David McElroy

Katie and Cullen seemed like perfectly normal people when I met them six years ago.

They lived in an upscale neighborhood of a Birmingham suburb. She had been a child psychologist. He had been a software developer. But they had both left their secure, high-paying jobs. Why? They had become YouTube stars — and they were making enough money that they didn’t need jobs anymore.

I had a freelance photo assignment in March 2015 from a magazine to shoot pictures of the family for a cover story. They had nearly 100,000 subscribers on YouTube at the time and their popularity was rapidly growing. The story was all about their unlikely success.

They seemed like genuinely nice people. There was no air of pretentiousness about them. They didn’t even really seem that impressed with their sudden fame. I liked them.

But when I watched their YouTube channel — and read the comments from their adoring fans — I was absolutely baffled. I couldn’t figure out why anybody wanted to watch videos about their lives. Today, they have more than half a million subscribers to their channel, so I seem to be the odd one.

As I keep pondering whether there’s a media opportunity for me — on YouTube or something similar — I keep coming back to the puzzling realization that the public wants something which I don’t yet understand.

And how could I possibly be successful in a medium which I apparently don’t even understand?

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People rarely change. Not really.

Our movies and novels and self-help books all seem to be based on the idea that personal change is common. Without serious character development in fiction, movies and novels would be boring. If a self-help book said, “Don’t bother, because you’re probably not going to change anyway,” nobody would buy it.

We’re culturally conditioned to believe that substantial change in a person is common, but reality is far different. And it’s even more rare when a person changes someone else — because humans aren’t puppets who can be controlled on the inside.

If I try to change someone else — even if we both agree the change is for the better — I’m very unlikely to succeed. It’s a foolish thing to try. Even if you do succeed, the person who’s forced the change will always hold a superior position — and that will never allow for a healthy and equal relationship.

Even though I know all this, I’ve tried it anyway. Not consciously, but I’ve done it, thinking I had the best of intentions. As recently as about five years ago, I tried to change a woman I dated — and it was a miserable failure for both of us.

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I’ve found you a thousand times
I guess you’ve done the same
But then we lose each other
It’s just like a children’s game
— Harry Chapin, “Circle”

The warm breeze was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle that evening. There was still enough light to see, and the fading sunset made the sky colorful as the light dimmed and the shadows lengthened. But the honeysuckle scent is what I remember most.

I don’t know why that particular night remains with me. I was about 9 years old and I was one of seven or eight children playing hide-and-seek around the neighborhood. Our house was the center of the play area. There were a couple of houses to the left and one other to the right. There was a meadow behind our house — and an old, unused barn beyond that. It seemed that we played for hours.

Nobody wanted to stop, but it eventually got too dark to see. We split up to go to our own homes — happy with the games and ready to resume our hide-and-seek play on another day.

This memory came to my mind strongly tonight. And it suddenly occurred to me — for the first time in my life — that this sort of game helps prepare children for what’s ahead in their adults lives.

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