There always seems to be something underneath all that ink someone decided to permanently attach to their body.

– – Here’s mine.

When I was a kid, there was a painting hanging above the fireplace in our house.

A bare tree against a yellow background.

I remember lying on the floor and staring at it for what felt like hours. Sometimes I’d hang my head upside down off the couch and look at it that way.

– From that angle, the tree became a root.
– – I don’t know why that fascinated me so much.
– – It just did.

Years later, when my parents retired and started getting rid of most of their belongings, they asked us what we wanted.

I didn’t want much… But I wanted that painting.

It followed me to apartments in Chicago, Fort Lauderdale, and Kansas City. It hung above the fireplace in my first home. Today, it hangs in the center of my home in Leawood.

And when I turned 30, I had it tattooed on my left forearm.

The painting was made by my grandfather.

We called him Pepe.

– He was a carpenter and electrician by trade, but he was also an incredibly creative person.
– – More importantly, he was curious.
– – – He never really stopped learning.

Later in life, he taught himself to play guitar. He learned how to use email. He painted. Not because any of those things were going to advance his career.

He just wanted to know how to do them.

I’ve always loved that about him. And somewhere along the way, this fairly simple painting became tangled up with all of those memories.

– Childhood.
– – Family.
– – – Curiosity.
– – – – Creativity.
– – – Home.
– – Him.

One of my regrets is that I never asked Pepe about the painting.

I don’t know why he painted a bare tree.

I don’t know why he chose that particular yellow.

I don’t know why he pushed the tree away from the center of the canvas.

Maybe all of those things were intentional.

Maybe none of them were.

And maybe that’s part of why I still look at it.

Because I get to wonder.

– For me, yellow has always felt like summer.
– – Warmth.
– – – Growth.
– – Life.

And then there’s this bare tree sitting inside all of it. – Winter surrounded by summer.

Dormancy surrounded by warmth.

Two things that shouldn’t necessarily belong together, somehow balancing each other perfectly.

And the tree isn’t centered. I love that too… It feels a little unresolved.

A little unexpected.

A little more interesting because of it.

Of course, I have absolutely no idea if Pepe thought about any of this while he was painting it.

He might have just liked yellow.

I wish I could ask him.

But maybe the meaning of the painting isn’t entirely his anymore.

Some of it became mine.

That’s the strange thing about the objects we carry through life.

Their meaning changes as we do.

– A painting becomes a memory.
– – A memory becomes a philosophy.
– – – A tree becomes a root.

And eventually, apparently, a root ends up tattooed on your arm.

Pepe had a saying I heard a lot growing up:

“You never work a day in your life if you love your job.”

I’m not sure I interpret that quite as literally today as I did when I was younger.

Work is still work.

There are hard days. Frustrating days. Days when loving what you do doesn’t magically make any of it easier.

But I think I understand what he was trying to tell me.

Stay curious. Make things. Learn things simply because you want to learn them.

Find work that gives you something back.

And don’t stop becoming interested in the world around you.

– I see that painting every day.
– – I carry it on my arm everywhere I go.

And both remind me of the same person.

– A carpenter.
– – An electrician.
– – – An artist.
– – – – A guy who decided late in life that he wanted to learn guitar, so he did.

Maybe that’s what he really passed down to me.

Not the painting.

Permission to stay curious.

If I had a bucket list, I would have check a box.

Seriously.

I don’t think I’d worn one in 10 or maybe even 20 years.

A couple weeks ago, during one of those brutally hot days where even walking across the house feels like work, I pulled on my old Larry Bird jersey as a joke. No undershirt. Just the jersey.

And you know what?

It felt pretty damn good.

Airy. Comfortable. Cool.

Perfect for bopping around the house while pretending I wasn’t melting.

What started as a joke quickly turned into a realization: I’ve been overlooking one of the simplest solutions to summer discomfort for decades.

So I doubled down.

Now the summer rotation includes Larry Bird, Michael Jordan, Dikembe Mutombo, and Dennis Rodman.

A lineup that would have made my younger self very proud.

The funny part is that none of this was driven by fashion. It wasn’t a style choice. I was hot, grabbed a jersey, and accidentally rediscovered the magic of sleeveless clothing.

Then another benefit appeared.

For years I’ve carried around a respectable Midwestern farmer’s tan. You know the one: tanned forearms, pale upper arms, and a clear line marking where the sleeves usually stop.

