.
But I’m also thankful. I’m still showing up. This might be exactly what I need, even though I may never admit it.
I’m learning to live in the tension between what is and what matters more.
We all get to decide where to place our attention. Some people zero in on the obstacle. Others fix their eyes on the opportunity.
One sees the storm. The other watches for the rainbow.
Both are real. But only one will move you forward.
“Attitude is the difference between an ordeal and an adventure.” — Bob Bitchin (he’s a real guy with an amazing story…stories)
Life hands us situations we don’t choose. Detours, delays, disappointments. But attitude? That’s something we bring to the table.
Sometimes the smallest shift in mindset is what turns a setback into a story worth telling. What once felt like a burden becomes the beginning of a bold new chapter.
So yes…your facts may be true. The obstacles might be real. The weariness might be justified.
Maybe so…but this is where we’re meant to be. Besides, this story isn’t finished.
The best parts of life come after we stop fighting the facts and start choosing the lens we use to see them.
h/t –“Yeah, I know what they say, money can’t buy everything. Well, maybe so, but it could buy me a boat.” — Chris Janson
I smile every time I hear this song. Sometimes a little humor, a little honesty, and a down-to-earth dream are exactly what we need to reset our thinking. It’s not about the boat. It’s about the choice to believe that something good still waits ahead…if we choose to see it.
Life is a long and winding road. Along the way, music teaches us to let it be, to take it easy, and to carry on. Sometimes, it whispers, “you’ve got a friend,” and other times it shouts, “don’t stop believing!” Through every high and low, music lifts us when we’re down and brings light to our darkest days.
It inspires us to learn to fly, take the long way home, and dream the impossible dream. It tells us to follow the yellow brick road and live like you were dying. When the world gets heavy, we can put our toes in the water, our ass in the sand and live knee deep in the water somewhere. It’s a gentle reminder to hold on loosely or to simply keep the faith.
When we’re all alone, it wraps us in a warm embrace, softly humming, “I’m with you,” and promising, “I’ll stand by you.” It keeps us company when we’re wasting away again in Margaritaville or stranded in the purple rain (whatever that is).
Music sets the tone for life’s moments. It’s the sweet sound of silence in the still of the night, the easy rhythms of cheeseburgers in paradise, and the fiery rush of being thunderstruck. It’s the gentle plea of someone asking, “Have you ever seen the rain?” and the daring call to take a walk on the wild side. It urges us to dance in the dark and reminds us that it’s five o’clock somewhere.
It can challenge us to ask what’s going on, or who are you? It paints visions of wide-open spaces, islands in the sun, and clear mountain mornings. It reminds us that we’re merely candles in the wind and there’s never a wish better than this when you’ve only got one hundred years to live. So, dream until your dreams come true.
Music brings us together to clap our hands, stomp our feet, and feel the beat. It calls us to praise every morning. It’s a bridge over troubled water. It’s an anthem of unity. We’re rockin’ in the free world. There ain’t no stopping us now.
Music is more than sound. It’s a ribbon in the sky, an endless summer, a stairway to heaven, and friends shaking hands. It weaves through our lives, bringing joy to each new day.
Take it to the limit. Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow.
After all, music reminds us what a wonderful world it truly is.
A quick word about copyrights. This post is my attempt to create a cohesive thematic message using as many song lyrics as possible (trust me, there are 100’s more that didn’t fit) from artists I’ve loved over the years. Borrowing their words was a fun writing challenge, and an homage to the original artists.
By my quick count, I’ve referenced lyrics from over 50 songs, placing them like Easter eggs or tile fragments in a mosaic. Most are obvious and easy to find…a few may be obscure and tougher to recognize.
In the end, it’s only rock ‘n roll, but I like it. (couldn’t resist one more).
Maybe it’s all my time spent working in businesses over the past four decades. We often start each year with a set of specific strategic goals. Some are grounded and achievable; others are wish casting—a small dream of what we might accomplish if everything aligns perfectly (spoiler alert: it rarely does).
