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What happens when your grandfather’s painted plates start falling off the wall? You keep drawing them. 😂 I’ve now recreated 12 of my grandpa’s acrylic original artworks in soft pastels (see Part 1 and Part 2 in the blog!), and along the way, his art has literally taken me places, from the Hillsboro Inlet Lighthouse to Juno Beach, West Palm Beach, and my first live online session.  Part 3: Re-creating Robert George Etienne's original acrylic painted plates in soft pastels, by Jackie Morreale Honoring Grandpa, Robert George Etienne, by Re-Creating his Art (Part 3): Going Places By Jackie Morreale (00:00) Hi there. My name is Jackie Morreale, and I'm the host of Wisdom for Wannabes. Apparently I have not finished recreating my grandpa's art. I really didn't expect to do a part two. I definitely didn't expect to do a part three. But here we are. Once again, happy 100th heavenly birthday to my grandpa, Robert George Etienne. I moved the installation of Grandpa's painted plates out of my podcast recording studio, to a more permanent location. As I was reinstalling this very tall six by nine-foot-ish installation, plates started falling. Every night, there would be another plate on the floor. Fortunately, they're plastic. First:
I started thinking: Maybe I'm using really cheap tape? Or maybe, I'm meant to keep going with this project?  Morreale, J. (2026, August) Hillsboro Inlet Lighthouse [Pastels on paper]. RE-CREATION 1: STRIPED LIGHTHOUSE The first piece that I created was this lighthouse. I decided to venture to Broward County, and find the Hillsborough Inlet Lighthouse. I found a park across the water with an incredible view, and this amazing two-tone lighthouse. Grandpa's lighthouse had a red and white striped pattern, but this actual lighthouse has this beautiful architectural structure, black in the upper portion and white below, with its cylindrical middle and these supports that come together toward the top. I had my ruler out because there were so many angles and structural lines. I spent more than an hour drawing it. The water on the park side was incredibly peaceful. People were snorkeling. There was beauty above the water and underneath it. It was just one of those perfect days. Then I went back to my car, there was a $45 parking ticket on the front windshield. Apparently there was an art tax for creating this particular drawing. The more you know.  Morreale, J. (2026, August) West Palm Beach Park with waterski lodge [Pastels on paper]. RE-CREATION 2: GAZEBO This second painting brought me back to a park in West Palm Beach that I really love. Grandpa's painting has this beautiful garden and gazebo surrounded by flowers and layers of foliage. I saw this elevated structure beside the lake where people watch waterskiing. I thought it looked reminiscent of this beautiful gazebo that he had done. It's not exactly the same scene as grandpa's. His is more, I think, fantastical, more spring-like. More ornate. Mine had a lake, reflections of palm trees, wildflowers growing right along the water, and layer upon layer of trees. I noticed something that I hadn't noticed or thought about before. The trees don't all look the same in this park, they all have different leaves, different shapes. The shadows were dancing across the path. Very different interpretation from grandpa's painting, but somehow I was able to find magic in both. I think that's one of the things I'm learning through this whole project. We don't have to recreate someone's world exactly. We can take what they loved and find it in our own.  Morreale, J. (2026, August) White Pelican [Pastels on paper]. RE-CREATION 3: PELICAN The third painting was a little bit scarier because I did it live. It was my first live drawing session as part of my new 'Wisdom Wednesdays' live series. Grandpa's Pelican painting is incredibly simple. It's basically a black background with a white pelican. beak and feet are this beautiful yellow-orange. That's almost it. But I found the contrast absolutely genius. The more I drew it, the more I appreciated it. The proportions of the wing, the belly, the head.The curve of the beak, the webbed feet, even the way the individual feathers were suggested on the wing. There was so much going on in such a simple composition. He didn't need a lot, he just needed the right things... and suddenly you have this incredibly striking image. I also think it's funny that I'm so drawn to animals. The same kind of visual simplicity. Maybe some things really do get passed down.  Morreale, J. (2026, August) Sheldon the Loggerhead Sea Turtle in Juno Beach [Pastels on paper]. RE-CREATION 4: SCUBA DIVER & TURTLE Finally, the turtle. This is especially fun because I had a reference of my own. Last year I had seen a loggerhead sea turtle at Loggerhead Marine Life Center. He would come right up to the window and greet people. When I was thinking about how to recreate grandpa's scuba diver and turtle painting, I thought, 'Why not just draw Sheldon?' I drove up to Juno Beach, and drew my own version of Grandpa's sea turtle painting. I had my little Loggerhead turtle stuffed animal with me. It was such a sweet experience. I talked with some of the volunteers. They told me how much they missed Sheldon. He had just gotten released last week! There were other beautiful sea turtles there too. What I really love about this place is that It's a rehabilitation facility. The goal is to care for those animals and then return them back to the ocean. Sitting there drawing a turtle that I've seen in this environment, that was released back into the ocean, made the whole thing feel very connected.  Morreale, J. (2026, August) West Palm Beach Park and Waterski Lodge closeup [Pastels on paper]. ART WILL TAKE YOU PLACES By this point, I started thinking: People say things to kids all the time, like: 'Your sport is going to take you places.' 'Your brains are going to take you places.' Grandpa's art has literally taken me places. This project has taken me to the Hillsboro Inlet Lighthouse. This project has taken me to Juno Beach. This project has also taken me live, completely out of my normal routine. It's gotten me into parks, onto beaches, and into my own imagination. I remembered something else: Grandpa used his art to take himself places, too. He spoke some German after serving in World War II. He would travel to Germany, Austria, and Switzerland. He would sit on a train and look out the window and paint. He told me what he would actually use to mix his paints... his own spit... which might sound disgusting, but also kind of hilarious. He was practical, adventurous, creative, a little quirky, and completely willing to make his own way through the world. So, Grandpa, thank you for leaving behind enough pieces of yourself for us to keep discovering you. Happy heavenly 100th birthday, for the third time. I'll see you when the next plate falls off the wall.  Jackie Morreale with White Pelican in soft pastels and Grandpa Robert George Etienne's original White Pelican acrylic painted plate.  Morreale, J. (2026, August) Sheldon the Loggerhead Sea Turtle in Juno Beach closeup [Pastels on paper].
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On Plein Air Sketching Video Blog Transcript By Jackie Morreale PART I: DRAWING AL FRESCO What if your office was outside? What if instead of sitting at a desk, or sitting on the sidelines of an activity, you could simply draw whatever you see in front of you. That's what plein air sketching has become for me. What's funny is, I never set out to become a landscape artist. In fact, when I started doing this, I wasn't even in Palm Beach County. I was in Austria.  Jackie Morreale with her Austrian Alps sketch in soft pastel, June 2026 SKETCH 1: AUSTRIAN ALPS I was traveling through the Alps, away from my studio. I wanted to make something as a gift for family. I remember looking out at this incredible postcard-like view, the mountains, the folds of terrain, the grass, the trees. The light was disappearing, and it was getting darker and darker by the minute. I had until about nine o'clock before it was going to be pitch black. I remember thinking, 'I don't know how to draw landscapes.' 'It's been so long.' 'I'm probably not very good at this.' But all the stores were closed. It was a Sunday. It was family dinner. I wanted to leave my family with something unique, from me. I thought, 'You know what? I'm just going to draw what I see. No matter how good or bad it is.' That's really where this whole thing started. I stopped worrying about whether I was good at landscapes. I just started looking, layer by layer, top of the sheet to bottom, farthest away to closest to me.
