Sometimes the Best Way to Look Forward is to Look Back

I was headed to Grandfather Mountain Country Club to play golf with fellow members of the North Carolina Golf Panel. This time, I decided to take the long way. Golf would have to share the day with a few mountain overlooks.

The Blue Ridge Parkway rewards that decision. It gently meanders along the mountain peaks, offering views that seem to whisper, “Pull over. Stay awhile.” For me, it has always been an oasis for the soul.

Then I reached Raven Rocks Overlook, and nearly twenty years seemed to disappear.

I remembered another journey, at almost this same time of year, when that view first spoke to me. I set up my painting supplies and, over the next few days, captured a scene that has resonated with many collectors and introduced others to this beautiful place.

This time, I stopped again. That familiar landscape offered three reminders.

Take the road that gives you room to notice
We spend so much of life figuring out how to get somewhere faster. The quickest route. The next appointment. There is a place for efficiency, but some of our richest experiences happen when we leave room for an unexpected stop.

Had I hurried straight to the golf course, I would have missed this reunion with an old inspiration. A little extra time gave me a chance to breathe, look around, and let my thoughts settle.

Return to the places that help you measure your journey
All of us have places that hold a chapter of our lives. A childhood home, a college campus, or a favorite beach can bring back the person we were when we first stood there. What were we hoping for? What worried us? What possibilities had yet to unfold?

At that overlook, I thought about the years between my visits and all that had happened along the way. We rarely notice our growth while we are busy living it. A familiar place can help us appreciate how far we have come.

Let gratitude have a moment of its own
Nearly twenty years ago, I came to that overlook to paint. This time, I simply stood in awe. I could enjoy the beauty before me without reaching for a brush.

I felt blessed by the work I have been able to do and the people who have shared the journey. Above all, I was grateful for the extraordinary gift of life and the opportunity to stand there once again.

Perhaps there is a place calling you back, too. 
When the opportunity comes, go a little out of your way. Give yourself time to remember and appreciate. You may arrive looking at a familiar view and leave seeing your life with fresh eyes.

Your Greatest Advantage May Be What You Do Next

I doubt anyone looking at my first 59-cent tray of watercolors would have seen a career in it. I certainly didn’t. I was an amateur, curious about what might happen if I put a little color on paper.

Years later, I had developed a recognizable style, earned awards, and made my living as a watercolorist. It would have been easy to believe I had found my place and should stay there.

Then again, I’ve never been very good at staying in one place.

Recently, I listened to my friend Dr. Nido Qubein talk about a differential advantage—the quality that allows you to bring something distinctive to the world. His words made me think about my own journey. Painting was my gift, but learning to pursue the possibilities around that gift changed my life.

Master the gift in your hands.
Those early years mattered. I painted constantly, learned from the work that succeeded and the work that didn’t, and developed the consistency that gave people confidence in me. Curiosity can open a door, but dedication is what lets you walk through it.

Look beyond the canvas.
Over time, I began to see that a painting could do more than hang on someone’s wall. It could celebrate a place, bring people together, support a cause, or help someone tell a story. The Honor Card grew from that way of thinking. Art gave me a way to invite others into something much larger than my studio.

Stay willing to begin again.
Today I paint traditional landscapes and contemporary work. I’ve moved from watercolor into acrylics and found fresh ways to share the stories behind my paintings, including from a stage. Each change has asked me to be a beginner in some respect. That can be uncomfortable, especially after you’ve spent years becoming good at something. It can also make you eager to get up in the morning.

I have chased more opportunities than I could have imagined when I opened that little tray of paint. Some led nowhere. Others changed the direction of my career. Following them has kept me learning, meeting new people, and wondering what might be waiting just beyond the horizon.

Perhaps your advantage is a talent you’ve spent years developing. Perhaps it is the way you notice a need, connect people, or see a possibility others have overlooked. Whatever it is, give it your best effort—and then ask where else it might take you.

I’m still asking that question. Nearly fifty years after my first watercolor, it remains one of the most exciting parts of being an artist.

