12/01/2025
The other morning I was talking with my old coach. The kind of conversation where you slip into between sets, somewhere between breathless and philosophical.
We were in the field we’ve practically lived in this year, and he goes, “Man… I’ve never seen you in better shape.”
Which was funny, because physically? Yeah. The work has shown up. But mentally? Emotionally? This year knocked me around more than a few times.
And that contrast, the strong exterior and the scrambling interior, kind of became my metaphor for 2025.
Because if I’m honest…
2025 wasn’t the victory lap I imagined it would be. It wasn’t the highlight reel. It wasn’t the triumphant chapter where everything clicked.
Some days it felt like social media was whispering, “Nope, not today.” Some days it felt like no matter how consistent I was, the momentum just… evaporated. Some days I was staring at analytics the way someone stares at a bad haircut, confused, personally offended, and convinced the universe was messing with me.
But then something else kept happening:
A comment from someone who finally left an addiction behind. A message from a father who said he got his hope back. A DM from someone who hadn’t given up because of one post they found at 2 a.m. And every time, I felt this shift:
If the scoreboard isn’t showing me what I want, maybe I’m looking at the wrong scoreboard.
Because while the algorithm was cold, people weren’t. While numbers were unpredictable, impact wasn’t. And honestly, while the algorithm cooled off, something else started warming up. I planted some new seeds for BWT this year. Little creative sparks that turned into real plans, new directions, and a sense of adventure again. It reminded me that growth doesn’t always look like numbers; sometimes it looks like beginnings.
And somewhere between all that noise and clarity, this thought emerged:
Maybe this year wasn’t about growth. Maybe it was about grounding.
2025 taught me how to slow down enough to see what matters.
It taught me that showing up for friends, family, and strangers on the other side of the world is more valuable than all the viral moments combined.
It taught me that some years aren’t meant to be fireworks; they’re meant to be foundations.
It taught me that “losing your way” is often just a reminder to look up, recalibrate, and pick a truer direction.
And here’s the kicker: Even on the days when I questioned everything… I never stopped being grateful. Not because things were perfect, but because they were real. Because you showed up. Because of this amazing community. Because impact doesn’t retire when algorithms take a vacation.
So if you’re closing out this year feeling like you expected the mountaintop and got the middle instead… if you’re leaving 2025 a little bruised but a lot wiser… if you’re carrying lessons heavier than the wins…you’re not alone.
And 2026? Well… that one we get to write.
