Being in the right place at the right time can make or break careers — and companies. Or, if you are really lucky, it can turn you into a national adviser despite having the intellectual range of a houseplant.

Rosabeth Moss Kanter made this point in her 2013 article, “The First Secret of Success Is Showing Up.” She references the comedy film “Being There,” starring Peter Sellers. Sellers plays Chance the gardener, a man whose primary skill set involves watering things and not saying much of anything useful. Through a series of misunderstandings — including his name being heard as “Chauncey Gardiner” — he stumbles into elite circles. His vague comments about plants are mistaken for profound wisdom, and before long, he is advising national leaders. All because he showed up. No résumé. No LinkedIn endorsements. Just vibes and good timing.

I share Kanter’s insight not because I think we should all aspire to accidentally fail upward, but because nothing — ideas, innovation, growth — happens if we don’t actually get together and talk to each other in person. This applies everywhere: clubs, teams, businesses, families. Yes, even families. Especially families. (Try brainstorming Thanksgiving plans exclusively over email and see how that goes.)

Now, before anyone fires off a strongly worded message from a home office — possibly while still in pajama bottoms — let me say this: Video conferencing is great. It is convenient. It has saved us all from commutes, bad coffee and that one coworker who reheats fish in the break room. But it is not the same.

There’s something about being in the same room that sparks ideas in a way a Brady Bunch-style grid of faces just can’t. You might be more productive at home individually. Fantastic. But is the company better? Are new ideas actually happening? Or are we all just becoming extremely efficient at maintaining the status quo?

Kanter argues that for companies, “being there” means having a presence on the ground where important things are happening. She points to Kodak, which once dominated photography but missed the digital wave. Imagine if the company had planted itself in Silicon Valley, soaking up ideas, hiring fresh talent and bumping into entrepreneurs building the future. Instead, it stayed rooted in Rochester, New York — comfortable, familiar and increasingly outdated. Kodak didn’t fall apart because of too many Zoom calls, of course. But a lack of fresh thinking was partially to blame. And fresh thinking rarely shows up uninvited. It tends to appear when people do.

So yes, being in the right place at the right time matters. But here is the catch: You don’t get to be in the right place if you never leave your current one. This brings us back to the big secret of success: Show up. Worst-case scenario, nothing happens. Best case? You accidentally become “Chauncey Gardiner” and end up advising world leaders.

Stranger things have happened.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital newsletter
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

The $2 bill is the unicorn of American currency. Everyone has heard of it, few people actually see it, and when one appears, you are not quite sure if you should spend it or frame it.

As a kid, getting a $2 bill in a birthday card felt like hitting the financial jackpot. Forget savings bonds. This was cold, spendable cash with flair.

I used to save every $2 bill I got. Hoarded them, really. Treated them like tiny green heirlooms. Today? I struggle to find any. They have apparently joined the witness protection program with my missing socks, Tupperware lids and the one house key that actually worked.

So what’s a $2 bill worth? At the gas station, the answer is two bucks. To collectors, some rare ones go for $4,500 or more. The most valuable bills date back to the 1800s, but even some newer ones can be worth hundreds — emphasis on can. This is important, because hope is free, but disappointment is also very affordable.

The $2 bill first showed up in 1862. Others are still in circulation today, quietly doing their thing, confusing cashiers nationwide. They feature Thomas Jefferson now, though Alexander Hamilton had a brief cameo before the redesign in 1869.

Collectors say anything printed before 1976 might be worth more than face value. They will also tell you, with great enthusiasm, about paper quality, serial numbers and ink variations, at which point you will nod politely and slowly back away.

Honestly, the best use for a $2 bill might be pure joy. Slip it into a birthday card. Watch someone’s face light up like you just handed them a winning lottery ticket from 1997. Or, if you are like me, weaponize it.

I like to send birthday cards with a $2 bill inside and sign them from people like Burt and Helen or Frank and Ethyl, names that sound like they come with hard candy and strong opinions about lawn care. Then I add something unsettlingly wholesome: “You are such a good kid. Tell your parents hello for us.” It keeps people guessing, with just enough mystery, if Burt and Helen are real — and possibly watching.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
President and Publisher
Big Green Umbrella Media
shane@dmcityview.com
515-953-4822, ext. 305
www.thedailyumbrella.com

Candlelight. Today, that word suggests romance, prayer or a birthday wish. But before the 1930s, candles weren’t mood lighting — they were survival. If you wanted to see after dark, it was candles, the moon or walking into furniture.

Of course, candles also had a habit of burning down more than just wicks. Entire wooden structures were lost to them. Even now, according to the National Fire Protection Association, U.S. fire departments respond to about 7,400 home fires started by candles each year. So, yes, that cozy glow comes with a side of “maybe don’t.”

And yet, we love them. The National Candle Association says Americans spend about $3.14 billion a year on candles — which is impressive for something we technically no longer need.

Most of us met candles as kids. I remember my brother, Steve, showing me he could run his finger through a flame without getting burned. I was convinced I was living with Houdini. He offered to teach me. I declined and instead stuck my fingers in melted wax, which felt safer and somehow still like a bad decision. (Fun fact: More than 1 billion pounds of wax are used to make candles sold in the U.S. each year. That’s a lot of questionable childhood choices.)

