Capital Gaines: Smart Things I Learned Doing Stupid Stuff

by Chip Gaines

  When something seems insurmountable to most, we shrug, because we eat “insurmountable” for breakfast.

  PART 3

  A TIME TO BUILD

  CHAPTER 12

  NEVER QUIT YOUR DAY DREAM

  You have to be smart to be funny. It’s true. There have been actual studies conducted that prove funny people have higher IQs.1 But there are a lot of different types of funny. And honestly, for the punch line to work, it’s got to be authentic.

  Funny in real life is pretty different from funny on TV. As life often works, when I’m being my naturally hilarious self, the cameras are rarely rolling. Or if they are, the lighting isn’t right or a train is making a racket somewhere in the distance. So the producers ask me to do it over so they can get the best shot. As you can imagine, it’s easy for “naturally funny” to get lost somewhere between the third and fourth try. And that’s exhausting for me. I love to laugh. I love to joke and prank and be silly to the point of being obnoxious. But doing these things on command for the cameras is another thing entirely.

  Now, you’re probably thinking, Wah! Poor little Chippy. Life is so hard for him. Being funny makes him feel tired.

  I’ve hesitated to mention this sooner for this very reason. Life isn’t particularly hard for me; it never has been. I’ve had my challenges, but times are not tough. So who the heck am I to be complaining? But bear with me for a bit so I can make this excellent point: having to be funny on command feels a whole lot like having a boss. And having a boss is an entrepreneur’s nemesis.

  Lots of people don’t want all of the pressure that comes with owning their own business. It feels like too much of a risk, and they are content to work for the system just so they can clock out at the end of the day. I’m the opposite. I like to work for myself, and I’ve been doing that since my very first lawn business. I’m happy to shoulder all the responsibility and cost if it means not having to answer to someone else.

  So what I didn’t think through when we signed up for a TV show was that I was really signing up for someone to manage my schedule and basically my whole life. Every day that we’re shooting, I’m told where to be and when to be there and what shirt I should wear. I’m being bossed for the very first time in my adult life. And who I am runs perpendicular with the reality of having a “supervisor” and a nine-to-five schedule.

  My season-five beard is a perfect case in point.* During our break between seasons, I started growing it out just for fun—basically to see if I could. I’ve had a few substantial five o’clock shadows in the past, but at this point in my life I was still a beard virgin. When filming started back up, I made the mistake of not shaving my beard and was informed pretty quickly that having the beard on the first day meant I had to keep it until the end of the season for continuity’s sake.

  So you can see how complicated this has gotten.

  It started out pretty simple: “Hey! I’m going to grow my beard out to change things up for a couple of months.”

  Then it was: “Chip, you have to keep that beard for nine more months.”

  So now here I am with a beard on the cover of this book. Not exactly the look I was going for on the glossy sleeve of my juicy tell-all.

  I have spent summers pounding the pavement, selling books door to door. I’ve trimmed trees and mowed acres of grass from dawn to dusk in the hot Texas sun—though not as hot as selling fireworks from a plywood stand during a roasting southern July. I’ve built retaining walls that held up entire hillsides from nothing and constructed new homes from scratch. I have come home at the end of the day weighing less than when I left in the morning, just from the copious amounts of water weight I’d lost through sweating. Perspiration and aching muscles don’t bother me a bit. In fact, if I haven’t worn myself out by the end of the day, if I don’t come home with bruises or scratches, then I don’t feel right. I feel unsettled, like I’ve shorted myself somehow. But when I’ve physically worked hard, it feels like a day well spent, and I’ve loved every minute of it.

  But even after all of that manual labor, making a TV show is the most exhausting job I’ve ever done. And the reality is, it’s not grueling work, at least not physically. It’s also not rocket science, and it shouldn’t drain me to the extent that it does. The irony is that on camera it appears that I’m just goofing off, playing really, when in reality it’s the hardest work I do.

  I feel enormous amounts of guilt for ’fessing up to all of this, because no matter how emotionally taxing this show can be, it has still been the opportunity of a lifetime for Jo and me. Every day we are grateful. Fixer Upper has allowed us to pursue so many dreams, so many things that we are truly passionate about. I never want to lose sight of that, even for a moment. But that doesn’t mean it’s always easy or natural for me to do the show.

  And Jo loves it, by the way. She’s a natural. She has no problem sticking with the schedule, and when the cameras start rolling, she is truly mesmerizing to watch. Some people are just made for the camera. I love to be on set and watch her come alive in her element. It’s one of my favorite things to do—unless you include the times when I get to just come in and mess with her while she’s working. Now that I really enjoy!

  But the truth is, I am a builder and a contractor. I don’t just play one on TV. I love nothing more than being with my team and making good progress out on a job site. And our filming schedule can be pretty disruptive to both the workflow of our construction business and my natural work rhythms.

  Jo and I show up at a project ready to roll up our sleeves and get after it. And right as we get acclimated to what house we’re working on and all of the nuances and specific plans and design details associated with it, we’re tapped on the shoulder and notified that it’s time to move on to get the next shot. That’s just how television works.