Shapes that could be blocked by colors, where the natural lines are composed on the page. I cared about making something beautiful for the people that I love. Somewhere during that drawing, I realized maybe this way of making art actually works. Maybe I don't have to know exactly what I'm doing. Maybe I just have to pay attention. I've carried that lesson into every plein air sketch that I have done since. When I came back home to Palm Beach County, plein air sketching became something completely different. It became my favorite kind of office. I worked from home now for almost 10 years, and sometimes, I just need a change of scenery. With plein air sketching, my office is outside. I never know what I'm going to find when I get there. I always come home feeling better. Feels like art therapy.  Morreale, J. (2026, June) Sunlight through the Pine Trees [Pastels on paper]. SKETCH 2: LIGHT THROUGH THE PINE TREES The first plein air art sketch that I did back here in Palm Beach County happened while I was with my daughter, at swim practice. I was going to be sitting there for an hour and a half, so I thought, 'Why not take my pastels and my sketchpad and find something to draw?' I walked around the pool looking for a table and something interesting to draw. I found these palm trees, pine trees, and pine cones scattered across the ground next to a table. Nothing particularly extraordinary except for the light. There was this beautiful sunlight coming through the trees that just illuminated the entire scene. It almost felt divine. I sat down and I started drawing. I worked from the front to the back. This is why I love plein air sketching, because all of a sudden in Florida it could be raining when you start doing a speech outside. Let me take this inside... --- PART II: BACK IN THE STUDIO Inside. Out of the rain, talking about plein air sketching. Back to my story. I sat down and started drawing, layers of trees, the bark, the pine cones in the soft green grasses, and that beautiful light coming through everything. That's when I really started to understand something about plein air. You don't have to find an extraordinary place to make an extraordinary experience. You just have to look closely at an ordinary place, like some trees at a park next to a swimming pool.  Morreale, J. (2026, July) Mango Tree with Ripe Mangoes [Pastels on paper]. SKETCH 3: MANGO TREE We have this little mango tree that just started producing fruit. That in itself feels special. My daughter loves to cook. She loves making mango salsa. I wanted to capture the mangoes while they were ripe and ready to eat. I love drawing fruit because it gives your eyes something to focus on. I'll admit I did take one of the mangoes and put it on the ground, because I wanted the painting to communicate: They're ready to pick, they're ready to eat. Of course, after I drew them, we harvested them and made mango salsa. That drawing became part of an actual family experience. Literally tree to table. That's another thing I love about plein air sketching. The drawing isn't just the finished piece, it's the memory attached to it. While I was drawing, ducks came swimming over, my dog was sitting next to me. Family was all around. Suddenly this little mango tree became an entire story, an entire experience.  Morreale, J. (2026, July) Everglades with water lilies and butterflies [Pastels on paper]. SKETCH 4: EVERGLADES Let's talk about the Everglades. This one was hot. There are some days in Florida where you step outside and there is absolutely no breeze. This was one of those days. I found this swampy grassland area with a little boardwalk bridge and a bench next to it and just started looking. The more I looked, the more I saw. Layers upon layers of grasses, different colors and kinds of trees, different shades of green throughout. Then the water lilies right there on the surface, white water lilies. And butterflies, these tiny orange butterflies, everywhere right next to my feet. I probably wouldn't have noticed all those things if I hadn't been sitting there trying to draw the landscape. That is one of my favorite things about making plein air art. It forces you to pay attention. The landscape didn't necessarily change. I changed because I was looking at it differently with the intention of capturing the beauty of it.  Morreale, J. (2026, July) Jupiter Lighthouse [Pastels on paper]. SKETCH 5: JUPITER LIGHTHOUSE I wanted to draw an iconic Florida landmark, the Jupiter Lighthouse. This is one of my favorite places in Palm Beach County. As I sat down to draw that lighthouse, I had one thought running through my head: 'Don't mess it up!' because this time the focal point is super obvious. The lighthouse is rising right out of the trees and bushes. There were boats in the water too. Boats are interesting because they don't wait for you to draw them. You really have to look, and you have to draw quickly. Nature doesn't pause for you while you're drawing it.  Morreale, J. (2026, July) Worth Avenue Clock Tower [Pastels on paper]. SKETCH 6: WORTH AVENUE CLOCK TOWER, PALM BEACH Then it came to another iconic Palm Beach landmark, the Worth Avenue Clock Tower. I went early because this is one of those places where there's almost always somebody taking pictures. Graduations, tourists, families, people just trying to capture this beautiful view that is the Worth Avenue Clock Tower. The ocean behind the clock tower looks like a postcard. I sat down next to the clock tower with my sketchpad on my lap and started working. Again, 'Don't mess this up!' because everybody knows what this landmark looks like. I focused on the light reflecting off the architecture, the foliage around the tower. While I was drawing, people started stopping. Stopped to look. Asked what I was drawing. That's one of the unexpected gifts of drawing in public. You think you're going to sit alone and quickly and quietly make art, but people become part of the experience.  Morreale, J. (2026, July) Lake Worth Beach by the Pier [Pastels on paper]. SKETCH 7: LAKE WORTH PIER Then there's Lake Worth Pier and Beach. There's always something happening. I couldn't find a place to sit except under a covered area next to a group. I thought, 'Okay, This is where I'm drawing today.' What happened next was so much fun. Even though I had my headphones on and my head very much down, almost everyone in the group came over to talk to me. They wanted to see what I was doing, they wanted to see what I was making. They told me about family members who were artists. They asked me questions. Suddenly, this very quiet, antisocial activity of drawing became incredibly social. It's probably not the most detailed drawing that I've ever done, but that's okay because that really wasn't the point. The point was the experience.  Morreale, J. (2026, July 18) Boynton Beach Everglades with Bird [Pastels on paper]. Part III: ON PLEIN AIR SKETCHING After doing all of these plein air sketches, I realized that I am not trying to make photographs. I don't want my drawings to look exactly like the scene in front of me. They're more like time stamps. Just like my blog posts, just like my interviews, they are a record of that particular moment in time or my interpretation of it. Where I was, what I saw, what caught my attention. Maybe most importantly how I felt in that moment. That is what makes each drawing different. The Everglades drawing isn't just the Everglades. It's butterflies and water lilies. The mango tree isn't just the mango tree. It's my daughter's mango salsa. The lighthouse isn't just a lighthouse. It's a place my family loves. This Worth Avenue clock tower isn't just a clock tower. It's runners, it's workers, and it's people taking pictures. There's another lesson in all of this. I've been sharing my artwork publicly and that has been its own exercise in bravery. For a long time I worried, 'What if people look over my shoulder?' 'What if they don't think I'm good enough?' But the funny thing is, people do not seem to care about whether or not it's perfect. In my experience, they just want to see what you're making. They want to tell you about their own artists and the places that they love. And sometimes they just say, 'That's beautiful.' Because the whole experience is pretty beautiful.  Morreale, J. (2026, July 5) Lake Worth Bryant Park intercoastal view with tropical dart frog, inspired by Grandpa's original acrylic art [Pastels on paper]. ART CHALLENGE: So if you have ever said, 'Somebody I know likes to draw.' Or maybe you've thought, 'I'd love to try that.' Here is my challenge: Next time you go somewhere beautiful or even somewhere completely ordinary, take a pencil, take some crayons, or that old camera, or even an app on your phone that lets you draw. Just draw what you see. You don't have to be good. You don't even have to finish. And you don't have to show it to anybody. I drew for a very long time without showing it to anybody. Just look, really look. It gets you out of your own head. It gets you outside. Most importantly, it gets you to notice the beauty that is around you. That is what plein air sketching has done for me. It started in the Alps, because I needed to make a family gift, and somehow it became one of my favorite things to do. So now my office is outside. I never know what I'm going to see. I never know who I'm going to meet. I never know what little detail is going to catch my eye. Maybe even the beauty of rain. I can't think of a better day at the office. I'm Jackie Morreale, host of Wisdom for Wannabes. This is not only wisdom that I have learned, but this is my little love letter to plein air sketching. Thank you for coming along. Can't wait to see what you make.
Celebrating the Life and Art of Robert George Etienne with his Creativity, Re-Imagined (Part 2)8/17/2026 For my grandfather Robert George Etienne's 100th heavenly birthday, I began recreating his original acrylic paintings on decorative plates using my own medium: soft pastels. After completing Part 1, I realized our family had almost 100 more of Grandpa's painted plates to choose from. So I asked my family to pick some of their favorites, and created four more. But this time, I took his artwork outdoors. Each recreation became a plein air conversation between Grandpa's imagination and mine. Through recreating his work, I've learned more about my grandfather not only as an artist, but as someone who knew how to see. I've learned about composition, color, observation, and most importantly, imagination. We don't have to create the same way. We can take what someone gave us and make it our own. Love you, Grandpa. ❤️ After all these years, you're still teaching me how to stretch my imagination. 🎨 Original artwork: Robert George Etienne 🖍️ Pastel recreations: Jackie Morreale Transcript By Jackie Morreale Hi there, my name is Jackie Morreale, and I am the host of Wisdom for Wannabes. I've completed part two of my art honoring project for my grandfather, Robert George Etienne. For his 100th heavenly birthday, I recreated four of his original acrylic paintings using soft pastels. Then I realized I had almost a hundred more. I asked my family to pick our favorites from among the plates that you see behind came up with four more drawings, all of which were drawn plein air art style.
1: TROPICAL FROG This first piece in part two started with a tropical dart frog. Grandpa focused on this little frog sitting on a leaf. I was sitting outside looking at a completely different kind of scene. I was drawing a beautiful view of the intercoastal in Palm Beach County, Lake Worth, surrounded by trees, grass, reflections, and all the layers of green that you find in a Florida landscape. I decided to put grandpa's frog into the landscape, beneath a palm tree. A little piece of grandpa hiding right there inside of the picture. It made me think about how differently we see things. Grandpa could take an idea, a frog, on a leaf, and create an entire world around it. So I took his idea and put it into mine, and I kind of love the result.
