One day last July, I woke up with the burning desire to create something. I wanted to paint.

I’m really not much of an artist per se, but I can be pretty creative and crafty when the moment strikes. And I really just love to paint; I find it to be very therapeutic and relaxing. I gathered my materials, set up shop in a small corner of my room, and soon my paintbrush was hitting the canvas without any prior planning or thought as to what I actually wanted to end up with.

Fast forward a few hours, and this is what I ended up with: An 8.5×11” canvas with the words “DO EPIC SHIT” painted neatly in large black letters over a beautiful blue ombré background. It was one of the best paintings I had completed in a long time. In fact, I was so proud of my creation that a month later, I hung it over the front door of my new apartment, with the hopes of using it as a daily reminder to do things that are fun and exciting and different and spontaneous.


About a month ago, an old friend of mine drove down from North Carolina to visit me for the day.  Upon arriving, I gave him a quick tour of my apartment before heading to lunch, and on our way out I noticed that he looked up above the door at my painted sign, just for a moment or two, before we left.

When we returned a few hours later, he finally acknowledged the blue sign, then turned and asked me, “Okay. So ‘do epic shit’… What kinds of ‘epic shit’ are you referring to?”

I’m embarrassed to say that after a few moments of trying to figure out how to respond, I couldn’t really give him a straight answer. Of course, I know what those three words mean to me theoretically, but after months of that sign hanging over the door, I could not think of a single day where I had really taken those words to heart and done anything fun or exciting or different or spontaneous. Kind of depressing, right?

Just something I’ve been thinking about lately…