24. Beautifully Bonkers: Why a Little Madness Might Be the Secret

Have you ever felt like your ideas were a little too different, too unrealistic, or just plain “bonkers”?

Inspired by a quote from Alice in Wonderland, this episode explores why creativity, curiosity, and authenticity often require us to think differently—and why fitting in isn’t always the goal.

Through personal stories about starting a podcast, parenting, awkward mistakes, and embracing imperfection, we unpack how unconventional thinking can lead to growth, resilience, and meaningful change.

Because maybe the best ideas start when we stop waiting for permission.

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:10

Hey everyone, welcome back to the Epiphany Effect. I'm your host Ash. This is the podcast where we explore how the words of the wise can spark insights and inspire meaningful action in our lives. Have you ever had a moment where you looked around and thought, am I the only one who sees this differently? Maybe it happened at work when everyone else agreed on a plan that felt off. Maybe it happened when you pursued a dream others thought was unrealistic. Or maybe it was when you shared an idea and got that polite response that really means, oh, that's interesting. And in those moments, it's easy to wonder if the problem is you. Maybe you've even asked yourself the same question that appears in the whimsical, strange, and surprisingly insightful world of Alice in Wonderland. Alice asks, have I gone mad? And the response comes, I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I will tell you a secret. All the best people are. It sounds playful, almost absurd, but it points to something surprisingly real. That the people who shape the world often don't look perfectly aligned with it at first. So today, let's explore that idea a little further. Not as chaos, but as creativity, and maybe even clarity. Before we talk about real-world examples, it helps to understand the world this quote comes from. Because Alice in Wonderland isn't just a strange story. It's a story where the rules of thinking itself get challenged. In Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Alice falls down the rabbit hole into a world that completely defies logic. Flowers talk. Time behaves strangely. Rules change constantly. Nothing is predictable. And understandably, Alice spends much of the story questioning her own sanity. But here's what makes the story endure. The characters who seem the most irrational are often the ones offering the most truth. Take the mad hatter. At first glance, chaotic, nonsensical. But underneath the riddles is something deeper, a critique of how we relate to time, identity, and structure. And once you start sitting with that idea, that maybe normal thinking isn't always the best thinking, it starts showing up in places you wouldn't expect. Not just in fiction, not just in philosophy, but in the real world history of ideas. So the question becomes less about Wonderland itself and more about us. What if normal thinking isn't always the most useful thinking? And what if we've mistaken familiarity for correctness? That question doesn't just live in fiction. It shows up everywhere in real life. In fact, almost every major innovation in history started as something that sounded a little ridiculous at first. Flying machines? Ridiculous. Electric light replacing candles? Ridiculous. A computer in your pocket that can talk to anyone in the world? Ridiculous. And apparently carrying a calculator in your pocket, also ridiculous, according to my elementary math teachers. And yet here we are, which raises a quiet question that most of us don't sit with long enough. What ideas are we dismissing today just because they don't feel normal yet? And if that question makes us a little uncomfortable, it's probably because there's something deeper underneath it. Because even when we recognize new ideas, we still have to deal with something else entirely. Ourselves and the pressure we feel to fit in. The challenge we face isn't just recognizing new ideas. It's acting on them when they don't fit neatly into what other people expect from us. And that's where things get more personal. Human beings are wired for belonging. From an evolutionary perspective, belonging meant survival. So even today, we carry a subtle pressure, not too different, not too ambitious, not too creative, just acceptable. And that tension between belonging and authenticity is something almost every thoughtful person eventually runs into. Because at some point, fitting in perfectly starts to feel like it requires editing yourself. And this is where I think the quote starts to get a lot more personal. All the best people are little bonkers. Not reckless, not irresponsible, but willing to think differently, even when it feels uncomfortable. And I remember that tension clearly in my own life before this podcast ever existed. Because it's one thing to admire bonkers' ideas and history, it's another thing entirely when it becomes your own life. There was a moment before the Epiphany effect ever existed when the idea first showed up. And honestly, it didn't arrive in a big, confident announcement. It was quieter than that. More like a thought that kept tapping on my shoulder. You should start a podcast. And my immediate response, okay, but who am I to start a podcast? I mean, really. I'm not a celebrity, I'm not a best-selling author. I didn't have a massive following or a perfectly curated platform waiting