2: CHERUBS The second painting was one of my favorites because it's so different from everything else in grandpa's collection. It feels celestial, spiritual, almost otherworldly. Two hearts connected by this flowing white ribbon or piece of fabric that seems to move behind them almost like a parachute. The background is filled with sparkling blues, reds, whites, and stars, and with this dark area in the center of the ribbon. My kids called it the black hole picture. Honestly, I love that interpretation too. This painting pushed me somewhere completely different. I had to imagine figures that weren't really there, other than in his reference. This one was much more loose, much more intuitive. I was letting myself wonder. And that was really fun.
3: LAKE & BIRDS The third painting brought me back to something Grandpa loved to paint again and again: water. His original artwork shows what appears to be a seascape with seagulls perched on dark rocks, greenery, blue water, and a beautiful blue sky. I went to one of my favorite lakes. I've been seeing this huge flock of Egyptian geese sitting there along the water, soaking up the sun. So I drew the lake. I drew the reflections of the trees. And instead of grandpa's seagulls on rocks, I added the Egyptian geese. I realized, we can take what they loved and find it in our own.
4: THE BEACH Then came the one I knew I had to do: the beach. Jupiter Beach is one of my favorite beaches. You walk through this little path that almost feels like jungle before arriving to the sand. Then suddenly you reach the beach. It's just you, the water, and the sky. It reminded me immediately of Grandpa. I love the simplicity of this one. Blue sky, blue water, clouds reflected almost perfectly on the surface, and a sandy beach. This incredible sense of peace. I quickly realized that water is hard to draw. For about 20 minutes, I watched the water change. At first, it was this beautiful tropical green reflecting the sky. Then it became deeper blue. A pelican flew by. My phone was so hot it couldn't even record the drawing. It was ninety-six degrees F. I was covered in pastel dust. So when I finished the drawing, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of: I hopped into the water. I literally took a dip in whatever I was wearing, covered in pastel, and it was beautiful. The water was so clear, so calm. I floated there and looked up at the sky. Everything was completely still. Just water, sky, and the sound of the waves. I wouldn't trade that morning for anything.  IMAGINATION EXERCISE
Let's take an imagination journey through grandpa's art. Imagine you're walking through a tropical landscape. You see small creatures hiding beneath palm trees. Just stop and notice them. Then look up. The trees begin to open into a beautiful celestial sky. The sky stretches endlessly above you. The water is almost perfectly still. You walk into the ocean. You submerge yourself and you float. Look up. The sky is above you. The water is beneath you. There's nothing else. You hear the waves. Maybe you hear the shells gently tapping against one another as the water moves them across the sand. Somewhere in that moment you feel connected to someone you whose influence is still with you. CLOSING That's what this project has given me. A way to pause, a way to remember, a way to feel connected across time. My grandfather, Robert George Etienne, passed away in 2024, two years ago, but his creativity... It lives on in the paintings he left behind. I've learned so much from recreating his work; about composition, color, observation, and most importantly, imagination. That's the beauty of creativity. We don't have to create the same way. We can take what someone gave us and make it our own. So, Grandpa, thank you. Thank you for the inspiration. After all these years, you're still teaching me how to stretch my imagination. Love you, grandpa. Thank you. More Than a Tribute: Learning to See Through My Grandpa's Eyes When I began recreating my grandfather Robert George Etienne's paintings, I thought I was simply honoring his memory. Instead, I discovered something much deeper. Each pastel drawing became an opportunity to slow down and notice the thoughtful choices he made as an artist—the play of light on a kitchen pot, the delicate blues of summer hydrangeas, the warmth of a fresh-picked peach, and the vibrant colors of a simple bouquet. Along the way, I realized that the greatest inheritance he left me wasn't his traveling easel, his oil paints, or even his artwork. It was the ability to find beauty in ordinary moments. This video is an invitation to remember someone who shaped the way you see the world and to reflect on the creative legacy that lives on through each of us. Happy heavenly 100th birthday, Grandpa. 🎨 Original painted artwork by Robert George Etienne 🖍️ Soft pastel recreations by Jackie Morreale 🌐 View Robert George Etienne's tribute art gallery.  82 acrylic paintings by my grandfather, Robert George Etienne, and 4 re-creations in pastel Remembering Robert George Etienne Through his Art By Jackie Morreale Every artist leaves something behind. Sometimes it is displayed in galleries, sometimes it hangs on the walls of a family home, and sometimes it lives through the hands of someone they inspired. My name is Jackie Morreale, and I'm the host of Wisdom for Wannabes. This is the story of my grandfather, Robert George Etienne, through his art. This past Thursday, we celebrated his heavenly hundredth birthday. Many people knew him as a World War II veteran who earned a purple heart, a husband, and a father of eight children. But to me, he was Grandpa, and Grandpa was an artist. Grandpa had a gift for finding beauty in everyday moments. He painted peaceful seascapes, flowers, fruit, simple scenes from didn't need grand subjects. He saw beauty in the ordinary. Before he passed away in 2024, Grandpa gave me his travelling easel and oil paints. After his passing, my grandmother, Mary Etienne, shared part of his painted plate collection with me. Those paintings became a connection to the artist that he was. To honor Grandpa for his heavenly hundredth birthday, I decided to recreate four of his original acrylic paintings on plates in my own medium, soft pastels on paper. They are not exact copies, they are conversations across generations.
1: RED BOUQUET The first one is drawing grandpa's red flower bouquet. Before I even started, a gust of wind knocked over the heavy Lenox glass pitcher I was using to hold the flowers. It shattered across the wooden floor. After cleaning up the glass, I ended up cutting my left hand. So yes, I literally bled for Grandpa's bouquet. It isn't my favorite flower drawing but I love it because sitting there recreating grandpa's work, it felt like he was with me. It became another special memory.
2: BLUE HYDRANGEA The second drawing that I attempted to recreate was Grandpa's Blue Hydrangeas. Growing up in Long Island, New York, I remember seeing these beautiful flowers everywhere during the warmer months. Grandpa's painting immediately transported me back there. Simple joy of noticing something beautiful.
3: HIERLOOM TOMATOES Drawing Grandpa's heirloom tomatoes. This painting was the one that made me appreciate Grandpa not only as my grandfather but as a true artist and creative genius. Grandpa grew heirloom tomatoes in his own backyard. He loved gardening, and I remember him always making tomato soup. Those memories are so him, but when I created this painting, I discovered something deeper. I suddenly saw the artist behind the image. The painting is simple, quiet, almost understated. But the more I looked, the more I noticed. The way the tomato reflected off the pot, the shape of the handle, the strong perpendicular lines between the wood grain and the way the light created depth and balance. What looked like a simple painting of a tomato was actually a lesson in composition, observation, and restraint. After all these years, he's still teaching me how to see.
4: PEACHES Part 4, drawing grandpa's peaches. Peaches and nectarines are my absolute favorite food to eat, which makes this painting especially meaningful. There's something magical about a fresh picked peach. The soft texture, the sweet smell, the first bite filled with summer. As the warm oranges and golden colors, I wasn't just drawing fruit. I was remembering: imagining the taste, the smell, and the feeling of those moments again. That is the gift of art. It allows us to revisit the people and places we love, no matter where they are.  Robert George Etienne original acrylic art next to Jackie Morreale's re-creations in pastel on paper IMAGINATION EXERCISE: As you look at these paintings, I invite you to imagine stepping into one of grandpa's scenes. Imagine walking through a summer garden filled with blue hydrangeas. Feel the warm breeze. Notice the colors. Imagine reaching for a peach fresh from the tree, feeling its soft skin and tasting the sweetness of summer. Taking in the beauty of something simple. --- IN LOVING MEMORY: This is what grandpa's art gave me: a way to pause, a way to remember, and a way to feel connected across time. My grandfather's paintings remind me that creativity is one of the greatest gifts that we can pass down. An artist's life does not end when they are gone. Their vision continues through the people they inspire. Every time I pick up my pastels, I think about my grandpa. His easel, an actual palette, his paintings. His way of noticing natural beauty. And now his art continues through mine. Happy heavenly 100th birthday, Grandpa! Thank you for your service. Thank you for your creativity. Thank you for teaching me to see the world a little bit differently.
