There are few people in my life who match my energy. Aaron Sadoff is one of them. When Aaron walks into a room, it's not subtle. It's pure enthusiasm and optimism radiating outward like he's carrying his own personal spotlight. Some people think it's an act. The first time they meet him, they smile politely. The second time, they watch more carefully. By the third encounter, they realize: this is legit. This guy is literally wired this way.
Aaron recently wrote a book called Mindcraft: The Art of Positive Thinking Right Now! and became the 18th president of Marian University at 53 years old. His journey from teaching psychology in high school to leading a university during higher education's "enrollment cliff" reveals something profound about leadership that most people miss. Positivity isn't about denying reality. It's about choosing how you respond to it.
When I asked Aaron what worries him most about leading a university during challenging times, his answer stopped me cold. "My biggest concern isn't the enrollment cliff or the environment. It's whether we can maximize our potential. I've learned that I can't control things out of my control. My positivity really comes from focusing on what we can do today."
That's not Pollyanna. That's strategic brilliance.
Picture yourself in a beautiful place. Mountains, meadow, lakeside, wherever brings you peace. You're walking along, hearing birds chirp, smelling fresh air, maybe catching a whiff of some kid trying to cover up their smoke. It's a wonderful day.
Then boom! An arrow hits your thigh.
You look down at the ground, pick up another arrow, and stick it in your other thigh.
This is Buddha's Parable of Two Arrows, and Aaron uses it to explain something critical about leadership and life. That first arrow? That's pain. It's inevitable. Bad things happen to everybody. The number one cause of death, according to The Onion, is mortality. It gets everybody.
That second arrow? That's suffering. You didn't have to do that. You didn't have to complain, whine, isolate yourself, or engage in self-deprecation. You chose to suffer.
"I have to make sure people know positive psychology isn't based on not recognizing problems," Aaron told me. "It's like the buffalo. They know the storm's gonna suck, they know it's gonna be terrible and cold. They don't deny that. They work on that. They head into it, but they also realize they don't have to make things worse."
Here's where Aaron's approach gets fascinating. When he started at Marian University without a terminal degree, leading faculty with PhDs and EdDs, he knew people might dismiss his optimism as superficial. So he built what he calls a two-part trust foundation.
Part One: People must believe you know the right thing to do.
Part Two: People must believe you're going to do it.
"Once people started to realize I know about finance, advocacy, teaching, curriculum, fundraising, that's when my positivity became authentic to them," Aaron explained. "My positivity isn't based on Pollyanna-ishness or covering something up. This is really the environment, and now it's research-based best practice."
Until 1998, positive psychology didn't exist. Dr. Martin Seligman launched the field by asking a revolutionary question: instead of studying why people fail, what if we study why they succeed? Everything Aaron and I have built our lives and professions on (positive emotional states, intentional culture building) is now proven science.
Aaron's book introduces a framework adapted from Albert Ellis, one of the pioneers of cognitive psychology. The ABCs work like this:
A is for Activating Event: Something happens. You didn't get the job, you face a setback, you receive unexpected news.
B is for Belief: This is where your power lives. How you interpret that event determines everything that follows.
C is for Consequence: The outcome flows directly from your belief about the activating event.
Aaron's friend Harlan, currently incarcerated, embodies this perfectly. "He can't control that he's in prison or what his sentence is," Aaron said. "But his belief matters. Is he there to be angry and mad, or can he help somebody and bring a shining light within a dark place? That determines his consequence."
The same principle applied to Aaron's career. He didn't get superintendent positions in Fond du Lac or Oshkosh, jobs he desperately wanted. Those were activating events. If his belief had been "I can't do anything, I'm not good enough," his consequence would have been stagnation. Instead, his belief opened him to the presidency at Marian University.
"That activating event happened," Aaron reflected. "You get to choose your mindset. Your original reaction might not be effective. That's fight or flight keeping you alive. But then what are you gonna do?"
