by Chip Gaines
It starts with being willing to be seen and known and loved for who you are, as you are. Then you have to be willing to turn around and do the same, loving your spouse in their totality: flaws, blemishes, and quirks included. It’s from there that you can begin to forge a trust where creativity and compassion can grow strong. Taking on the world as a unified, fortified duo is not just a romantic notion; it’s a powder keg. Together you can set the world on fire.
CHAPTER 5
WRECKED
It’s possible you’ve been admiring the scar on my forehead since the first time you laid eyes on me. It’s an awesome scar. I got it right after my first son, Drake, was born.
Jo tends to remember details better than I do, and she claims Drakey was only a few weeks old when it happened. I was thinking he was a little older than that, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the incident that led to the scar was another wake-up call for me.
I’d managed to get myself a brand-new four-wheeler. And let me tell you, for a kid who grew up in Texas, that four-wheeler might as well have been a Ferrari. It was sweet! It was a big investment, too, considering that Jo and I were living in an eight-hundred-square-foot house and had a new baby to feed. But we’d made a little extra cash that month, and I just figured it was time to go out and live the dream, so I bought that four-wheeler without giving it a second thought.
Next thing you know, me and my buddy John took it out and started taking turns, just messing around off-road while our wives hung out and watched. But here’s the thing: if Beavis and Butthead and Dumb and Dumber had a baby, John and I would be their love child. (Or maybe it’s “love children.”) For some reason, we just always pushed each other to do stupid things whenever we were together.
Jo had Drake out there in his little car seat, so maybe I was also showing off a bit for her and my new baby boy.
Anyway, John and I started doing tricks, driving up berms and taking jumps. To be honest, I don’t remember exactly what happened next, but at one point I gunned it up an embankment. Maybe I was crazy enough to think I was capable of jumping off the far side and flying through the air like some guy sponsored by Red Bull at the X Games or something. But I think I was just planning to hit the top and spin off to one side, kind of like how a skateboarder might turn at the top of a steep ramp before coming back down.
Only something went wrong.
I gunned it and launched that four-wheeler straight off the other side of the hill—over a sheer cliff that dropped a good twenty feet to the ground. All I remember thinking was, Good feeling, gone!
I tend to embellish, but my honest guess is if I’m six feet tall, this thing had to be twenty feet. No matter how high that cliff was, when you land flat on your face, it’s a big fall.
Like I said, I don’t remember exactly what happened, but the way I remember it is that my body came up off the seat while I held on to the handlebars. The speed forced my feet out behind me, which means I was flying like Superman through the air. I was horizontal to the ground as the four-wheeler slipped out of my hands and shot ahead of me.
I grabbed the back of the seat, just trying to hold on. Now, if I’d managed to pull myself back onto that seat and then land that jump, it would have been legendary! I would have looked like one of those professional motocross drivers, flying through the air on a death-defying leap and then landing with grace while a whole stadium full of people simultaneously chanted,
“CHIP! CHIP! CHIP! CHIP! CHIP!
“CHIP! CHIP! CHIP! CHIP!
“CHIP! CHIP! CHIP!
“CHIP! CHIP!”
Only that’s not what happened at all. In a matter of two seconds, the four-wheeler and I went our separate ways. I face-planted into the dirt from nearly twenty feet up. This wasn’t like tripping and falling while on the playground. Jo and I both think I must’ve blacked out in that moment, because I didn’t even throw my arms out to protect my face—and I love my face!
It all happened so fast that my reflexes didn’t even have a chance to kick in. How the impact didn’t break my neck or kill me, I’m still not sure. Heck, maybe I should go ahead and brag about that. After all, I’m writing a book, and what better place to talk about how awesome you are than in your own book. You know?
Just seconds after I hit that dirt, I put my fist into the gravel and pushed myself up into a kneeling position. Meanwhile Jo, with the car seat in her arms, and my buddy and his wife came sprinting around the hill to survey the damage. That’s when I noticed the blood. In just a matter of seconds, I had managed to create the puddle I was now kneeling in. I pulled my shirt off and pressed it to my forehead.
“#%&$, Chip! We thought you were dead!” John said.
Looking back on all of this, this whole event slightly reminds me of Tuff Hedeman.
* * *
MY BASIC SYNOPSIS
RICHARD NEALE “TUFF” HEDEMAN
For those of you who don’t follow bull riding, Richard Neale “Tuff” Hedeman is a champion professional bull rider who got slammed in one of the most dramatic accidents in the history of the sport. He was riding in this one rodeo, and an infamous bull named Bodacious kicked so strongly and violently and with such perfect timing that Tuff’s face smashed into the hump on that bull’s back. The impact broke just about every bone in his face. Then Bodacious kicked Tuff’s limp body sky high and sent him slamming down into the dirt like a rag doll. But somehow, as the whole crowd watched in horror, Hedeman got up! With a little help from the rodeo clowns, he walked himself out of the arena—this despite the fact that he would require multiple reconstructive surgeries just to put his face back together. I remember the announcers saying, “What would have killed a normal man didn’t even knock Tuff Hedeman out!”