Sometimes the best vacations aren't the ones that take us far from home; they're the ones that remind us how much wonder has been waiting nearby all along. In this Wisdom for Wannabes blog voice note reflection, Jackie Morreale shares one of her favorite days of the summer: a family paddleboard adventure from Phil Foster Park to Peanut Island in Palm Beach County. What started as a simple staycation became an unforgettable journey filled with stingrays, tropical fish, sandbars, houseboats, unexpected kindness, one spectacular wipeout, and a reminder that life rarely follows the straight line shown on a map. The episode concludes with a 2-Minute Imagination Exercise: Your Seaside Odyssey, inviting you to picture your own island and reflect on the adventure you've been waiting to begin. Favorite Quotes: - "The map shows a straight line. Life rarely does." - "Sometimes the easiest way forward isn't paddling harder. Sometimes it's simply realizing that you can stand." - "We weren't really paddling to Peanut Island. We were practicing what it feels like to begin something we've never done before." - "Sometimes staycations are the best vacations." - "The greatest adventures begin with one simple question: 'Do you think we can make it?'"  Jackie Morreale with snorkel gear on her Peanut Island Odyssey
Peanut Island Odyssey By Jackie Morreale I would love to tell you about one of my favorite days of summer. We're not talking about an expensive vacation. It wasn't a cruise, although there was water involved. It was a staycation that turned into an Odyssey. Our mission was simple: Take one very well-loved paddleboard from under the bridge to another island in Palm Beach County, which called Peanut Island. Our paddleboard has seen better days. It's teal, as you can see, probably about four or five years old. Every foam pad on top of it is peeling from years of adventures. We strapped two dry bags onto the front of the board, one with food and drinks, the other one had towels, goggles, and snorkels. We made one promise before we left: 'Let's try our best not to flip the paddleboard.' Which, if you've ever tried balancing two children - one being an energetic little boy who loves doing backflips, and one adventurous daughter - two dry bags, and one determined mom on a single paddleboard, it is a pretty ambitious goal. The adventure started before we even touched the water. We carried the inflated board toward the beach until a lifeguard stopped us. 'You can't launch here,' we heard. Launch. It was such a funny word for putting a paddleboard into the water. It kind of makes you feel like you're preparing for an official boat launch, or maybe even a spaceship. So we carried our little spaceship further down the beach, past the snorkelers, past the white buoys, until we finally reached a place where we were allowed to begin. The moment we climbed aboard, all three of us, stable on one paddleboard, someone snorkeling nearby looked up at us and casually pointed beneath our board. He said, 'There are stingrays under you.' There they were. Just gliding. Quietly sharing the water with us. Nobody panicked, we simply smiled and kept paddling. Soon we reached the boating channel. The current was against us, and boats were moving through at 5mph. The three of us were moving considerably slower than 5mph. It felt like every paddle stroke gained only inches across this boating channel. One small motorboat slowed down and patiently waited for us to cross, which felt like forever. But that simple act of kindness somehow made me even more determined. Eventually we reached the houseboats. Not boats that look like boats, boats that looked like actual houses, little floating neighborhoods with windows, tiny boards tied beside them. Then something unexpected happened: The water became so shallow we could simply step off the paddleboard.
The water was crystal clear, warm, and turquoise. We walked in two feet of water. We laughed. We pulled the paddleboard across the sandbar together. And we found that sometimes the easiest way forward isn't paddling harder. Sometimes it's simply realizing that you can stand. When the water deepened again, we climbed back onto the board one by one without tipping it over. Back into the current. Back toward the island. Back on our mission. I paddled. My daughter used her hands behind me like an extra engine. My son jumped into the water and kicked underneath the board, to become our motor. Everyone helped. By the time the beach was finally in clear sight, we were exhausted. So we started counting. It was 41 more strokes. Forty more strokes... Thirty more... Twenty... Ten. And finally, the nose of the paddleboard touched the sand on this beach that is Peanut Island. Our Odyssey mission was complete! After an hour and a half, we had made it. The dry bags had stayed dry, and we went exploring underwater.  Mission complete! We made it to Peanut Island on the paddleboard. We drifted past needlefish. We floated beside boats that had arrived there the normal way: with motors. We reached the rocks near the inlet. It felt like swimming into another world. Schools of angelfish, clown fish, bright tropical fish of every shape. A lone barracuda quietly passing by. And my personal favorite, the blue-green parrot fish. So beautiful. Their scales shimmered with every color of the sea as they happily munched on sargassum floating nearby. The same seaweed that people, including me, complain about on the beach at this time of year, was a feast for them. It's funny how perspective changes everything. Around 6:30pm we looked at each other and realized: If it took us an hour and a half to get here, we should probably head back home. The return trip began slowly, really slowly. was paddling as hard as I could while my legs dangled in the water and we barely moved. Then another paddle border glided effortlessly past us, standing, relaxed, looking like she hadn't even broken a sweat. So I called out, 'How are you going so fast?' She smiled and said, 'Pull your feet out of the water.' I folded my legs on the board very carefully as to not rock the boat, literally. Suddenly we were flying! Well, flying for us. We moved pretty quickly. We stopped for pictures on the sandbar. We were brave enough to take out my phone and laughed and did cartwheels and had a blast. It was beautiful. We were back in the two feet of water sandbar paradise. A sunset painted the sky. We could see the beach under the bridge just ahead. Everything felt easy. Only 30 minutes of rowing this time. The current was with us. But maybe... too easy. As we approached the final channel, I folded my legs back into that same position, boarding the boat as to not rock it with all three of us and the two dry bags, which are still dry.  Back on the sandbar! Right before... Then... wipe out! All three of us tipped over. Our two dry bags, now suspended completely upside down by these things, were half in the water. A mask floated away, snorkels drifted. It was chaos. My incredible kids went into rescue mode immediately, swimming their hearts out, treading water, pushing the paddleboard upright with all their might, retrieving everything that floated away. We didn't lose a thing, although the dry bags were definitely not dry anymore. I refused to check on the electronics until we were safely back. When we finally reached the shore, it ended up that the key worked, the phone worked. Everything was heavy. Everything smelled like seawater. Our souvenir from our Peanut Island Odyssey, and somehow everything was perfect. We just had an island adventure. Later that evening after packing away the blow up paddleboard and rewarding ourselves with giant ice cream sundaes, I looked at a map and I realized something: From the park under the bridge to Peanut Island is less than a mile as the pelican flies. It doesn't look very far, but maps don't show:
The map shows a straight line. And life rarely does. Sometimes we look at someone else's success and think, 'Well, they only had to go a mile.' Maybe. But we have no idea what currents they paddled against. Looking back, I realized we weren't really paddling to Peanut Island. We were practicing what it feels like to begin something we've never done before.