This year my goals are simple, but not easy:
Serve the quests of others over my own. True fulfillment comes from supporting others in their quest, even if that means setting aside my own ambitions.
Offer insights and advice, not direction. The path others take isn’t mine to choose. My role is to illuminate possibilities, not dictate outcomes.
Push beyond my comfort zone and (hopefully) inspire others to do the same. Growth begins at the edge of what’s familiar. By challenging my own boundaries, I hope to encourage others to stretch theirs as well.
Bring the loaves and fishes—and trust God with the rest. (h/t to Dallas Jenkins for this beautiful idea) It’s a reminder to offer what I can and trust in someone much greater to amplify my impact.
“You will know that your children will be many, and your descendants like the grass of the earth.” – Job 5:25
This image of my granddaughter running through the tall grass lingers in my mind, a snapshot of pure joy and freedom. The grass climbs high as her shoulders, swaying in the gentle breeze as she runs, her laughter echoing across the open field.
The sun, high in the sky, casts a warm glow across the landscape, reflecting off the stalks and highlighting the strands of her long blonde hair. It’s a moment of unbridled innocence, an expression of life at its most carefree—a reminder of the potential and possibilities that lie ahead in her life.
Watching her, I’m struck by how this simple act of running, so natural and effortless, captures the essence of childhood. Children have an innate ability to live fully in the present, to see the world as a place of wonder and adventure. For them, the future is not something to be feared, but something to eagerly anticipate. Every new experience is a chance to explore, to learn, to grow. In her dash through the tall grass, we get a glimpse of how life is meant to be lived—full of energy, curiosity, and a fearless embrace of the unknown.
As the years (decades) go by, it’s easy to lose our innocence, our thirst for adventure. We may see our future with a sense of foreboding, even doom…rather than an opportunity to expand our journey. We allow the sense of adventure that once propelled us forward to be dulled by the responsibilities and challenges that life inevitably brings. Our carefree days of childhood disappear into the past.
The passage of time doesn’t have to diminish our sense of adventure. We can choose to embrace life with the same enthusiasm and curiosity that we had as children. We can still find joy in the simple pleasures, still run toward the unknown with hope in our hearts.
Life’s journey is not about avoiding the tall grass, but about diving into it, feeling the sun warm our backs and the gentle breeze cooling our faces. It’s about seeing each day as an opportunity to expand our horizons, to live fully and freely, just as my grandkids do.
The tall grass may rise like a challenge, but it is also where the most profound discoveries await. And as I step into that field, I carry with me the certainty that the journey ahead, like the path I’ve already walked, holds boundless potential.
In a field of tall grass she runs, her golden hair warmed by the sun, each step a whisper of freedom, the horizon an open invitation.
I watch her and remember— the world for me was once this wide, full of endless possibilities, before fear narrowed that view.
But the grass still sways, and I can still run, following her laughter, knowing the path ahead will bring great discoveries,
a promise of new beginnings.
p/c – My daughter, Julianne, texted this photo earlier this week of Lizzy running through the tall grass of their pasture. The moment I saw the photo, I knew the topic of my next blog post.
What happens when someone leads with their confusion?
It’s easy to be confused.
To be unclear about new information.
To ask for more explanations.
To need more practice.
But what happens when someone leads with their confusion, defending themselves behind a shield of doubt and uncertainty?
What if they wield their confusion like a weapon, merely to strengthen their grip on the status quo?
Is their objective to understand an idea or to avoid any responsibility for it?
Exploration (of anything) is a journey into the unknown and unexpected. It can be overwhelming, even confusing. It should be. Finding our way through the confusion is how we grow.
We make the choices:
Will we decide to push through our confusion?
Will we put in the effort to find new clarity?
Will we choose to grow?
Or, do we prefer to hide in our comfortable bubble of confusion?