  On top of that is the enormous workload the show generates. We renovate around seventeen homes per season, each of which is filmed within a nine-month time span. And that’s just the television portion of our construction business—off the air, we’re almost always doing interesting projects in addition. Now, in real life, if you were to hire a contractor and team to come in and do any one of these projects, that alone could take up to nine months to complete. So you can only imagine the amount of jumping around Jo and I do in order to keep tabs on things.

  Most people in the TV industry probably sought out a career in showbiz. They were formally trained or at least did theater in high school or college, then they auditioned for the parts they wanted. But Jo and I kind of fell into this TV thing by accident.

  “Hey guys, want a TV show?”

  “All right.”

  Maybe that’s why audiences resonate with us. We don’t seem so slick—because we’re not. We don’t use a hair and makeup or wardrobe team like most of our counterparts on TV. Jo puts on blush and eye makeup and such in the parking lot before we hop out to film. And as for me? You can just forget it. No makeup. No skinny jeans. No sandals. Just the same clothes I was wearing before we got into all this. So in a sense, what you see of me on Fixer Upper is what you get. But being a TV personality has never been my dream, my true passion, or what I consider to be my life’s work.

  We were created to live passionately—all of us, no matter our personality type or circumstance. The human heart was made to swell and jump and stir; that’s a fact. It took me a while to figure out what makes my heart feel that way. But that is perhaps one of the most crucial things to know about ourselves.

  What makes you want to jump out of bed in the morning? What puts a smile on your face, the kind you can’t wipe off if you tried? What fascinates you? Motivates you? Overwhelms you in the very best sense? If you don’t know, I suggest not wasting one more single day until you find out.

  Here’s what it looks like for me.

  So far as work goes, my favorite part of all of it is the working part. I mean actual physical labor, the kind that makes you tired and sweaty. Getting up at four in the morning to tend the farm w
hile the world is quiet—feeding animals, mucking stalls, gathering eggs, filling water troughs, checking fences, letting animals out into the field—is a high point to my day. Maybe it’s because I’m task oriented and like seeing something through from start to finish. Maybe I just love the outdoors. I can’t be sure what it is about this kind of work I love, but I know I love it.

  It probably would be wiser, from a time-management standpoint, if I hired a crew to take care of the farm so I could get a little more rest. But the thing is, when I start my morning out there, I’m more productive for the rest of the day. That’s God’s own truth. Maybe it’s because my farm chores guarantee that every day I have those two hours to myself. No texts or e-mails or phone calls or meetings. No producers sending me pictures of the shirt I’m supposed to be wearing.

  Though farm chores and construction work are the most physically demanding labor that I currently do, they feel like recess to me. And there’s something really beautiful about work that feels like play.

  The way I see it, there’s work and then there’s work. And there’s a big difference between your work and your job.

  A job is a task done for an agreed-upon price, and work is the effort directed toward accomplishing a goal. See what I mean? A job is something you do for money. Your life’s work is done for a bigger purpose, to fulfill a calling or a dream. And when you manage to find that work—that’s when it starts feeling like play.

  I want that for you and for me too. Don’t allow yourself to get stuck grinding away on the job piece and lose sight of the work piece, the one that truly matters. There’s nothing admirable or respectable about laying yourself down, day in and day out, for a job you hate—not if you have a choice.

  Maybe you can’t up and quit the job you hate. I understand that there are extenuating circumstances that can prevent you from being able to take that leap. But if you are sticking it out because of fear or passivity, there’s nothing heroic about that. Do work that matters . . . to you.

  Now, if you’re like most people, you’re somewhere in the middle. What you’re doing to support yourself may not be the thing you feel like you were born to do, but it’s not total drudgery either. I get that you might not love every part of your job. I don’t think anyone does. As I’ve said, I don’t love every aspect of running Magnolia or doing Fixer Upper. But I know from experience that if you can get to a place where you at least feel passionate about some of the work, the job part will become a lot more bearable.

  Vocation is a powerful thing. Don’t let it just happen to you. Chase after it, even if right now “chasing” feels a lot like limping. You’re going to spend approximately ninety-two thousand hours of your life working, so figure out what drives you and run, don’t walk, in the direction of making real, fulfilling work out of that dream. And even if that’s not feasible right now, carve out a chunk of your day, week, and life for the things that fill you up.

  Perhaps you can’t quit your day job, and I understand that.

  But never, ever quit your day dream.

  CHAPTER 13

  SEASON FINALE

  When left to our own devices, Jo and I will literally work ourselves to death.

  Even before we knew each other, we each had unusually high capacities for work, but together, they’ve grown exponentially. People ask us every day, “How the heck do you two do it all?” And we just kind of stare at each other and shrug our shoulders.

  It obviously doesn’t have anything to do with our self-care habits because, for the most part, our self-care habits are terrible. Jo and I don’t eat right, we don’t exercise, and we’re awful at getting a good night’s rest. Basically all we need to do is take up smoking to be the go-to guides for what not to do. Or the proof may be in the pudding, and our lifestyle is, in fact, the thing that’s responsible for our capacity.