One of the most profound chapters in Aaron's book explores the concept of "I See You." It's the Zulu greeting Sawubona that means not just "I acknowledge your existence" but "my ancestors acknowledge your existence."
Aaron learned about this from an experience caddying for President George H.W. Bush. They spent five or six hours together, and Bush made Aaron feel seen, valued, real. Bush might not have remembered Aaron years later, but Aaron remembers that moment of being truly present with someone.
"You don't know the power you have to make somebody feel valued, to feel seen, that they exist," Aaron said. "How many times have you been in situations where people didn't even know you existed? That's where we have depression, anxiety, people feeling alone. We can change that at any time by just being present, shutting your mouth for three or four minutes, listening to somebody, and asking them a question about them."
He shared a practice that transformed how he shows up in conversations. "When I leave a conversation, I ask myself this question: Did I learn more about them or did they learn more about me? If I learned more about them, I was present."
This isn't small talk. This is leadership. Because when people don't feel seen, when they feel invisible in their organizations, they disengage. They isolate. They shoot that second arrow.
Perhaps the most surprising element in Aaron's book is a chapter on bashert, a Yiddish word his friend Harlan taught him. It has two meanings: first, finding your soulmate; second, the moment when fate meets faith.
"Harlan said this to me," Aaron recalled. "If I wouldn't have come to prison, if I wouldn't have done the right program, if you wouldn't have got your CDL to drive bus, if you didn't bring those kids that day, if you wouldn't have asked questions, if I didn't allow you on my visitors list, we wouldn't be here. It's the idea that I don't believe God manipulates our lives, but we're here. And there's always good. Sometimes you're the only good, but we're here."
Holocaust survivors used bashert to describe their circumstances. Not denying the horror, but accepting "we're here, so how can we make it work?"
"That's the mindset of acceptance of where you're at," Aaron explained. "Whether you're diagnosed with cancer, don't get a job, have a miscarriage, or something good happens, we're here. This is fragile and short-lived. But if we can lean into it and believe there's something good, and sometimes the only good is the eight inches between your ears, don't waste it."
Here's where Aaron's teaching background shines through with practical wisdom. He asked me to role-play receiving a compliment about his book. First attempt:
Me: "Aaron, Mindcraft is a fantastic book. I appreciate you writing it."
Aaron: "Oh, it's not a big deal. It's fine. Finally I did it."
Classic deflection. Then he showed me the alternative:
Me: "Aaron, I really appreciate that you wrote Mindcraft. It's a really good book."
Aaron: "Hey, thanks for noticing that. That makes me feel good, and for you to take the time to let me know, I really appreciate that compliment."
Notice the difference? No boasting. No self-deprecation. No humble-bragging. Just authentic acceptance that makes the giver feel good about giving.
"At no time did I say I was the most amazing person ever," Aaron pointed out. "I told you you're cool for letting me know that, and you're more apt to give praise and compliments in the future."
Aaron learned this the hard way in college when a professor complimented his presentation. He spent two minutes explaining how he could have been better (what kids now call a "humble brag"). The professor paused, turned her chair, looked up at him and said simply: "Next time, just say thank you."
Lightning struck. Because whether through self-deprecation ("No, I'm not that great") or self-promotion ("Well, I worked 40 hours on that"), you make it harder for people to compliment you in the future.
One of Aaron's most powerful stories comes from early in his teaching career. He was knocking it out of the park, developing advanced psychology courses, leading initiatives. When a better job opened up closer to home, he went to tell his principal, Jim McCartney, about all the amazing things he'd done and how bad he felt about leaving.
McCartney let him go on and on. Then he broke the silence with six words that changed everything: "Aaron, you're not that important. I'm not either. This place has been here long before you got here, before me. It'll be here long after."
But McCartney wasn't done. "You still have a responsibility to lead. You still have a responsibility to take care of those decisions you made: to have children, start a job, take a salary to provide service."
Aaron now sees his presidency as a jersey. "If I do it well enough, they might have a ceremony for me. But my goal is to take this jersey and give it to somebody else, then to somebody else. My importance isn't in how important I think I am. It's about the friends, the life, the opportunities, the ability to impact people and support them."