Years later, candles got their revenge on Steve. One night, while Mom and Dad were out, he was in charge — which immediately became a problem when matches entered the picture. While lighting a candle, he leaned in to inspect it and accidentally introduced his curly hair to the flame. It ignited instantly. What followed was a frantic, bongo-style head-slapping performance that successfully put out the fire. He survived. His hair… learned a lesson. I, meanwhile, learned to keep a respectful distance from anything involving fire, wax or Steve.

I avoided candles for years — at least until I got married. My wife loves candles. Not for light, but for scent. Apparently there are more than 10,000 candle fragrances, which explains why our house can smell like “Coastal Breeze” in the middle of Iowa.

At one point, a contractor informed us that the black soot on our walls was from candles. We didn’t believe him — mostly because we had just discovered our water heater flue had disconnected in the attic (a story for another day). Still, we cut back on candles … briefly. Old habits burn hard.

Today, candles come in every form imaginable: tapers, votives, pillars, tealights, jars, floats, outdoors, indoors, religious, decorative and “why does this exist?” varieties. I’m fairly certain we own at least one of each, all hiding in a cupboard, waiting for their moment.

They are also a go-to gift, especially at Christmas when about 35% of candle sales happen. Nothing says “I didn’t know what to get you” quite like a cinnamon-scented pillar.

So go ahead — light a candle. Set the mood. Enjoy the glow. Just maybe keep it — and your hair — at a safe distance.

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading. 

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital newsletter
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

I am not entirely sure how old I am. When someone asks, I have to stop and do the math — which assumes I know what year it is. That’s not a given. I have confidently given the wrong answer more than once, only to be corrected by my wife, my friends or, on one occasion, a cashier who seemed far too pleased to announce it.

It sounds ridiculous, but I know I’m not alone. If we’re being honest, some birthdays matter a lot, while others are about as meaningful as those college textbooks you refuse to throw away — just in case “Intro to Economics” makes a comeback.

Turning 13 was a big deal. You were officially a teenager. Did anything actually change? No. But it felt important, which is really what matters at 13.

At 14, things got serious. You could legally drive — with an adult in the car, of course, presumably to keep you from immediately steering into a cornfield. Still, that tiny taste of freedom was everything. You could also drive a moped, which felt incredibly cool at the time and incredibly not cool about two years later.

By 16, you had a real driver’s license and the ability to go places alone. Freedom. Independence. The open road. Today, I’m amazed at how many 16-year-olds aren’t in a hurry to get their license. I practically sprinted to mine. I begged a friend for a ride to another county just to take the test sooner. Now, between parents, ride-hailing apps and friends with cars, “I’ll just wait” has apparently become a strategy.

At 18, you could vote, get married or be drafted — all very adult activities I was in no rush to participate in. What I did understand was that getting into trouble suddenly came with adult consequences, which took some of the fun out of bad decisions.

Turning 21 and legally drinking wasn’t quite the cinematic moment I expected. No confetti. No parade. Just the realization that beverages are expensive. But 25? Now that was a milestone. My car insurance dropped, and I briefly considered celebrating by buying a sports car — until I learned the insurance would cost more than the car payment. Reality remains undefeated.

And that, I think, was the last truly exciting birthday. Now I’m somewhere in the neighborhood of 57, give or take a calculator check. The milestones are less about freedom and more about discounts. I find myself asking questions like, “Is this restaurant age-discriminating in my favor?” and “Do I qualify for that yet, or do I need to age another six months?”

In the meantime, I’ll keep doing the math every time someone asks my age. And with a little luck — and maybe a calculator — I might even get it right.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
President and Publisher
Big Green Umbrella Media
shane@gctimesnews.com
515-953-4822, ext. 305
www.gctimesnews.com

“Open sesame” is one of those phrases that lives rent-free in your brain. You have heard it. You have probably said it. Maybe you have even whispered it dramatically at an automatic door, hoping for a little extra flair.

At first glance, it sounds like something you would say to an Amazon Alexa when you want to hear the theme song from “Sesame Street.” I tried it. Alexa did not open anything. Not even emotionally.

It could also pass as a polite request to a box of Keebler Toasted Sesame crackers. “Open sesame,” you say, preparing for a sophisticated cheese-and-cracker moment. The crackers, however, remain sealed. Cold. Unmoved.

But if your brain goes straight to “magic words that open a secret door,” congratulations — you are on the right track and possibly ready for a career in treasure hunting.

The phrase is most famously tied to “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” part of “One Thousand and One Nights.” In the story, Ali Baba unlocks a cave full of stolen treasure with the phrase “Open, O simsim.” And just like that — boom — instant wealth.

Naturally, things go sideways. His brother tries the same trick, blanks on the phrase and starts guessing like he is on some ancient version of a game show. Nope. Still trapped.

There is a theory that “open sesame” came from “open, says me,” which sounds reasonable until you remember that magic phrases are rarely that grammatically cooperative.

Another idea is that sesame seeds — which pop open when they are ripe — inspired the phrase. Tiny plant. Big dramatic energy.

There is even talk of sesame being tied to ancient Babylonian magic. Because, apparently, sesame seeds weren’t content just being bagel toppings.

The truth? No one really knows where the phrase came from. Scholars debate it. Historians circle it. Meanwhile, the rest of us are out here testing it on garage doors and snack packaging.

So go ahead — say “open sesame” a few times today. Best case: You unlock hidden treasure. Worst case: You confuse everyone within earshot. Honestly, both feel like a win.

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading.