“I think I’m greedy, but I’m not greedy for money—
I think that can be a burden—I’m greedy for an exciting life.
I want it to be exciting all the time….I can find excitement, I admit,
in raindrops falling on a puddle and a lot of people wouldn’t. I intend
to have it exciting until the day I fall over.”
—David Hockney
When my dad was a captain in the US Air Force, he watched the film Sayonara and immediately made a series of life choices after falling in love with the Japanese landscape, culture, and art.
The beauty of Japan reoriented his entire internal compass. He would move to the gorgeous mountains of North Carolina and open a shop dedicated to Asian art and antiques.
The mountains of North Carolina and Japan look remarkably similar because they share an ancient botanical bond, featuring closely related plant families, like maples and azaleas, as well as lush understories of moss and ferns. Both regions also showcase soft, rounded peaks cloaked in a dense, misty forest canopy that creates beautifully-layered horizons.
Dad held beauty as something sacred, a non-negotiable term of existence.
A Vision of Something More
When I was 14 years old, he dreamed up the idea to create an Asian Arts Festival based in Highlands and brought in experts in antique netsuke, ornamental snuff bottles, scrolls, woodblock prints, rugs, Bonsai, and ikebana from around the globe.
He had a vision to convert the local high school gym into an elegant oasis of art, and the entire staff of his shop, the Stone Lantern, was tasked with bringing it to life.
We worked from early in the morning until late in the evening to construct booths, assist ikebana masters in building their towering arrangements (some with branches ten feet tall or higher), set up the stage and chairs, and place all the precious items on tables for display.
Dad trotted from one area of the gym to another, like a Zen conductor, encouraging us and clarifying instructions.
When we finished, I turned to look at the transformed space. What had lived only as sketches on Dad’s clipboard was suddenly breathing, real, and dazzling.
From Concept to Community
On the morning of the festival, Dad took the stage, dressed as usual to the nines, and very calmly proceeded to hold court with the enormous crowd, sharing his knowledge like your favorite college professor.
His presentations were warm, thoughtful, and inspiring to take in. He delighted in sharing the history, design, and artistic choices of what he loved so much. The audience was rapt.
I learned in that moment what it looked like to be in your element. Ease. Supreme delight. Confident.
Two days before, the gym was empty. Now, it was filled with the most soul-stirring beauty, lovers of art, communing together in a shared reverence of immersive creativity in a way they had never done before.
When the festival was over, attendees filled the Stone Lantern, eager to buy the treasures they had seen and learned about. Customers brought armloads of merchandise to the counter to make their purchases.
I typed SKUs into the Triad computer we used for our point-of-sale system, like a bookkeeper blind-typing numbers into an adding machine. At any time, I had six or seven piles of customer merchandise on the counter behind me, and kept everything organized and moving like a short-order cook.
At the end of the day, the floor in the packing room where we wrapped purchases for travel was littered with brown paper, Styrofoam, and tissue. The receipt printer was buried under an endless accordion of the shop’s pink receipt copies. Bags with customer names lined every wall.
The festival was a resounding success.
He Wasn’t Greedy for Wealth
When everyone had left, I asked Dad how he felt, expecting him to comment on the event’s financial windfall. Instead, he spoke, with a smile and faraway look in his eyes, of how much he enjoyed learning from the experts, the enthusiasm and delight of those who attended, the beauty of the pieces and works of art individually and collectively, and how proud he was of the staff in how we came together to make something unique and indelible.
Dad’s perception of wealth was nothing like what I had read about or seen through popular culture.
He wasn’t greedy for wealth.
Rather, like David Hockney, he was greedy for an exciting life, and in living and sharing his art, his love, his passion, he became a magnet for wealth and success.
I know that knowing our numbers as entrepreneurs, leaders, and creators is vital in tracking our progress. But perhaps we’d be better served if we stopped chasing only the metrics and started chasing the lightning.
Wealth is not the destination—it is a natural byproduct of our burning passion. When we become greedy for the poetry of an artful, exciting existence, the world cannot help but respond.