I originally wrote this poem eight or nine years ago. It was an exercise in using contrasting words, contrasting rhythms, active and passive voices, sensory symbolism, and a few other style toys that I thought would be fun to try (for a hobbyist writing nerd).
As often happens when I write, the theme I had in mind when I started was quickly overtaken by other ideas. The words and symbolism began pointing the way. A new theme slowly emerged.
Then, just as I was gaining momentum, some shiny objects interrupted, and I set this poem aside. A whole bunch of amazing life events started happening and years (eight or nine to be exact) came and went.
This poem sat on the hard drive of what would become my “old” computer. When I moved over to the new computer, somehow all the data didn’t get transferred properly to the new computer (or to any of the cloud storage locations I use today).
I forgot about the poem until a couple of weeks ago when I was looking for a fictional story I’d written. After some searching, I realized the only place it could be was on that old computer that we hadn’t turned on in years (and that we kept for some reason). Imagine my surprise when I was able to boot it up and look around on the hard drive for some of my old (nearly lost) work.
I found that fictional story I was looking for (maybe I’ll publish it in some form in the future), along with a bunch of other work I had forgotten…including this poem. Again, shiny objects intervened, and I didn’t get around to re-reading this poem until today. The toys I’d been playing with so many years ago were just lying about where this big kid had left them.
I picked up my writing toys and continued playing with the words, the styles, and the symbols. The theme that was there so many years ago was showing itself but in a new way that I hadn’t quite seen in the past. Again, the words and symbols pointed the way (just like Mr. Cox told us in eleventh grade English class).
I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think in the comments.
The Dance of Light and Dark
Lengthening shadows descend across the forest floor.
The perpetual dance as day gives way to night.
Glorious palettes of color and light,
Surrendering to shadows in the growing darkness.
The air grows cold with the smell of decay.
Death wins a battle in its forever war on life.
Your heartbeat echoes behind your ears.
A quiet rhythm of life.
You hear the mournful wail of a distant companion, howling for a moon not yet risen.
Stars shine like pinholes through a curtain.
The moon rises in the distance, casting new light in the dark.
While creatures of the night toil in the shadows,
Hunting and evading, hiding and pouncing, dying and surviving.
They don’t know what their future holds.
Pain or comfort.
Life or death.
Trees moan quietly as they sway against the wind’s unending assault.
Each is alone in the crowd to persevere as they must.
These trees know without knowing that morning will come.
A distant dream in the long cold night that’s just beginning.
Morning brings new light.
An eternity of hope.
Wistful breezes carry the freshness of this glorious day.
The sun lends its brilliant glow to all that it touches.
Tim Ferriss asks a question of most of his podcast guests:
“If you had a billboard that millions of people would see every day, what would you put on that billboard?”
Tim’s guests have given answers ranging from the comedic to the serious. Some have talked about a cause that is their passion, or an inspirational passage they’d like people to see.
Each time I hear the question, I come up with the same three words:
Serve others first.
Serving others first means:
taking others’ needs and desires into account before our own
looking out for their best interest first
our decisions are more thoroughly considered because we’ll be taking time to think about how our decisions impact others
trying to make someone else’s job easier and more rewarding
showing someone gratitude for the work they’re doing
minding our manners (as my mom used to say when I was a kid)
listening to, and respecting others (even if we disagree with them)
looking for ways to improve a situation rather than making things worse
being the first to forgive.
It’s easy to focus on our own interests and challenges first. It’s easy to think everything happening in the world is directed toward us, personally. This “me first” mindset is hard-wired into our DNA…our DNA is selfish about 99.99% of the time.
The tougher path?
It’s the one that leads to serving others first. It goes against our wiring, which takes significant effort.
None of us will be perfect on this path. We’ll stumble, and we may even wander a bit. But, we can be a blessing for others along our journey, and that’s what we should be seeking.
The good news is that following this path gets easier with practice.
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.
Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership 
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