Maybe that's how every worthwhile adventure works. 2-Minute Imagination Exercise: Your Seaside OdysseyToday I'd love to invite you on your own 'mental' seaside journey. Close your eyes. Imagine warm sand beneath your feet. Hear the rhythm of gentle waves rolling onto the shore. Feel the warmth of the sun on your shoulders and a soft ocean breeze across your face. In front of you waits a paddleboard. Maybe it's brand new. Maybe it's scratched. Maybe it's exactly the one you're carrying through life right now. It's enough. Take one deep breath. And step onto the board. Feel it gently rock beneath you and begin paddling toward your own island. A dream you've put off. A painting you're looking to create. A book waiting to be written. A conversation you've needed to have. A healthier version of yourself. As you paddle, notice the current. Instead of fighting it, simply keep taking the next stroke. Notice what appears along the way. Perhaps a stingray glides peacefully beneath you. Bright tropical fish remind you that beauty often hides below the surface. A stranger offers exactly the advice that you needed to hear. A gentle breeze reminds you that you don't have to do everything alone. And if somewhere along your journey, you fall into the water... Smile. Sometimes it becomes your favorite part of the story. Now imagine arriving at your island. Step onto the warm sand. Take a deep breath. And look around. Notice what you've discovered, not just about this place, but about yourself. Sometimes staycations are the best vacations. Sometimes, the greatest adventures begin with an old paddleboard, two kids, two dry bags, and one simple question: 'Do you think we can make it?' That's all an Odyssey really is. Have a wonderful day!  Morreale Peanut Island Snorkel Crew Summary Jackie Morreale shares her journey of celebrating success, facing failure, and the lessons learned about preparation, resilience, and community. This episode emphasizes that failure is a stepping stone to growth and the importance of lifting others as we climb. Topics:
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Chapters: 00:00 The Day After My Biggest Success, I Failed 00:20 Thank You, Wisdom for Wannabes Community 01:09 YouTube Silver Creator Award Celebration 01:54 I Failed a $200 Fitness Certification Exam 02:20 Shout Out: School of Rock 02:32 Shout Out: Lucie Pierro & Breathe Music Vocal Collective 03:12 Preparation Isn't Punishment—It's Protection 04:32 Wisdom from Pilot Johannes Schwab: Confidence Through Discipline 05:09 Respect the Process 05:31 Imagination Exercise: Picture Your Finish Line 07:30 My Son's Lesson at the Finish Line 08:16 Wisdom from Educator Dr. Roy McGriff: "Lift as You Climb" 09:02 Final Thoughts & Thank You
Failure is a Teacher! Finish Your Race, & Lift As You ClimbBy Jackie Morreale The day after I celebrated one of the biggest accomplishments of my career, I failed. But not in the way you would think. My name is Jackie Morreale, and I'm the host of Wisdom for Wannabes. First, I failed to say thank you. Thank you to every person who has watched an interview, listened to an episode, subscribed to the channel, left a thoughtful comment. Last Sunday, my family and closest friends gathered to celebrate the arrival and opening of the YouTube Silver Creator Award for Wisdom for this channel. Woohoo! This award represents one year of my life fully devoted to interviewing remarkable people. Taking a leap of faith that the wisdom shared through those interviews would somehow reach the people who need it most. Every conversation teaches me something new, and those thousands of quiet hours have become this very public milestone. The award may have the Wisdom for Wannabes name on it, but it belongs to every guest who trusted me with their story, and every person who believed those stories were worth watching. Before I tell you about my second failure, thank you, thank you. Thank you for building this community with me. Thank you for being here. Then, on Monday, I failed a test. I sat for a group fitness certification exam, and I failed, with flying colors. The exam cost about $200, but the real cost was my pride. The truth is I convinced myself that I didn't need to study. Twenty years ago, I was a certified personal trainer, group fitness instructor, spinning instructor, Zumba instructor, Pilates instructor, yoga instructor, you name it. I assumed that all that experience would carry me through this exam. It didn't. I learned that experience might be valuable, but preparation is indispensable. For a few days, I was disappointed in myself. My daughter even reminded me that I wasn't acting myself after I got the results. She was right. Failure has a way of shaking our confidence before it strengthens our character. A week later, though, I realized something inspiring: I learned far more by failing than I ever would have by passing. If I had passed without studying, I would have walked away believing that preparation wasn't necessary. Instead, failure reminded me that every worthwhile goal deserves our full attention. It humbled me. (continued below)
Ironically, another experience from this year taught me the exact opposite lesson. I auditioned for something that genuinely scared me: a singing group. Unlike the fitness exam, I prepared. I signed up for lessons at a local school called School of Rock. Shout out to all my teachers at the School of Rock. You rock! I joined a group Breathe Music Vocal Collective. Shout out to Lucie Pierro and all the folks in the Breathe Music Vocal Collective. I practiced scales, lip trills, breathing exercises, harmonies, and vocal technique. I surrounded myself with singers who were more experienced and better than I was and am. I became a beginner again, open to anyone and everyone's skills. I gained wisdom and practiced skills that I hadn't used in years. And the audition went well. (Yay!) The difference wasn't talent; the difference was preparation. A few days later, on the 4th of July, my family and I decided to celebrate by running a 5K before watching the fireworks. My nine-year-old son has always been the strongest runner in the family, but this race was different. He hadn't been training consistently, the weather was brutally hot, and in hindsight, eating a hot dog before a 5K race probably isn't the best decision. Around mile two, he started hurting. He wanted the race to be over. I slowed down, and I held his hand. Reminded him that he'd already done the hardest part; that we were closer to the finish line than we were to the start. I told him to picture the finish line, to imagine all the spectators cheering for him, and to remember how lucky he was that his body could carry him forward. How lucky we all are, in fact. Little by little, his stride came back. He found another gear. He crossed the finish line one second ahead of me, very happily. Watching him struggle, though, reminded me that preparation isn't punishment; it's protection.
Preparation doesn't eliminate challenges; it gives us the strength to meet them. One of my podcast guests and very good friends, Johannes Schwab, a pilot from Austria, shared something I will never forget in his interview. He studied so thoroughly for his aviation exams that by the time the test day arrived, he wasn't worried about failing. He had prepared beyond what was required. The 5 Ps – prior preparation prevents poor performance. That's confidence that can only be earned through discipline. There's an old saying that what people see in public is simply a reflection of what happened in private.
Those invisible moments are where success is actually built. Failure reminded me: Respect the process. The next time I walk in to take that exam, I won't assume that my past accomplishments are enough. I will walk in overly prepared. Not because I'm afraid to fail, but because I've learned what preparation really means. It isn't just passing a test; it's about becoming the kind of person who earns the result (continued below) Imagination Exercise: Finish Your Race, Lift as You ClimbA simple imagination exercise. It might help you get to the finish line. Let's close our eyes for a minute. Picture your own finish line. Maybe it's the exam that you've been studying for. Maybe it's an audition. A presentation. A race. A business that you've dreamed of starting. A book that you're writing. Artwork you're creating. Or simply becoming a healthier, happier version of yourself. Now imagine you're in that last mile of a race. Your legs are heavy. Your breathing is louder than the crowd. Your mind whispers, 'You've done enough.' Then another voice answers, 'You've already come this far.' You're no longer standing where you started. Every practice session, every early morning, every page you studied, every mistake, every failure, every time you got back up... they have all brought you here, to this moment. You look ahead, and the finish line is finally in sight. You can hear the announcer calling names. You hear cheering. Now imagine that every person lining the course knows exactly what you've overcome to get here. They know the setbacks no one else saw. They know the mornings that you didn't feel like getting out of bed but did anyway. They know about the failures that taught you. They know the dream that you almost gave up on. They're cheering anyway. Not because you're the fastest, but because you didn't quit. Your stride gets a little lighter. Your shoulders relax. One more moment of courage, then you cross the finish line. Someone reaches out a hand. Maybe it's a volunteer; maybe it's the exact encouragement you needed at exactly the right time. Take a deep breath. Feel the gratitude. Feel the relief. Feel the quiet confidence that comes from doing something hard. Then notice something else. There are still people out on the course. Some are smiling, some are wondering if they're going to make it. Without thinking, you turn around, you go back toward clap, you cheer, you hold out your hand. You tell them exactly what someone else once told you: ‘You've got this. Keep going. I'm here if you need me. I believe in you.’ At that race finish line, that's exactly what I saw my son do. After finishing the race, exhausted, the announcer said, 'Somebody shake that young man's hand.' A woman stepped forward from the crowd; she smiled, congratulated him, and shook his hand. A few minutes later, after he'd caught his breath, he walked back to the finish line. Not to race again, not to celebrate himself. To congratulate other runners as they crossed. He offered high fives, he shook hands, he cheered for people he'd never met. I don't think he realized it, but in that moment, he stopped being someone who needed encouragement and became someone who gave it. Watching him reminded me that maybe the finish line wasn't the destination after all. Maybe it's the place where our next responsibility begins. One of my earliest podcast guests on Wisdom for Wannabes, Dr. Roy McGriff, an educator and sixth-degree black belt, shared a phrase that has stayed with me ever since that conversation: ‘Lift as you climb.’ That's what preparation is for. That's what failure prepares us to do. Not simply to collect another simply to pass another test, but to become the kind of person who reaches back, extends a hand, and reminds someone else that they can do hard things too. So, prepare, study, practice, and fail. Try again and cross your own finish line. Then turn around, someone else is still out there. You didn't need someone to carry you this time, but maybe someone else needs you. 'Lift as you climb.' Have a wonderful day and thank you for showing up for Wisdom for Wannabes. Shout-Outs in this blog article:
One Year Anniversary! How Do You Measure a Year? An Entrepreneur's Guide to Returning to the Trail6/24/2026 Summary In this reflective voice note, Wisdom for Wannabes host Jackie Morreale celebrates the first anniversary of the podcast and YouTube channel by exploring a question inspired by the musical Rent: How do you measure a year? Through a year marked by 100,000 subscribers, six books, three marathons, unforgettable travels, personal growth, and the loss of her 99-year-old grandmother, Jackie reflects on the milestones that can be counted—and the ones that can't. She shares a guided imagination exercise inspired by her favorite morning running trail, inviting listeners to reconnect with a place that grounds them, inspires them, and reminds them who they are. This episode is a meditation on entrepreneurship, resilience, gratitude, and returning to yourself when life feels busy or overwhelming. Topics:
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Chapters: 00:00 Introduction and Reflection on One Year of 'Wisdom for Wannabes' 00:41 Measuring Success in Entrepreneurship 01:06 Celebrating Personal Milestones and Achievements 01:49 The Unquantifiable Aspects of Growth 02:39 The Power of Visualization and Memory 03:57 Inner Strength and Resilience 04:52 Final Reflections and Closing Thoughts  Transcript How do you measure a year? An entrepreneur's guide to returning to the trail. My name is Jackie Morreale, and I'm the host of Wisdom for Wannabes. That still feels a little bit odd to say. One year ago, on June 9th, 2025, I uploaded the first Wisdom for Wannabes video. At that time, I had no idea where this would lead. There was no guarantee that anyone would watch. No annual review. No boss telling me whether or not I was doing a good job. That's one of the strangest parts of entrepreneurship. When you have a traditional job, success is often measured for you. There are salaries, bonuses, performance reviews, promotions. When you're building something on your own, the measurements become much harder to see. And yet, they matter. Recently, as Wisdom for Wannabes celebrated its first anniversary, I found myself thinking about that song from Rent that goes: How do you measure a year? In sunsets? In cups of coffee?