  But while we Gaineses may be workhorses, we’re also pretty clear on what our limitations are. Joanna and I have concluded that we can only do two things really well at one time. And I’m not talking about the rubbing-your-stomach-while-simultaneously-patting-your-head kind of multitasking. I’m talking about the big things. For example, it would not be wise for either of us to run for public office while researching molecular disintegration while also writing a screenplay for an epic docudrama, all while raising a young family. You know? That would not be smart for us. That would be our version of spreading ourselves too thin.

  It’s not that we can’t juggle more than two things at a time. In fact, by definition there must be at least three things in play to call it juggling. And we’re definitely capable of doing it. We just don’t do it well. Something’s eventually gotta give.

  And to be honest, we’re just about to that point.

  Presently, three big things absorb my thoughts and my time. These major responsibilities affect my ability to sleep, and they steal from my peace of mind. Each is important. Each is worthwhile. And each is something that can’t succeed without Joanna’s and my personal involvement. Here they are in real time.

  1.We’re strengthening our marriage every day, which takes real time and effort, and we’re raising four great kids who we couldn’t be prouder of.

  2.We are running a midsized business with multiple components called Magnolia.

  3.We are filming a hot cable TV show about the ups and downs of designing and renovating homes.

  The reality is that we can’t afford to neglect a single one of these commitments. They’re all opportunities of a lifetime, and none of them deserves our second best. And each feels like a huge responsibility with far-reaching implications.

  Number one, our marriage and family, is by far the most important. There’s not even a close second. This is our nonnegotiable. No one else in the world can raise our babies, and no one can better love and support my wife. No matter how successful I may have been at priorities two through a hundred in my life, if at the end of the day I didn’t get number one right, I’ve failed.

  Number two is our work. We’ve committed ourselves to our Magnolia business and employees. And as a young company, it needs our direct involvement. It’s going to mature—we’re hiring the right people, building great teams, and getting the right infrastructure in place—but it’s simply too early to take ourselves out of the equation.

  I dream of the day when Jo and I are chairmen of the board and not actually involved in the day-to-day operations, when our team will come to us only with high-level concerns, looking for counsel and direction. But the reality is, that day is in the future. For now, Magnolia still needs our vision, our leadership, and our day-to-day presence.

  As for number three, the bottom line is there’s just not anyone handsome and rugged enough to be my stand-in, and there’s certainly no one hot enough to replace Jo. So you guessed it, only we can do this job too.

  These past several years have been such a mind-blowing season of blessing for us. They have also been a very real struggle. I’ve been in this lengthy internal wrestling match, trying to understand and prioritize these three main priorities while also fending off all the other big things that compete for my time. Who deserves the best of me? Which ones get the bulk of my passion and energy? And which, in turn, gets what amounts to my leftovers?

  In the beginning, of course, we could handle all three because everything was still pretty small. The shop had just opened back up, the show was just getting started, nobody really knew our names or faces yet, and we honestly didn’t even know whether it was going to take off anyway. Even the babies were small back then.

  However, before we knew it, the show became a huge success and undoubtedly gave our business a major lift, which we are so thankful for. We grew bigger and have been afforded more opportunities than we ever would have had without the show.

  Success is such a complicated thing. All successful people want to be able to take at least some credit for their successes. But successful people also struggle in their heart of hearts about whether it was just luck, or just being in the
right place at the right time, or something else.

  Additionally, as a believer, I find myself wondering, Why me? Why did God pick me of all people?

  And most of all, these days I find myself wondering, What comes next?

  Are you familiar with Newton’s cradle? It’s that little desk toy with the row of metal balls all hanging from strings that hit each other from one end to the next when you pull one back and let it go. Actually, just see the diagram.

  Newton’s cradle is more than just a toy, actually. It demonstrates a principle of physics first described by Sir Isaac Newton in the seventeenth century—the law of conservation of momentum.1 This law basically states that if something’s moving at a uniform speed and direction, it will continue in that same motion until something comes and forces it to change direction.

  I don’t know if you’ve ever messed with one of these devices, but they are absolutely mesmerizing. Once those silver balls start swinging, they keep clicking away, back and forth for quite a while until something stops them, whether it’s their own friction or someone’s hand.

  That toy reminds me of Jo and me. We will just go and go with no break unless something knocks us in another direction. In today’s world, this tendency is sometimes viewed as a strength, but honestly, I’m not proud of it. In fact, I find it pretty unsettling.

  We’re currently shooting season five of Fixer Upper just as we have the previous four. We’re in it, we’re focused, we’d do this forever because—you know—momentum. For a long time, in the midst of the steady swing of marriage, babies, the business, and filming, Jo and I didn’t really stop to take notice that we were just getting by rather than giving each one our very best. Against our better judgment, we told ourselves that “We’ve got it”—that we could, in fact, keep juggling our three priorities. That they weren’t actually that big.