* * *
I bet Tuff and I can both attest that when something like that happens, you walk away a changed man.
Okay, back to the scene of the accident. We turned to John’s wife, the only medical professional in the group, to see if I needed stitches. I pulled the shirt away from my head, and that woman’s knees buckled at the sight of my bloody face. She quickly turned away to hide her gag reflex and croaked out, “Yes, you definitely need stitches.”
At the time we had no health insurance. So we called my brother-in-law, David McCall, whose dad was a local doctor and friend in town. It was Sunday, and the clinic was closed, but David’s dad said he would meet us there within the next few minutes and help us out. (I probably still owe him some money for fixing my face.)
I’ll never forget the sound I heard as Dr. McCall cleaned me up to get ready for stitches.
Tink. Tink. Tink . . .
I strained my eyes to the side trying to see what in the heck was making that noise. I then realized that Dr. McCall was pulling little pieces of gravel out of my face and dropping them into a stainless-steel bowl.
After we left the clinic that day, I remember Jo and I went to get a pair of big sunglasses. I guess I thought if they were obnoxious enough, they’d distract people from the gaping hole in my face. I looked like I’d been run over by a tractor or something.
And that’s how I wound up with this awesome scar.
My head wound a few weeks after the accident.
Honestly, back in my twenties, the only thing I would have felt after surviving that crash was pride. Sheer, unabashed Texas pride. But I felt something different as I left the hospital that day. After looking into Jo’s tear-filled eyes and staring at my beautiful son in his car seat, I felt . . . stupid.
What’s wrong with me?
I’d made a habit of pushing the envelope pretty much my whole life. Back in high school, when a group of kids would go climb a bridge to jump into some invariably scary-looking body of water beneath, I’d be the kid who climbed five feet higher than everybody else, just because. I was not about to be outdone.
Risk takers in general are sort of hell-bent on tackling the world and climbing to the top. We don’t feel like we’re living unless we’re walk
ing that edge. There’s something about feeling like everything’s on the line that makes people like me feel alive. So for most of my life up until that point, I’d felt that if I wasn’t redlining it, if I wasn’t pushing whatever I was doing to the max, then maybe I’d lost a step or I’d gone soft like everybody else. Or maybe—God forbid—I was just normal, a boring, run-of-the-mill kind of guy who’d been reduced to living out an ordinary life. Normal was the complete opposite of what I’d always wanted to be.
But looking at Jo and little Drake after surviving something so dangerous, an entirely new thought flashed through my brain.
I am now carrying precious cargo.
The rush of what used to drive me and make me feel alive was being replaced with the joy I now felt as a husband and father. My wife and my son were a whole lot more important to me than my desire to prove I was man enough to do this or that stupid thing just for fun.
Although I wasn’t about to stop thrill seeking altogether, I did realize it was time to grow up. I no longer wanted to purposefully do things that were so outlandish and dangerous they could throw me into life-or-death scenarios. I no longer had the luxury of driving off of a cliff and dying.
What I mean by “luxury” is that, growing up, I imagined I would leave this earth in some dramatic, perhaps mixed-martial-arts sort of way. And I spent a lot of years living off of the rush that recklessness provided. But this big moment made me realize that there’s nothing heroic or cool about death by stupidity. And it’s a lot harder to take care of a baby and a wife if you wind up in a wheelchair or dead.
These days, I still do stuff that the average person might consider a little risky, but they’re not the sort of things where something tragic is likely to happen. The risks I take now are different, more calculated and thought through. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t plenty exhilarating.
I’m a husband and father now. As such, I’m way more aware of the impact my choices have on other people. I vowed a lot of things to Jo on our wedding day, and I plan to make good on each of those promises.
I’m still a huge advocate for trusting your instincts and taking leaps of faith when it matters. There are plenty of things worth rushing into the unknown for. But don’t be dumb. Save your courage for when it counts.
INTERMISSION
A SHORT STORY ON HOW THIS BOOK COVER CAME TO BE
SCARFACE: A MINI-MERCIAL
On top of being an eternal optimist—arguably to a fault—I’ve always had this sixth sense, or talent or gift or whatever you want to call it. I’m keenly aware of my own inner voice. It takes practice to recognize that voice, but once you do, you’ll find it to be trustworthy. (Unless, of course, it’s always telling you terrible things about yourself, in which case I wouldn’t listen to it.)
What do you think about the photo of me on the cover of this book? You like it? I sure hope so. If you don’t, that’s okay too. But I knew it was “the one” the moment I saw it. I want to take a minute to give you the backstory.
Whenever Jo and I do a photoshoot, it’s a big production. A crazy number of people get together and construct these sets or scenes. Hair and makeup people come, and we get fitted for these custom clothes. The lighting equipment required is probably worth as much as my truck.