What possibility have you been meaning to explore?

When an Entire Community Picked Up the Brush

Long before Pinehurst became the subject of my paintings, it was the setting of my story.

I was born there, began studying art at Sandhills Community College, worked my way through school as a bag boy and waited tables at the opulent Carolina Hotel, never imagining that art would eventually bring me back to celebrate many of the places that shaped my life.

This past weekend that journey came full circle.

More than 125 guests gathered at the beautiful Country Club of North Carolina for a festive evening supporting the Given Tufts Foundation. Surrounded by lively conversation, a silent auction and a lovely dinner, I had the privilege of painting live, but I wasn’t the only artist in the room.

Throughout the evening, guests were invited to add their own personal brushstrokes to a collaborative painting titled Welcome to Pinehurst. Some approached the canvas confidently. Others needed a little encouragement. Before long, even our auctioneer, Matt had even picked up a brush!

The finished painting became more than a colorful interpretation of Pinehurst. It became a portrait of community—and a reminder of three important truths.

Every contribution matters
No single brushstroke completed Welcome to Pinehurst. Some marks were bold, while others were small and subtle, but each became part of the finished work. Communities are built the same way. We may not always recognize the importance of our individual contribution, but something extraordinary happens when each of us offers what we can.

Enthusiasm is contagious
When the collaborative painting opened the live auction, the spirited bidding immediately energized the room. Many guests wanted to take home a work they had helped create. That enthusiasm continued when The Heart of Pinehurst was unveiled. Collectors familiar with my artistic journey raised their hands again and again until a five-figure bid secured the painting of the historic Village.

Their response reminded me that people are drawn to more than an image. They are drawn to the memories, relationships and stories held within it.

Generosity can complete the picture
The evening’s final painting was The Given Memorial Library. Once again, hands rose throughout the room as bidders competed for the work. Eventually, one couple’s bid prevailed—but then came the evening’s most touching surprise.

They announced that they were giving the painting back to the Foundation as a gift for the new library.

In that moment, the purpose of the evening came beautifully into focus. A painting inspired by a treasured community landmark had been purchased to support its future—and then returned so generations of visitors could enjoy it.

Art has a remarkable way of preserving what matters. It can capture a familiar place, awaken a cherished memory and bring people together around a shared purpose.

But the event reminded me that the greatest masterpiece is rarely created by one person. It emerges when many hands, generous hearts and individual acts of kindness come together.

We may not all consider ourselves artists, but each of us holds a brush. The question is: What will our next stroke contribute to the picture?

The Win You Never Saw Coming
How Simple Acts of Kindness Help Us Grow

Last night, I watched a remarkable On the Road story by Steve Hartman about a group of students who noticed something most of us have seen but seldom pause to consider: someone eating alone.   

That's why Denis Estimon, a Haitian immigrant and student at Boca High, started a club called "We Dine Together.Their response was beautifully simple. Whenever they saw a student sitting by themselves, they walked over and joined them.

There was no fundraising campaign, elaborate strategy, or promise of recognition. They simply saw a need and acted. Yet that small gesture carried tremendous power. It reminded someone that they mattered—and it challenged the students offering the invitation to step beyond their own comfort zones.

Earlier, I had been reflecting on something James Clear wrote about the relationship between winning and growing. Winning feels good, particularly when we accomplish something for the first time. But repeated success can eventually become familiar. We may continue winning without necessarily growing.

Growth asks something more of us. Sometimes it asks us to pause, look beyond ourselves, and take a seat beside someone we do not know.

Growth begins when we notice. We live in a hurried world, often moving from one responsibility to the next with our attention fixed on what lies ahead. Yet opportunities to make a difference rarely arrive with flashing lights. They appear quietly—a person sitting alone, a colleague having a difficult day, or someone who simply needs to know they have been seen.

Awareness interrupts our routine. It asks us to look up from our own lives long enough to recognize what may be happening in someone else’s.

