Revisited: Really Good Tuesdays

wanting what is (im)possible

I was recently managing a meltdown wherein my toddler burst into tears at the suggestion of a bath. I was a little surprised at the magnitude of the meltdown given that he usually enjoys splish splashing in the tub, so I knelt down next to him and asked, "hey buddy, do you really not want a bath tonight?" He took a shaky deep breath and, struggling to form words in between sobs, he replied, "yes and noooooo."

I get it.

We all want impossible things. 

We published a piece about this back in March and we’re reposting it below. Here's to admitting what we want and coming to terms with what it is we actually need.

- K

Really Good Tuesdays

The most beautiful book title of all time is “We All Want Impossible Things” because it sums up with precision and simplicity what is true: we want what we can’t have, we want what isn’t good for us, we want, we want, we want.

When it comes to Dream Projects, we want the flash of insight, the rapture of flow, the big idea, the NYT bestseller, the solo exhibition. We want to be known and, like, right now. We want acclaim. We want recognition. We want someone to assure us that we’re special, talented, and doing a good job. We want a legacy. We want enduring impact. 

We want immediate and we want forever. 

We want these things because they feel like a solve, a fix, a salve. Because we’re tired of worrying about things like health insurance and FSA accounts. Because we’re annoyed by the Department of Motor Vehicles website and wonder what it would be like to have someone else take care of renewing our car’s registration. Because we see listicles of how to improve our days and love the idea of having a cool glass of lemon water in the morning but to make that happen we would need more hours in the day or an extra set of hands. Some more money would be nice too…

When we actually stop and think about it, we know that a big bag of cash falling from the sky would solve some problems and create others. We know that critical acclaim would affirm that someone thinks we’re doing good work, but we’ve seen what fame has done to other creators we admire and we do wonder what it would do to us. Deep down we know these things aren’t it.

When I set off in search of money or fame, what I’m really looking for is relief. Relief from the barrage of the everyday. Relief from the specific set of to-dos and mental knots I find myself stuck within. 

I've (sort of) learned to accept that reality isn’t going anywhere. And most days a little relief is possible. It just looks different than I’d expect and different than I’d like and want it to.

When folks look back at their lives from the seat of old age, what constitutes a good life is not fame and fortune. (We know this, but we forget.) It’s not a long list of achievements and finally landing in the c-suite. It’s not climbing Kilimanjaro or K2 or having a stack of photo albums chocked full of over-the-top vacation photos. It’s not even a diary filled with peak life experiences. 

When older folks look back and say they’ve had a good life, what they recall are a bunch of really good Tuesdays. A lot of regular old days filled with good stuff. Filled with the stuff they had reason to value. 

We can’t control whether we get famous or filthy rich now (or ever). We can’t guarantee an enduring legacy after we’re gone. What we can control, at least a little bit, is what Tuesday looks like.

At Brainstorm Road we believe that part of what makes a Really Good Tuesday is spending a couple of minutes on something you care about. Something you have reason to value. Perhaps no one else has a clue why you’d choose to spend ten minutes doing your thing and perhaps “the market” sees absolutely no value in it. So what? You do.

For a season I took a painting class once a week at a local museum. After class one night I met up with my sister-in-law at a brewery. “Hey, you look great,” she said, as we hugged and slid into a booth. “Ah, that’s right,” she continued, “you have paint on Tuesdays.” I looked great because I felt great. I felt great because I spent an hour painting. I’d be willing to bet that if I hadn’t just been painting, the energy I would’ve brought to the brewery would’ve been different, but as it was, I felt light and at ease and proud of myself.

We want impossible things. It’s part of being human. There is no shame in it. Now, let’s get to work building a string of Really Good Tuesdays.

PS: I believe I heard about the older folks study (referenced above) from Adam Grant when he was on some podcast talking about Option B. I can’t for the life of me find the study, so if you happen to know it, please share!