His advice to everyone? "Lighten up, Francis. Mortality will get us all, but in the meantime, just kick some ass, have some fun, make a difference, and love people. Then you'll be fine."
As we closed our conversation, Aaron said something that's been rattling around in my head ever since. "Positivity is now my habit. It's easy because now it's a habit."
Think about that. We tend to think optimism is something you either have or don't have. A personality trait, maybe genetic. But Aaron frames it as a muscle you develop, a habit you build.
His father once told him something profound: "Aaron, if an opportunity presents itself and you don't act on it, it goes away." That philosophy, combined with the belief that "we can always contribute and we always have choice," has shaped every major decision in Aaron's life.
What are your habits? Is positivity one of them? Or is pessimism your default, that second arrow you keep picking up and stabbing into your own leg?
Here's Aaron's most practical tip for maintaining positivity during difficult moments: your phone's photo album.
"On that cell phone there's an app with pictures," Aaron said. "People take pictures of things they like. Before going into a difficult meeting (an expulsion, professional improvement plan, family disagreement) I pick up those pictures and start looking. The brain doesn't know the difference between real and fake. When I look at those pictures, I start to get grateful and appreciative. My brain starts to work different. When we're in a positive emotional state, our brain works better and we get to deal with things better."
It's not just pictures. Aaron visualizes his Ted Lasso socks that retail for $75 (why the heck would that happen?) or other things that bring him joy. When you do that, the chemistry in your brain switches. It's like your eyes open so you can see possibilities instead of always seeing what can't happen.
Aaron's book isn't about learning new things. It's about remembering what you already know but have forgotten to practice. As he says, "I'm a chef. You read Shawn Achor, Ted Neitzke, Joel Sanfelippo, Malcolm Gladwell. A lot of us can tell you the same thing. It's just, do you like that flavor?"
His flavor is accessible, eighth-grade reading level by design, meant to be digestible and fun. Because purpose is important. You can read a chapter and walk away for two weeks. Each one is a lesson in itself, easily applicable.
But here's what struck me most: Aaron doesn't believe in "fake it till you make it." He believes in "do it till you believe it."
That's the difference between performing positivity and embodying it. Between putting on a show and building a habit. Between that first encounter where people think you're faking and that third encounter where they realize this is who you really are.
As I told Aaron, you're looking at Ted 1.0, and I don't know if I get a 2.0. Too many people live like there's a version 2.0 and 3.0 coming. They defer hard decisions. They delay the inevitable. They procrastinate intentionally, hoping something changes or goes away.
That has never worked for me. When I meet someone like Aaron's friend Harlan, incarcerated but bringing light to a dark place, it fuels me to pay more attention to the moment. To practice I See You and bashert. To recognize that fate has brought me here, and faith asks me to do something with it.
A friend once called me with a powerful commitment. "I made this promise to myself that if I thought of somebody more than twice in a week, I was gonna call them." He'd been thinking of me twice, so he called. Just to talk. Just to connect.
That's bashert. That's making something happen. There's an intentionality to all of this: to positivity, to presence, to choosing your response to activating events.
Your presence is temporary. Your decisions are permanent. The decisions you make influence others who influence others who influence others, creating ripples that reach shorelines you'll never see.
So this week, build the habit. When the first arrow hits (and it will), don't pick up the second one. When someone offers you a compliment, say thank you. When you think of someone twice, call them. When you're in a difficult meeting, look at your photos first. When an activating event happens, pause before choosing your belief about it.
Because as Aaron's dad said, opportunities present themselves, but if you don't act on them, they go away. And as Aaron himself says: we can always contribute, and we always have choice.
Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Don't waste it. Kick some ass, have some fun, make a difference, and love people.
Then you'll be fine.
Nobody loves you like the people who truly see you. So open your eyes, square your shoulders, and be present.
That's not Pollyanna. That's leadership.