Every summer I tell myself I’m going to do something about it.

This year, I finally have a plan.

Expose the shoulders.

Trust the process.

Let the jerseys do their work.

I’m not expecting miracles, but if September rolls around and my arms are at least one consistent color, I’ll consider it a successful season.

Sometimes that’s how the best things happen.

You spend years assuming something isn’t for you anymore, only to stumble back into it and wonder why you ever stopped.

Will I be wearing tank tops everywhere?

Probably not.

But around the house? On scorching summer afternoons? Out in the backyard?

Absolutely.

It’s a small thing, but I’ve learned that small comforts matter more as I get older.

And right now, a rotation of vintage basketball jerseys is bringing an unreasonable amount of joy—and maybe a more balanced tan—to an otherwise sweaty Kansas summer.

Life was busy. I was overcommitted, overworked, and if I’m being honest, not giving enough to the relationship.

At some point I said, “I just don’t have enough time.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“You make time for the people you love.”

She was right.

The relationship didn’t last. The lesson did.

Over the years, I’ve realized she was right in more ways than either of us probably understood at the time.

Making time isn’t really about calendars.

It’s about priorities.

It’s about deciding what matters and then proving it with your actions.

What took me years to understand is that nobody can see my intentions.

People only experience my actions.

– I may care deeply about a friend, but if I never call, they don’t experience that friendship.
– – I may care about my team, but if I’m always too busy to meet with them, they experience distance instead.
– – – I may tell myself that my health matters, but if I never make time to exercise, recharge, or slow down, my calendar is telling a different story.

Intentions are invisible.

Time is visible. Time is how priorities introduce themselves to the world.

I’ve carried that idea into every part of my life.
– Relationships. Make time to say what needs to be said. Make the call. Have the dinner. Show up.
– – Friendships. Send the funny GIF. Grab the beer. Take the lunch.
– – – Leadership. Make time for your people. Listen before you need something from them.
– – – – Projects. Make time for the ones that excite you, even if nobody is watching.
– – – Yourself. Make time to decompress, recharge, and become the best version of who you can be.

When you lead people, this lesson matters even more.

Whether you like it or not, leadership is a relationship.

People don’t measure your commitment to them by what you say in a town hall or a performance review. They measure it by your availability, your attention, and your consistency.

– Do you make time for them when things are busy?
– – Do you listen when they need help?
– – – Do you know what’s happening in their lives beyond the status report?

The small investments compound.

Trust is built one conversation at a time.

I schedule a 1:1 with every direct report.
– Rescheduling happens.
– – Canceling doesn’t.

That time belongs to them. My job is to show up.

The same principle applies to the work itself.
– Not every project needs to be high visibility.
– – Not every effort needs executive attention.

Sometimes you do something simply because it matters to you.

– Because you’re curious.
– – Because you want to learn.
– – – Because it gives you energy.

And sometimes because you need to remind yourself that you can still build something from scratch when the moment calls for it.

Those things deserve time too.

There is a strange kind of fulfillment that comes from intentionally spending your time on the people, work, and experiences that matter most to you.

Not because they’re urgent. Because they’re important.

The truth is, none of us have enough time for everything. We never will.

But we always make time for what matters most.

And if your calendar consistently says you don’t have time for something, it may be worth asking whether it’s truly a priority.

The calendar usually tells the truth long before we do.

But somehow… it turned out kinda rad.

Now there’s:

• actual cupholders
• storage
• a flashlight mount like I’m preparing for a roadside adventure movie
• and, most importantly, a dignified resting place for my extremely important collection of CDs

Honestly, the whole thing feels appropriately 1988.
A little rough around the edges.
A little overbuilt.
A lot “Joe.”
Exactly how Betty likes it.

I swear it was yesterday they were tiny humans riding in the back seat with fruit snack crumbs everywhere, asking a thousand questions before breakfast. Now they walk into school on their own… with opinions, jokes, and gigantic backpacks.

Time moves quietly until it suddenly doesn’t… Proud of these rascals.

Not “fashion” exactly. Something better than that. Effortless. Funny. Unexpected. Cool without trying to be cool. One day it’s bright colors and sneakers that somehow perfectly match the bike. Another day it’s sunglasses that make her look like she walked out of a tiny French film from 1977.