Hi, I am Delusional.
The Power of Believing Past Logic
Readers Note:
Happy Wednesday!
We are officially about five weeks away from The Remember Balloons Live! — and wow, this thing is really starting to feel special.
Yesterday, I got fitted for my Grandpa costume and honestly surprised myself with how quickly I could look old.
But beyond costumes, rehearsals, and production meetings, I’ve been reflecting a lot on the internal process of putting this show together. This is the first time my team and I have ever tried to sell tickets to a production at this scale, and somewhere in the middle of all the excitement, stress, dreaming, and planning, I’ve arrived at one very simple conclusion:
I am delusional.
And strangely, I think that might be a good thing.
Happy reading!
— Dom
Hi, I am Delusional.
A few years ago, I probably would’ve called this confidence.
Today, I think the better word is delusion.
And I mean that sincerely.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how you almost have to be a little delusional to make anything meaningful happen in this world. Because if you only operate from logic from statistics, probabilities, market trends, financial realities, historical precedent…most good things would never get made.
The world is constantly reminding you why something won’t work.
There are systems, costs, gatekeepers, bills, timelines.
There are institutions that move slowly and institutions that don’t move at all. There are entire industries built to make you “be realistic.”
And somewhere inside all of that, you still have to wake up every morning and believe your small light matters.
That your voice can still cut through.
That your work can still reach people.
That your idea — your art, your business, your community project, your family, whatever sacred thing you’re trying to build — can actually make somebody’s life better.
That’s delusion.
And honestly, I’m stepping fully into that space right now (as I have been this year!)
In June, we’re trying to sell 800 tickets to a dance theater production in Akron, Ohio.
If you know anything about dance, you know that sentence alone sounds a little irrational.
Dance is not an easy sell. It’s not like music where people stream songs all year and then show up already emotionally attached to the experience. Contemporary dance especially asks audiences to trust something they may not completely understand yet.
And frankly, even musicians are struggling right now.
On top of that, we’re producing inside a union house, which means everything costs more.
Not just the venue but union labor like stagehands and technical requirements. I mean, the theater rental ALONE is going to cost us about $20,000.
The point is that when you try to make something beautiful happen in the world, you suddenly become aware of every obstacle standing between the dream and reality.
Every invoice.
Every logistical barrier.
Every reason this thing should stay small.
And still, some part of you has to look at all of that and say:
“We’re doing it anyway.”
That’s delusion.
But then I started thinking about how this applies to so many things beyond art.
And to be clear about what I am going to say next: I am NOT comparing The Remember Balloons Live! to the Civil Rights Movement.
I’m talking about the psychology required to pursue something that, at the time, seemed impossible.
Because if you think honestly about the Civil Rights Movement, there was no logical reason for Black Americans in the 1950s and 60s to believe this country would suddenly decide to grant equal rights after centuries of slavery, segregation, violence, and systemic exclusion.
We talk about civil rights now like justice was inevitable.
It was not inevitable.
Most of the people marching alongside Dr. King had great-grandparents who were enslaved or sharecroppers.
Many were risking their jobs, their safety, even their lives.
Logic alone would’ve said:
“This country is not going to change.”
And yet they carried a kind of belief beyond evidence anyway.
A willingness to move toward a future they could not yet prove was possible.
Last week we talked about Michael Jackson, so I even think about Joe Jackson (his father) sometimes.
And before I say this, let me be clear about something else: abuse of your children for success is wrong. Full stop.
The stories about the harm done inside that household are real, serious, and shouldn’t be romanticized in the name of success.
But separately from that truth, there is another truth that fascinates me.
Imagine being a Black man working in the steel mills of Gary, Indiana in the 1960s and believing your children could become the most famous family in popular music.
Not successful musicians.
Not regionally famous.
The center of global pop culture.
The royal family of music.
That level of belief is delusion.
And yet somehow, he held onto that vision long enough for the impossible to become visible.
And I think that’s true about almost every meaningful thing humans create.
At some point, the logical people stop.
They pivot.
They downsize the dream.
They become realistic.
Eventually, the lane clears out.
And what’s left are the people crazy enough to keep believing.
The people willing to look unreasonable for a long time.
The people willing to commit to something before there’s evidence it will work.
And that’s where I am right now.
I’ve crossed over from logic into belief.
Belief that a husband-and-wife-run theatrical production company in Akron, Ohio can produce a large-scale multidisciplinary performance for 800 people.
Belief that we can fill the theater.
Belief that PBS will capture it beautifully.
Belief that this thing we’re building can travel far beyond our city via national television.
Belief that art made with sincerity still matters.
Belief that families still want to gather in rooms together and feel something real.
Belief that storytelling can still heal people.
I know how irrational some of that sounds.
And strangely, I’ve never felt more peaceful about it.
So maybe this is also me telling you:
Whatever that thing is inside you… the thing you want to build, say, change, repair, risk, or begin…allow yourself a little delusion.
Not arrogance.
Not fantasy.
But the kind of unreasonable belief required to make meaningful things happen.
Because when you look back on your life someday, I doubt you’ll say:
“I’m really glad I stayed logical.”
You’ll probably say:
“I’m glad I believed in something enough to keep going.”
Even when it sounded impossible.
🔥🔥🔥🔥