Wisdom for Wannabes year one looked something like this: A hundred thousand YouTube subscribers. How is that even possible? Wherever you are in the world, thank you so much for joining me. I never would have expected this. Six books published. One, two, three, four, five. Most recently, six. Six books published. My life dream of becoming an author and illustrator, fulfilled! Three coloring books published. Two school readings. (My gosh!) Author speaking events.
Thirty-five conversations with remarkable guests on this podcast. One unforgettable trip to Austria, Italy, and Germany, and 'memory lane'. Three marathons completed, so I had to show the hardware. Miami. Publix Fort Lauderdale. Treasure Coast. Hundreds of morning runs. One semester of a PhD program. Two spiritual healing seminars. One fitness certification. Nearly 400 consecutive days of Duolingo... that one started before the year. Singing every Sunday. Getting past the third and sixth grade, again, vicariously.
The older I get, the more I realize the most important things aren't always the easiest to count. How do you quantify creativity? How do you measure resilience? How do you count the mornings when you wanted to quit and went anyway? How do you measure the wisdom of a grandmother who lived 99 years and who was still singing into her final days? Some things don't fit neatly into spreadsheets. Some things live in our memories, some things live in places. For me, one of those places is a morning running trail. Almost every morning I run through the same park, the same lake, the same turns, same sunrise reflections over the water. I've celebrated victories there, I've mourned losses there, I've found story ideas there, I've solved problems there, I've prayed there, I've imagined entire books there. Lately, I've been thinking about something: What happens when we can't be 'there', wherever there is for you? Maybe you're traveling, maybe life gets busy, maybe you're recovering from an injury. Or maybe you're simply in a season of life where your favorite place feels very far away. Can you still return to it? I think you can. Close your eyes for a minute. Two-Minute Imagination Exercise:Imagine your favorite trail, beach, park, mountain path, neighborhood street, or forest road. Picture where you begin. Feel your shoes beneath your feet. Notice the first sounds, the birds, the breeze, distant conversations, the rhythm of your own breathing, and start moving forward. Not quickly, just enough to remember. Notice the landmarks that you've passed a hundred times before. The tree you always look for, the bend in the path, the bench where you've stopped to think. The view that never gets old. Keep moving. Feel your body become lighter with each step. Leave behind the emails, the deadlines, the expectations. Leave behind the opinions of people who don't understand what you're building. Just keep moving. Notice how familiar everything feels. Notice how safe it feels. Notice how much of yourself you've left here over the years. Your victories, your disappointments, your hopes, your ideas, your prayers. Now imagine reaching that final stretch. The place where you know you're almost home. The place where you've crossed the finish line before. The place where you've proven yourself again and again that you can do hard things. Stand there for a moment. Now take it all in. The people you've met, the lessons you've version of yourself who started this journey, the version of yourself standing here today. They're both present. Remember this:
Those places simply helped reveal what's already there, within you. Whenever life gets busy, whenever entrepreneurship feels overwhelming, whenever motivation fades, you can return to the same place in your mind. Because the path is still there. The sunrise is still there. The memories are still there. And the person who started this journey is running beside you. One year, 100,000 subscribers, millions of views, books, miles, conversations, lessons, losses, victories. How do you measure a year? Not just in numbers, but in the places that shaped the person I became while traveling through them. Have a wonderful day, and thanks for being with me this year. Love from Wisdom for Wannabes. Timelapse art videos:
Little Puppy, Big Heart: The Story Behind Yin-Yang the Brave, Children's Book by Jackie Morreale6/4/2026
Worldwide Book Tour, Yin-Yang the Brave
Video Transcript Jackie Morreale My name is Jackie Morreale, and I am the host of Wisdom for Wannabes, the podcast that seeks wise words in business, beauty and betterment. I am joined by two of my favorite people, my co-illustrator on Princess Tessa & Luc the Duke: The Furry Christmas Miracle, Natalia Morreale, who is also my daughter, my very talented daughter, and our fur-baby, Lily Morreale. Natalia Morreale That's me! (in her doggie voice) Jackie Morreale AKA Yin-Yang the Brave. We are very excited to share my sixth story for children, which is a brand-new series called 'Voices in Wonder.' This is a story inspired by our real life Bichonpoo puppy. Natalia Morreale 'It's me, guys.' Jackie Morreale Lily and an old box of pastels that turned into this wall of illustrations behind us. Natalia, will you help me read through this story so that our listeners can hear what it's all about? Natalia Morreale Yes. Jackie Morreale Okay. It is called, Yin-Yang the Brave: A Puppy's Tale of Finding Home, by Jackie Morreale. This is book one in the Voices in Wonder series. Dedication page. This and every book that I have and will ever write is dedicated to my family, who inspire me every single day, and our fur-baby Lily. Natalia Morreale 'It's me.' Jackie Morreale To Morena Mollina for your many words of encouragement. To Gary Fails for your thoughtfulness, creativity, and keen eye for editing. To Keith Gamache for decades of art education and inspiration. 'To make good art,' he says, 'you have to think, look, and care.' Thank you for that. To dog lovers from all over the world who know that providing a 'fur'-ever home, no matter how much yin there is to their yang, comes back to you tenfold in love. Shall we start? Natalia Morreale Yes. Jackie Morreale Page 1: Her day begins like any other. Small, quiet, waiting. The puppy watches the world from her window. Natalia Morreale Page 2: White paper covers the floor. Other puppies sleep, jump, play, or pout. But this puppy is the smallest one of them. Jackie Morreale Page 3: Every day, she waits. Hoping someone will choose her. Maybe today will be the day. Natalia Morreale Page 4: A little boy walks up to the glass. His smile is bright, his eyes are warm. He looks at the tiny puppy, curious. Jackie Morreale Page 5: Then a little girl arrives. She presses her fingers to the glass. The puppy lifts her tiny paws. Natalia Morreale Page 6: Pick me. Pick me. PICK ME! Her whole body wiggles with hope. Her paw reveal her purpose. Jackie Morreale Page 7: A woman lifts the puppy into a small pen. The girl skips closer. The boy follows. He, like the puppy, is quiet and cautious at first. Natalia Morreale Page 8: Then the puppy explores the pen, especially the shoelaces. They're perfect for tugging! Jackie Morreale Page 9: The boy jumps back. The puppy tugs harder. 'Oh!' the girl laughs, gently lifting her away. Natalia Morreale Page 10: A black box appears. 'Say cheese!' says the mom. The puppy panics, squirms in the girl's arms, and howls. Yip yip! She's taken away. Jackie Morreale Page 11: Then the fun is over. The girl waves goodbye. The puppy is back in her window. Natalia Morreale Page 12: The room grows quiet. The tiny puppy rests her head. She dreams of love. Jackie Morreale Page 13: Time passes. The sun moves slowly across the sky. The puppy curls up and closes her eyes. Natalia Morreale Page 14: A tiny bell jingles. Jackie Morreale Page 15: They're back! The girl, the boy. Fingers meet paws on the glass again. Natalia Morreale Page 16: Pick me, Pick me! Puppy-please! This time, the puppy rolls over. She shows her belly, full of trust. Jackie Morreale Page 17: 'Let's call her Yin-yang,' says the girl. 'Yinny for short,' says the boy. 'Because she's silly and sweet,' laughs the dad. Natalia Morreale Page 18: Yin-yang. Like day and night. Cocoa and cream. A perfect balance. Jackie Morreale Page 19: Yinny goes home. She has a name. A family. Natalia Morreale Page 20: A heart full of love. But learning a new world… takes time. Jackie Morreale Page 21: Yinny slips through the fence. Adventure calls! She dashes into neighbors' yards. Natalia Morreale Page 22: When her family runs after her, she thinks it's a game. Catch me if you can! Jackie Morreale Page 23: She chases frogs by the lake. She barks at big dogs on walks. She rolls at things that smell… very, very bad. Natalia Morreale Can we stop real quick? Yes. I just wanted to say, this is my favorite page. Jackie Morreale This one? Aw. Natalia Morreale Page 24: Yinny is having the best time. But her family feels frustrated. Out of balance. Jackie Morreale Page 25: Inside, she begs for food. She leaves little puddles where she shouldn't. Natalia Morreale Page 26: She nips while Dad tries to brush her teeth. At night, her tiny paws scratch as her special girl dreams. Jackie Morreale Page 27: 'Oh no,' says Dad. The girl's eyes filled with tears. The mom sighs softly. The boy hides. (Continued below)  Natalia Morreale and Jackie Morreale introduce the new Yin-Yang the Brave book for children (clip at 9 minutes 45 seconds). Natalia Morreale Why does he hide? Jackie Morreale Because he's afraid and he's sad. Natalia Morreale Of Yinny? Jackie Morreale Yeah. She's sorry, look at those eyes. This is my favorite. These are the