for me. I'm just someone who grew up in a small town in Iowa who likes books, meaningful conversations, and connecting ideas to real life. That's it. And if I'm being honest, that didn't feel like enough. Because somewhere along the way, I think a lot of us pick up this unspoken rule. You have to be somebody before you're allowed to create something. You need credentials, you need recognition, you need permission. And I didn't feel like I had any of those. But at the same time, the idea wouldn't go away. Because what made it exciting wasn't the thought of having a podcast. It was the thought of what it could become. A space to take quotes and ideas that had impacted me and turn them into something meaningful and practical for other people. A space to connect learning with real life, to reflect, to grow, and maybe, even if it was just one person at a time, help someone see something differently. That part felt energizing. But right alongside the excitement, the doubts were loud, like really loud. Questions like, who's actually going to listen to this? What if I sound awkward? What if I run out of things to say? What if I put this out there and nobody cares? And one of the biggest ones, what makes you think you have anything worth sharing? That one hits a little deeper. Because it's not about the podcast. It's about identity. It's about whether you believe your voice has value. And I remember sitting with that tension. I still sit with that tension. Part of me wanted to stay safe. Because not starting meant I didn't have to risk failure. I didn't have to risk judgment. I didn't have to risk putting something out into the world that might not land the way I hoped. But the other part of me, the quieter, more persistent part, kept coming back to one simple thought. What if you just tried? Not perfectly, not with everything figured out, just tried. And it did feel a little crazy. Starting a podcast from scratch with no real roadmap while juggling everything else in life, that's not exactly the safe or logical choice. But here's what I realized. It only feels crazy if you measure it against certainty. If you wait until something feels completely safe and guaranteed, you'll be waiting for a long time. So eventually I made the decision. Not because all the doubts disappeared, they didn't. Because the idea of not trying started to feel worse than the idea of failing. And that was the turning point. I didn't suddenly become more qualified overnight. I didn't magically gain more experience or confidence. I just decided that maybe, just maybe, you don't have to be famous to create something meaningful. Maybe you don't have to have all the answers to start asking better questions. Maybe you don't need permission. You just need a starting point. And here's the part that surprised me the most after taking that leap. The growth didn't come from getting everything right, it came from doing it. From recording the first episode, even when it felt awkward, from learning how to edit audio, from figuring things out one step at a time, and from realizing that the voice in my head saying, Who are you to do this? doesn't actually go away. You just get better at answering it, not with perfection, but with action. And that's the real lesson. Because if I had waited until I felt completely ready or completely confident or completely qualified, this podcast wouldn't exist. And the same might be true for whatever idea that has been sitting in the back of your mind. The one that feels exciting and slightly unreasonable at the same time. The one that makes you think, that would be amazing. But also, who am I to do that? Maybe the answer isn't about proving you're ready. Maybe it's about being willing to start before you are. Because sometimes the most bonkers thing you can do is believe that your small town idea, your quiet curiosity, your not so fully figured out vision might actually matter. And then choosing to act on it anyway. Many creative thinkers report feeling slightly out of step with their surroundings. Not dramatically, just enough to notice. They ask different questions. They connect ideas in unusual ways. They challenge assumptions others accept. And that can feel isolating at times. But it's also the very thing that allows breakthroughs to happen. Psychologists sometimes refer to this as divergent thinking, the ability to generate multiple possibilities instead of settling on the first obvious answer. Interestingly, studies consistently show that environments that encourage curiosity and experimentation produce more innovation than environments that prioritize rigid conformity. In other words, the world needs a few more people who are willing to color outside the lines. This tension between curiosity and conformity doesn't just show up in big life decisions. It shows up in really small ordinary moments too. Sometimes in ways that are a lot more unexpected and a lot more honest than we're prepared for. Like parenting. There was a moment with my kids that stuck with me, not because it was dramatic, but because it was so unexpectedly honest. We were out in a normal, everyday setting. Nothing special, just one of those routine moments where you're trying to get through a simple task in public without anything going sideways. And like most parents know, that's usually when something does go sideways. One of my boys notices something and without any filter at all, just says it, loud enough for nearby people to hear. And I immediately feel that internal parent