Growth requires stepping beyond comfort. My granddaughter, a psychology major at Liberty University, reminds me that introverts and extroverts each bring unique qualities to the world. Reaching out may come naturally to some and require tremendous courage from others.

The point is not that we must all respond in the same way. Growth happens when we stretch beyond what is comfortable for us. Walking across a room, beginning a conversation, or sitting beside a stranger may seem insignificant, but it can represent an enormous personal step.

In meeting another person’s need, we often discover a strength within ourselves that we did not know was there.

Growth depends upon timing. I frequently speak about timing as an essential part of making a difference. Kindness delayed can become kindness denied. The opportunity is often present for only a moment, and if we overthink it, the door may close.

Yes, stopping may interrupt our schedule. It may delay our plans or pull us away from the mission we considered most important. But perhaps the interruption is the mission.

When we act in the moment, everyone can win. Someone feels less alone, a need is met, and we learn something about compassion, courage, and ourselves.

Most of us want to be winners. But the victories that shape us most deeply may never come with trophies, applause, or recognition. They arrive when we pause, notice, and choose to act.

The next time you see someone sitting alone, struggling quietly, or needing encouragement, do not underestimate what one simple gesture might accomplish. You may brighten another person’s day—but you may also discover that the life being changed is your own.

Colorful Takeaway: 

Sometimes the greatest win is not reaching the head of the table. It is noticing the empty chair beside someone—and choosing to fill it.

The Masterpiece Is in the Showing Up
“How long did it take you to paint that?”

It may be the question I am asked more than any other. I never take offense, but I sometimes hesitate before answering. Do I tell them the number of hours I spent standing before that particular canvas—or the nearly fifty years it took me to learn what to do while standing there?

A story often attributed to Pablo Picasso captures the dilemma beautifully. While Picasso was enjoying lunch, an admirer repeatedly asked him to draw something on a napkin. Finally, Picasso picked up a pencil and, within minutes, produced a delightful little sketch. When the admirer reached for it, Picasso named an astonishing price.

“But it only took you five minutes!” the man protested.

Picasso replied, “No, my friend. It took me fifty years to learn how to do that in five minutes.”

Whether we are creating a painting, writing a book, building a business, or shaping a meaningful life, the finished work rarely reveals the countless hours that made it possible.

Consistency develops what talent begins.
Talent may give us a promising start, but it cannot carry us across the finish line by itself. Every painting I have created has taught me something about composition, color, light, patience—and myself. Some lessons arrived through success; many more came through paintings that simply did not work.

The willingness to return to the canvas is what eventually turns potential into proficiency. Talent opens the door. Consistency teaches us how to walk through it.

Small investments create remarkable results.
Writer and illustrator Tim Urban once observed how much a person can accomplish by writing three hours a day, five days a week. Fifteen hours may not sound extraordinary when viewed within an entire week. But repeat that routine for forty weeks, and you may have written a book.

We often imagine prolific people working around the clock, possessing discipline or energy unavailable to the rest of us. In reality, their lives may look remarkably similar to ours. The difference is often a relatively small portion of time invested consistently in something that matters.

A few focused hours may appear insignificant today. Added together over months and years, they can become a career.

Progress is often happening before it becomes visible.
One of the hardest parts of any worthwhile pursuit is continuing when the results have not yet appeared. We practice, prepare, revise, and occasionally wonder whether any of it is making a difference.

But consistency is quietly working beneath the surface. Each effort strengthens our judgment. Each mistake sharpens our instincts. Each ordinary day prepares us for an opportunity we cannot yet see.

The masterpiece is not created in one inspired moment. It is created through thousands of seemingly ordinary moments when we choose to show up again.

The Takeaway

Whatever dream has been tugging at you, do not be intimidated by the finished accomplishments of others. Begin with the time you have. Give it your attention. Return to it tomorrow. You do not have to work constantly—but you do have to keep showing up.

One day, someone may look at what you have created and wonder how you made it appear so effortless. Only you will know how many years were contained within that moment.