puppy-dog eyes, my favorite. Natalia Morreale Page 28: Yinny sits still. She wants to behave. She just doesn't know how. Not yet. Jackie Morreale Page 29: Yinny is learning. Her girl teaches her to sit. Her dad teaches her to stay. Natalia Morreale Page 30: Her mom teaches her to come. Her boy teaches her to fetch. It's not instant. It is not perfect. Jackie Morreale Page 31: Sometimes she wiggles. Sometimes she forgets. But little by little... Natalia Morreale Page 32: They understand each other. The family is learning to speak Yinny. Yinny is learning her place in the family. Jackie Morreale Page 33: One day, Yinny hears it. Tiny footsteps. Rustling in the yard. Natalia Morreale Page 34: She pauses. Stay. She remembers. Her body stills… but her ears listen. Jackie Morreale Page 35: Then – Bark. Bark. BARK! She runs to the yard, focused and sure. Natalia Morreale Page 36: 'Blank' scatters across the yard… Jackie Morreale What do you think is there? What did she find? Natalia Morreale Well, if you want, you can buy the book. You can find it on Amazon. Jackie Morreale I want to skip to the end of the exciting story of Yin-Yang the Brave. I'd love to share a little bit about the real-life dog who inspired the Yinny character in the story. Natalia Morreale It's me, guys, I'm right here. It's nice meeting you, by the way. (in a doggie voice) Jackie Morreale Yes, this is our real-life doggie Lily. What kind of breed is she? Natalia Morreale She's a Bichonpoo, a mix of a Bichon Frise and a Toy Poodle. Jackie Morreale Yes. Not all Bichonpoos look the same. Some are white, tan, black, black, apricot, gray. She is a perfect blend of white and black, and curly all over. Yinny may weigh less than ten pounds, but her personality feels much bigger! She loves to play. Natalia Morreale I love playing. Jackie Morreale She loves to 'chat' and spend time with people. She's happiest curled up in someone's lap or exploring outside. Natalia Morreale I love outside. Jackie Morreale What's one of her funniest talents? Natalia Morreale I heard that Bichon Frises could be dogs in the circus. She could stand on her back two legs and hop around. Jackie Morreale Yes, while she's hoping for table food. Natalia Morreale She knows how to get up. She can spin sometimes, while she's on her hind leg, she can spin. Jackie Morreale Yes, she's very talented. This book was made with so much love and inspired by our own family's adventures with our dog. However, it is not a dog training guide. This story is shaped by observation, imagination, and and everyday moments with our very expressive little Bichonpoo. Let's talk about the meaning of yin-yang. In many cultures, yin and yang represent how opposites work together - yin being the dark, yang being the light. Dark and light, loud and quiet. Playful, calm. Independent, together. At first, Yinny is curious, barky, and sometimes even chaotic, but she's also very loving, gentle, and deeply connected to her family. The look and find. The bonus is how many Yin-yang symbols are there in the book? From cover to cover. Check paws, collars, and clouds. You'll also have to see if the rendering of Lily's real-life paw, used in a story to look like a yin-yang, does look like a yin-yang. I want to talk to all my young artists out there. I believe that every single one of us is an artist on the inside, one way or another. To prove it, I want to share how Yin-Yang the Brave came to life in the art that you see behind. These are the actual pages in the book. I've had the same box of pastels in my possession, these soft pastels... Since about high school? Yes, so 20 years. They were very well-loved back in that day, but sat unused. Then, a year ago, I decided to make a small change: Drawing for five minutes a day. That old box of pastels, mostly broken, tiny itty bitty little pieces of my favorite colors, found its way back into my hands and became the pages that you see behind me. I found inspiration in animals almost every day, and many days it was Lily. Our Miss Yinny over here was finding her own voice in the story, so was I, as a storyteller, as an author, as a podcast host for this show, Wisdom for Wannabes, in the past year. And it all started with sketching ideas daily with these old beat-up soft pastels. We end the book with a creative challenge. If you had to come up with your favorite animal, and come up with some way, some superpower, a way in which they save the day, what would it be? Natalia Morreale This is hard because my favorite animal is a seahorse. Jackie Morreale Hmm. Seahorses are tiny but mighty, just like someone else that I know. Natalia Morreale Seahorses don't have arms. They have a tail. The tail could wrap around, helping stuff hold on tight. If I had to write a book... Everyone doubted the seahorse, saying it's not strong. Then, there was a big, big wave and everyone was going to wipe out. The seahorse grabs on to everyone and also grabs on to the thing and saves them! Together, they make a chain! Jackie Morreale Oh, my goodness, you just wrote the next book in this series. The Brave Little Seahorse that Chains Together. So excited. Thank you so much for reading this new book for the Voices in Wonder series. What do you think young readers will love most? Natalia Morreale The fact that it's a dog. Jackie Morreale The fact that it's a dog. Do you think they should read it with their favorite stuffed animal or pet? Natalia Morreale Yeah. If you have a fish, don't take your fish out of the tank. Jackie Morreale True! Thank you so much for your time. Can't wait to hear your feedback on my new book, Yin-Yang the Brave, A Puppy's Tale of Finding Home. Have a great day! Give your doggie a hug.  Jackie Morreale with her illustrations for her newest children's book, Yin-Yang the Brave: A Puppy's Tale of Finding Home. Wisdom for Wannabes host Jackie Morreale explores the essence of authentic creation, emphasizing the importance of honesty, emotion, and releasing the need for approval. Through personal stories and reflective prompts, she guides listeners to reconnect with their inner creative process and embrace vulnerability. Topics: • The difference between performing and creating • Creating from emotion and truth • Letting go of external validation • The process of painting her grandmother as a metaphor for authenticity • The importance of presence and connection in creation Takeaways: • Creating is about making something honest, not perfect. • Releasing the need for approval opens up true creativity. • Creating is a process of internal exploration and emotional expression. • Letting go of control and expectations fosters authenticity. • The act of creation is a form of release and self-discovery. Quotes: • "The goal isn't perfection, it's truth." • "I was trying to paint a feeling." • "Imagine that feeling has a shape or a color." Chapters: 1 - The Question of Value in Creation (00:00) 2 - The Journey of Authentic Creation (00:29) 3 - Painting as a Means of Connection (01:21) 4 - Creating Beyond Approval (03:06) 5 - Imagination Exercise for Art (03:45) 6 - The Freedom to Create (05:08)  Jackie Morreale and her family at the Cornell Art Museum in Delray Beach, Florida, during April 2026, celebrating Jackie's birthday over art and family! Transcript, On Art Creation: What Makes Art 'Good', and Who Decides? Spoken and written by Jackie Morreale 1 - The Question of Value in Creation (00:00) Is what I've created good? In whose eyes? Because that question almost stopped me from creating anything at all. My name is Jackie Morreale, and I am the host of Wisdom for Wannabes, the podcast that seeks wise words in business, beauty and betterment. I've spent years creating and almost immediately questioning it, second guessing it, how it would be received. And the truth is, if you're creating in that lens, you're not creating at all. You're performing. That's the moment I decided to cut the cord. 2 - The Journey of Authentic Creation (00:29) Earlier today I found myself driving through the rain a recording session here in West Palm Beach, my first time recording in a studio outside of my own home. I didn't have a script, I didn't have a plan. I just had this quiet hope that something meaningful would come out of this space if I showed up and let it. Because that's what creating has started to feel like to me. It's not about certainty, not about control. Just willingness. Creating something has nothing to do with impressing anyone. It's just taking something internal and making it visible. An emotion becomes a color. A thought becomes a sentence. A feeling becomes a brushstroke. For me, it always starts with the emotion. Instead of trying to fix it, I try to use it. Because the goal isn't perfection, the goal is truth. 3 - Painting as a Means of Connection (01:21) A few nights ago, that idea became real in a way I didn't expect. It was Easter. I was home alone. After thinking about it all day, I finally sat down to paint my grandmother, who passed away a couple of months ago at the young age of 99 years old. No sketch, no plan, just a blank canvas and a feeling. I didn't want to make her look younger. I wanted to make her look like she lived a wonderful life. Every line on her face meant something. But the most important part was her eyes. Because without the eyes, it's nothing. In the photo I was painting from, she was smiling, but she had just lost her husband of over 70 years. Her expression held everything on her face. Joy, because her family was around her, but also grief, longing. I wasn't painting a face. I was trying to paint a feeling. At first, a few times I painted her eyes, but they weren't right. They felt flat; not her. I caught myself doing something I didn't expect. I started talking to her. 