reflex kick in. You know the one, that moment where your brain goes, please don't say that, please don't say that, please don't say that. But it's already out. And I remember thinking, okay, we're in it now. The funny thing is, it wasn't mean-spirited. It wasn't inappropriate in a harmful way. It was just completely unedited honesty, the kind of honesty adults spend years learning how to soften, shape, or sometimes completely suppress. And after the initial moment of mild panic passes, I start listening to what he actually said. And I realized it wasn't wrong. It was just unfiltered. There was no internal committee reviewing it first, no mental pause asking, is this acceptable? No concern about how it might land socially. Just observation turned immediately into words. And I'll be honest, I had a moment of internal reflection right there. Because somewhere along the way, most of us learn to install filters. Some of that is good. It helps us be considerate, thoughtful, aware of context. But some of it goes further than that. We don't just filter our words, we start filtering our curiosity, our opinions, even our questions. And eventually we get so used to editing ourselves that we stop noticing that we're editing out. Meanwhile, kids are just out here saying exactly what they see. No performance, no strategic pause, no concern about how it might be received. And in that moment, I remember thinking there is really something freeing about that level of honesty. Not because it's always appropriate to say everything we think it's not, but because it reveals how quickly we trade authentic for approval. We start to care more about how we're perceived than about what we actually notice, think, or feel. And the irony is the things we often most hesitate to say out loud are usually the same things others are quietly thinking too. We just assume we're the only ones who see it. So we stay quiet. And kids don't. They just say it. And after that moment passed, I remember just smiling a little to myself and thinking, there it is again. That reminder that we don't start life overly polished or perfectly appropriate. We start life curious, honest, and unfiltered. And then the world slowly teaches us to sand the edges down. Sometimes that's necessary, but sometimes it also makes us forget how to just speak plainly, think freely, and observe without overthinking every possible reaction. And maybe that's the part of what makes that quote from Allison in Wonderland so interesting. Have I gone mad? I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I will tell you a secret. All the best people are. Because maybe bonkers in its healthiest form isn't about being chaotic or reckless. Maybe it's just being willing to see things clearly and not immediately censor yourself out of fear of judgment. And every now and then I think we all need a little reminder of what that looks like. Sometimes it comes from books, sometimes from experience, and sometimes it comes from a kid who hasn't yet learned that they're supposed to filter what they see. Let's pause for a moment and acknowledge something important. There's a reason so many brilliant thinkers are described as eccentric. When someone spends hours thinking about ideas no one else is thinking about, they can appear a little unusual. There's an old joke that says, genius is when people eventually understand you. Madness is when they never do. And if you've ever tried explaining a creative idea to someone who just stares at you silently, you know exactly what that feels like. But creativity often requires a temporary willingness to look foolish, which is not something most adults enjoy. Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, we start editing ourselves heavily. Kids will sing loudly in grocery stores. Adults, not so much. Kids will ask a hundred questions without embarrassment. Adults start worrying whether their questions sound smart enough. But curiosity and creativity thrive in the absence of that self-censorship. Which might be why the characters in Wonderland feel so liberating. They simply say what they think. And once you see that pattern clearly in kids and everyday life, you start noticing it everywhere, especially in yourself. Especially in the moments where you feel pressure to get things right in real time. There was a moment in my career that still makes me laugh a little now, but definitely did not feel funny at the time. It was one of those presentations where everything looks fine right up until it isn't. You know the type. You prepare, you refine, you tell yourself, okay, this one's solid, no surprises. I even did the thing where you rehearse it in your head while doing completely unrelated tasks, driving, walking, brushing your teeth, just casually delivering flawless presentations to nobody in particular. So I felt ready. Overprepared even. And then the actual moment came. I start presenting and things are going fine, like genuinely fine. I'm getting into the flow, the room is engaged, I'm thinking, all right, this is working. And then I advance the slide. And immediately something in my brain goes, that's not the right slide. Now, there is a very specific kind of internal panic that only people who present regularly will understand. It's silent, it's immediate, and it's extremely judgmental because in about half a second, your brain tries to solve five problems at once. Do I ignore it? Do I acknowledge it? Do I fix it? Do I pretend it's part of the message? Do I just disappear into the