So on this particular photoshoot, we were in an ATV on the way to the staged area where we would try to get the perfect shot for the book cover, and my buddy Jeff snapped a candid picture of me. This on-the-fly shot, which took zero planning and zero forethought, spoke to me the most out of the hundreds of photos we reviewed at the end of that day. It felt sincere and unexpected and—most important—raw and authentic.
I’m not a huge fan of the circus that is required to make something appear “real.” I just like the real kind of real. And I’m probably particularly sensitive about such things these days. So Jeff’s photo stood out to me like a ray of light. And the fact that you could see my scar front and center was just the cherry on top.
I am a little obsessed with this scar, you see. It’s right smack in the middle of my forehead, and it’s just the kind of scar that a guy can be proud of. This was important to me because what I learned when I got this scar really grew me up and changed me forever. It just felt right for this book. In this world of Photoshopped lives and fake news, I just thought that a real photo, snapped in a real pasture by a real person, was in order.
It turned out that this photo and two other random options were the final contenders for the book’s cover. I posted all three outside my office door and forced everyone who walked by to vote on the one they liked best. And I mean I had everyone vote—people I knew and people I didn’t, folks on Instagram, people from out of state, and people from in town too. I had the FedEx guy vote, and I even had a lady vote who had come into the office by mistake, just looking for her dentist.
One option was the photo I had used to announce the launch of this book. It was a funny, fun photo of me jumping through a wall, and it got a great response.
The second was a really handsome picture of me. In my mind I looked just like Ryan Reynolds, only with longer, silkier hair. Even I understood the appeal when I first saw it.
Then this third one—what can I say? It was gritty, a tiny bit out of focus, and a little confusing. I was in an all-terrain vehicle wearing a designer suit but with my dirty old hat on. And as far as I was concerned, it was the one. But I didn’t want to ignore other people’s opinions. So I put all three cover options on my door, walked away, and let the chips fall where they may.
Before I knew it, the vote count was 74, 16, and 1. I started doing the math on how many employees were left in the building, and there weren’t even enough to make up the difference. So I put together this great sales pitch. And you’d probably assume, since I’m a big, bad business owner, that my employees would concede to my preference without getting smart about it. Especially since it’s my book.
But if you assumed that, you’d be wrong. The vast majority of them preferred the first two photos.
I listened. I really did. And then—bam! I yanked the Magnolia Home by Joanna Gaines™ rug right out from underneath their feet and chose the third option. They never saw it coming. If they know one thing about me by now, it’s that I won’t go against my gut, especially for the cover of my juicy tell-all.
I wish you would’ve seen those people’s faces when I carried in the cover options and announced the winner. This coup d’état* ended up being a great lesson for my team in going with your gut. Yes, somehow I see myself as the freedom fighter in this scenario.
It’s very important to take other people’s opinions into consideration. It’s crucial, even. You can’t operate in a vacuum. But in the end, it’s your life. It’s your work. The conclusions you come to ultimately reflect you, and it’s critical that it reflects you honestly.
So here’s the point: learn to hear your inner voice, and then trust it. Get a sense of when it’s offering suggestions and when it’s stating a mandate. And when it states a mandate, listen to what it’s telling you to do. Then act fast and don’t waste time second-guessing yourself.
Confidence in your intuition takes practice. You need to exercise it. Experiment with it. Try to visualize what you want to happen, because if you can’t at least imagine it first, you can forget actually making it happen. Then, once you can “see” it, it’s time to act.
The only difference between a painter and an aspiring painter is that willingness to put those inner urges into action. So get to it! Just get started and believe you can, then go from there. Eventually you’ll find that hearing and following your inner voice becomes second nature.
Today I’d ask you, what voice are you going to listen to? Everyone has opinions, and that’s good. It’s what makes the world go around. But sometimes all the opinions can keep us from doing what only we can do.
In the end, only I could have known how this book cover was supposed to feel. I needed every opinion I got, if only to confirm what my inner vo
ice was saying all along. But once I listened to what others had to say, the final decision had to be mine.
If I ever become really famous, I hope that kids dress up as me for Halloween, just like they do with Harry Potter. But instead of the lightning-bolt scar, they’ll need a big wishbone-shaped scar in the middle of their foreheads. That would be pretty cool!
THE END
NOW BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING
PART 2
A TIME TO GROW
CHAPTER 6
FEAR-LESS
Life has never been particularly scary to me. Between Jo and me, we’ve learned a lot of lessons the hard way. Riding out the turbulence, even living through a few nosedives, has allowed us to see that fear isn’t part of how we’re willing to live our lives. We’ve experienced some of what people deem as the “worst possible scenarios” together, and we’ve come out on the other side. For as long as we’ve been married, Jo and I have made a habit of just trying things out and hoping for the best. Because we’re not afraid to fail, fear has lost its power over us.
This is a really important point to understand: when you aren’t trying to avoid failure, fear loses its foothold. The courage to take a chance is half the battle. The other half? Viewing failure as a teacher and not an enemy.
But not all fear is about failure. What if someone hurts us or takes advantage of us or steals from us? That’s always a possibility, but we can’t let fear be the deciding factor that holds us back.