'Grandma, help me get your eyes right.' I kept going, layer by layer. Adjusting the color, trying to find that exact shade, greenish blue, or bluish green, depending on the light of that day. Trying to make them feel alive. At one point, my dog, started barking in the other room. No one else was home. She just kept barking at the same spot. For a second, I stopped... because it felt like something, like a connection. Maybe she was there. Maybe she wasn't. But in that moment, it didn't matter because I wasn't painting anymore. I was with her. Creating something, really creating, doesn't feel clean or controlled. It feels uncertain; perhaps unfinished. It feels like starting without knowing where it's going. Feels like frustration. Then a small breakthrough. For me, it was in getting the eyes. Feels like listening more than actually doing. Like letting something move through you instead of forcing it into place. 4 - Creating Beyond Approval (03:06) More than anything, it requires freedom. Because the second I think about what someone else might think about what I'm creating, I freeze. I hesitate. I hold back. When I let that go, and release it, everything opens up. I'm not creating for approval; I'm creating to feel something. To process to remember something. And that's enough. Maybe creating isn't about making something beautiful. Maybe it's about making something honest. Maybe it's not even about the finished product. Maybe it's about what happens inside of you while you're making it. Because sometimes what you're really creating isn't a painting or a story. You're creating closure, connection, understanding. or a release. Just giving something inside of you a place to exist. 5 - Imagination Exercise for Art (03:45) If you're still here, I want to I invite you to try something with me. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath in. Slowly let it go. Imagine you're sitting in front of a blank space, a blank canvas, a blank page, an empty room. There's nothing there yet. No expectations, no pressure, no one watching, just space. Don't try to change it, just notice it. Imagine that feeling has a shape or a color. What does it look like? Is it soft or sharp? Bright or muted? Still or moving? Now gently place that feeling into the space in front of you. Let it take form. There's no right way to do this. You're not creating for anyone else. You're just creating for yourself. Now imagine a cord, a cord that connects you to other people's opinions, expectations, or what you imagine to be judgments. See it clearly, and now gently disconnect it. Let it drift away. You don't need it here. 6 - The Freedom to Create (05:08) Now return to what you're doing. Notice how it feels now. More open, and free. Let your hands move, let your mind wander, let something new begin to form. And when you're ready, slowly come back. I'm still learning what it means to create, but I do know this: The more I let go of what other people think, the more honest my work becomes. Maybe that's the point. You're free. Go have a beautiful day.  Jackie Morreale with her painting of Grandmother Mary, work in progress. Click to view more paintings by Jackie Morreale. What if burnout isn’t a sign to stop… but a sign you’re expanding? In this voice note for Wisdom for Wannabes, host Jackie Morreale shares a raw, honest reflection on building something from the ground up—chasing growth, gaining momentum, and unexpectedly hitting a wall of exhaustion. From the outside, everything looked to be working. But behind the scenes… burnout set in. Joined by her dog Lily (a lovable bichonpoo 🐶), Jackie explores a powerful reframe: 👉 Burnout isn’t failure; it’s a signal that life is growing faster than current systems can support. In this video, she breaks down: • Why burnout often shows up during growth (not just overload) • The 3 signs of “growth burnout” • How to shift from pushing harder → evolving smarter • How to reconnect with gratitude, creativity, and purpose This episode is for anyone building something meaningful, navigating change, or feeling exhausted in a season that’s supposed to feel exciting. And if all else fails… hug your dog. 🐾 Chapters: 00:00 – The part no one tells you about success 00:30 – Behind the scenes of burnout - personal story 01:08 – Burnout as a signal, not failure 01:28 – When your systems can’t support your growth 01:51– The 3 signs of growth burnout 02:37 – **Gratitude Imagination Practice** 03:41 – You’re not failing—you’re expanding 04:05 – Final thoughts (and hug your dog)  Jackie Morreale and her dog, Lily, with Lily-inspired pastel drawings Burnout Isn't the End, It's the Upgrade Written by Jackie Morreale, April 4, 2026 No one tells you this part. No one tells you that the moment your dream starts working… is the moment you start breaking. That the thing you prayed for— the momentum, the opportunities, the growth—can quietly turn into exhaustion. Not because you’re doing something wrong… but because you’re doing something real. I hit that moment recently. From the outside, everything looked like it was coming together. I was building something from scratch. Interviewing incredible people. Creating, connecting, growing. Opportunities were showing up faster than I expected. But behind the scenes? I was tired. Not just 'I need a nap' tired; I mean deep tired. The kind where your body hurts. Your brain won’t focus. And even the things you love… start to feel heavy. And what scared me most was this thought: “Why do I feel this way… when everything is finally working?” That’s when it hit me: We’ve been taught to see ‘burnout’ all wrong. We think burnout means:
But what if burnout isn’t failure? What if burnout is actually a signal? A signal that your life is expanding… faster than your current way of operating can support. Here’s the idea I want to leave you with today: Burnout isn’t the end of your capacity. It’s the moment your old systems can no longer hold your new life. Because when you’re building something -- a business, a creative pursuit, a new identity — you don’t just need more effort. You need evolution. But most of us don’t evolve how we work… we just try to push harder inside the same structure. And that’s where the friction begins. In my experience, burnout in growth phases shows up in three specific ways: 1. You’re succeeding… but resenting the process. The thing you once loved starts to feel like obligation. 2. You’re busy… but not fulfilled. Your calendar is full, but your energy is drained. 3. You’re expanding… but your systems haven’t caught up. You’re still doing everything yourself… in a life that now requires support. That’s not failure. It’s a mismatch. And mismatches don’t get solved with more hustle. They get solved with awareness. So instead of asking: “How do I push through this?” I started asking: “What is this moment asking me to become?” And the answer wasn’t “work harder.” It was… work differently. I want to give you something you can actually take with you. If you’re open to it — just for a moment — take a breath. Let your shoulders drop. Let’s take a mental journey over the bridge, and imagine this: You’re standing at the edge of the ocean. Not a chaotic ocean… but one that’s steady… rhythmic… alive. The tide is flowing in and out. Effortlessly. You’re not controlling it. You’re not forcing it. It just flows. Now imagine… that current is your life. Opportunities flowing in. Energy moving through you. Things shifting… without you gripping so tightly. You don’t have to chase the wave. You’re already in it. And instead of pressure… bring in gratitude. Gratitude that you get to be here. That you get to try. To create. To build something that didn’t exist before you imagined it. Feel that for a moment. This isn’t chaos. It is courage. You are allowed to enjoy the ride. When I started seeing my burnout this way— not as something to escape, but something to listen to— everything shifted. Not overnight. But intentionally. I simplified where I could. I started thinking about support. I stopped measuring success only by output… and started protecting the energy that creates it. Because the truth is— you don’t build something meaningful by running yourself into the ground. You build it by becoming someone who can sustain it. So if you’re in that place right now — or have been — where things are growing… but you’re exhausted… I want you to hear this clearly: You’re not behind. You’re not failing. You’re at the edge of expansion. And burnout? It’s not telling you to stop. It’s asking you to evolve. To lead differently. To build differently. To live differently. Because the goal was never just to create success. The goal…was to create a life you can actually be present for. And if you learn to listen in this moment — burnout won’t break you. It will build you… into someone who can carry the dream forward. Have a beautiful day! What always makes me feel my best: Drawing my muse, Lily! 🎨 |
 Jackie Morreale (July 2025). Lily the bichonpoo closeup smile. Pastel on paper. |  Jackie Morreale (July 2025). Lily the bichonpoo laying down, relaxing. Pastel on paper. |
 Jackie Morreale (February 2026). Lily the bichonpoo sitting happy. Pastel on paper. |  Jackie Morreale (March 2026). Lily the bichonpoo playing with her toothbrush case (but not brushing). Pastel on paper. |
Jackie Morreale
Jackie writes from her own experiences and reflections on her journey in seeking wisdom, creativity, spirituality, and life in general. This is "putting thyself out there" at its finest.
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