floor? Meanwhile, my mouth is still talking like everything is normal, which is honestly impressive considering my brain has already left the building. And I remember thinking, okay, just recover. Just recover smoothly. Be professional. So I did what any professional would do. I very calmly said something like, let's just move to the next slide. Which, in hindsight, is not a sentence that inspires confidence. But I was committed. And of course, the slide I meant to show was nowhere near what was actually on the screen. So now I'm in this awkward moment where I'm trying to explain a point where my visual aid is confidently saying something completely different. It was like my message and my slide deck were in two different relationships and not speaking to each other anymore. And I could feel it happening in real time. The moment where you're pretty sure everyone has noticed, but no one wants to make it worse by reacting. So instead, you get that quiet room energy, which is somehow worse than laughter, because laughter at least gives you a direction. Silence just lets your imagination do whatever it wants. And my imagination in that moment was not helpful. It was basically saying, this is it. This is your entire reputation now. But I kept going. Because what else are you going to do? And somehow I finished the presentation. Not gracefully, not flawlessly, but it was over. A few days later, I ran into someone who was actually in the room and I braced myself. Because this is the moment, right? This is when it comes up. They're going to say something like, hey, about that slide. But instead they just said, that was a really solid presentation. I liked your approach. And that was it. No mention of the slide incident, no confusion, no lingering trauma from PowerPoint betrayal. Nothing. And I remember thinking, wait a second. So I suffered through an entire post presentation crisis for an event that other people experienced as basically normal. And that's when it hit me. We are not reliable narrators in our own awkward moments. We experience them in full surround sound, slow motion, emotional detail. Other people experience them as, oh, minor technical glitch. Anyway. And honestly, it was kind of freeing because it means most of the things we think are defining moments are actually just small, forgettable blips in everyone else's day. Meanwhile, we're over here writing a full emotional autobiography about them. And I wish I could say I learned that lesson once and never repeated it, but let's be honest, I've probably had at least five more of those wrong slide, wrong moment experiences since then. Just hopefully with slightly less internal drama. And maybe that's the point. We don't need perfect execution to have meaningful impact. We just need to keep going. Even when the slide deck betrays us, it's funny how it doesn't feel small in the moment. It feels defining, but it almost never is. When you zoom out across all of these moments, kids, ideas, mistakes, self-doubt, you start to notice a pattern. And it isn't really about chaos or confidence or perfection. It's about permission. So what does it actually mean to embrace this idea? It doesn't mean abandoning reason or responsibility. It simply means allowing yourself to think creatively, to ask the unusual questions, to pursue ideas that matter to you, even if they don't immediately make sense to everyone else. Because the alternative is living entirely within the bounds defined by other people. And that rarely leads to meaningful work or meaningful lives. So if that's the mindset shift, the next question becomes: what does this look like in practice? If you've ever felt a little different, here are three ideas to keep in mind. One, curiosity is more valuable than conformity. Most interesting ideas begin with simple questions. Why is it done this way? What if we tried something else? Those questions often spark breakthroughs. Two, the first reaction to a new idea is rarely the final verdict. Many great ideas are dismissed initially. Give them time to breathe. Three, your uniqueness is part of your contribution. The world already has plenty of people doing things the conventional way. Your perspective may be exactly what someone else needs. Because maybe bonkers isn't about being extreme. Maybe it's about being willing to stay curious, even when certainty would feel easier. And maybe, just maybe, it's simpler than we think. So the next time you find yourself wondering, am I the only one who thinks this way? Remember Alice's conversation in Wonderland. Have I gone mad? I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are. Because the world doesn't move forward through perfectly predictable thinking. It moves forward because someone somewhere had an idea that sounded just a little bit ridiculous at first. And they were brave enough to explore it anyway. Here's something worth reflecting on this week. Where in your life might a little more Wonderland thinking actually help? A creative project? A new opportunity? A bold conversation. You might discover that the ideas you once dismissed as unrealistic are actually the ones worth exploring the most. Thanks for listening to the Epiphany Effect. If today's episode sparked an epiphany for you, share it with someone who appreciates thoughtful conversations about growth and possibility. And until next time, keep exploring the ideas that make you curious, even if they seem a little bonkers at first. Because sometimes that's exactly where the magic begins.