Since this has been the year of AI, I thought it would be fitting to let ChatGPT interview me and use that as the structure for my 2025 year-in-review.
“What did 2025 feel like?”
If I had to describe 2025 in one word, it would be offense.
I felt like I spent more of this year simply going. If people followed, great. If they didn’t, that was fine too. In previous years, I spent a lot of time asking permission or waiting for some kind of sign before doing things. I still did some of that in 2025, but noticeably less.
I think I’m finally coming to terms with “this is what life is, so do something with it” rather than “is this what I’m supposed to be doing?” followed by looking around to see how others react.
The year felt heaviest when I was trying to balance my desire to achieve or move forward with the friction required to bring others along. Sometimes that friction was real. Sometimes it was perceived. Learning the difference was part of the weight. This showed up both personally and professionally.
The lightest moments came on the other side of that effort. When something paid off—even partially—there was relief in realizing the world didn’t end. Recent memories are the easiest to grab, but to be more concrete: we got out more this year. Family trips to see grandparents, Spencer, Tennessee, Gatlinburg. There was room for improvement, but the ideas and execution were mostly sound—and the girls are already asking for it to happen again.
Wendy and I even managed a date night or two. That might sound laughable, but trust me—it’s progress.
If I had to categorize the year as momentum, maintenance, or rebuilding, I’d call it momentum. It took real effort to get moving, but movement itself was the win.
What surprised me most was how much better things got. Looking back at journal entries from past New Year’s reflections, they’re full of struggle and calls to action. Those are still there, but this year we finally started seeing results from years of effort. Now it’s time to build on them.
“What patterns did you notice about yourself?”
This one stood out immediately.
Reading through my thoughts from the past year—and comparing them to New Year’s entries going back seven years—there’s a clear pattern. I’m an endless planner and thinker. I’m very comfortable analyzing what needs to happen. Execution, however, can be a struggle.
Some of that is laziness. Some of it is motivation. Some of it is not building the support I need—or assuming it’s not there. A lot of it is knowing there are twenty things to do and feeling like a failure if I only get five done.
Coming to terms with the idea that five done is not a failure has been a real shift. Right now, the goal is five. Next, maybe six. Eventually, the question becomes: when is enough enough, and when do you just focus on improving what you already have?
I could probably write an entire post about my tendency to overthink. It’s not that I’m unaware of it—it’s finding the balance between being underprepared and being so overprepared that nothing happens. That tension keeps showing up.
“What changed in how you spend your energy?”
This year taught me that energy leaks are quieter than burnout.
I know burnout well. I can hyper-focus, burn bright, and flame out fast. That’s visible and easy to reflect on. What’s harder to notice is the slow drain—the mental “memory leaks.”
That’s where bullet journaling changed things for me. Seeing what’s important, and intentionally not resetting everything to zero each day, has mattered more than I expected. I’ve been doing this since June.
Making lists, balancing family, work, and personal priorities, and rewriting them daily until they’re either done or proven unimportant has brought clarity. It’s helped plug those leaks in ways I didn’t realize I needed.
“What moments stayed with you longer than expected?”
I wish I had a better answer here.
I remember the big moments—joy, nostalgia, sadness, grief. Losing Wendy’s father stands out the most. The reality is I don’t have much experience losing someone close. While we weren’t extremely close, we weren’t distant either. He was always kind to me, always willing—and even eager—to be friends.
We bonded over motorcycles, computers, and whatever made sense at the time. He always tried to meet me wherever he could. In the final weeks and days, I focused on supporting Wendy and the girls, assuming I’d be fine.
I wasn’t.
What surprised me was how much his passing affected me personally. The conversations I wish we’d had. The deeper questions I never asked beyond motorcycles or what he could print on a 3D printer. He had a real understanding of how to navigate this family, and I didn’t listen closely enough.
That loss pushed me to try for more meaningful conversations with my mom and grandma. I haven’t uncovered anything earth-shattering, but I think the effort matters. It also brought me back to writing—and eventually, back to this blog.
I know telling kids of any age to slow down and listen is usually met with resistance. My hope is that someday, when that changes, they can find some of these thoughts here and catch up.
“What did you learn about who you are right now?”
This isn’t about who I’m becoming. It’s about what 2025 revealed I need more—or less—of right now.
More
Interaction with my kids.
This sounds worse than I mean it, but I’ve often thought of myself as a functional parent. I provide stability, support their goals, and make sure they’re taken care of. I do okay there. What I’m not great at is just sitting with them—watching whatever show they’re into or simply being present.
I didn’t grow up with that model, so I don’t have great context for what it’s supposed to look like. What I do know is that when I stumble into those moments, they appreciate it—and I wonder why it doesn’t happen more often.
More date nights.
Like many couples, Wendy and I can get consumed by work, schedules, and kids. We did better in 2025. Now we need to keep that pace.
More attention to my health.
I was consistent at the gym for 20+ weeks this year. That matters. So does not eating like a college kid. Progress is happening—we just need to keep it going.
More journaling.
It’s work. It’s inconvenient. And I’m undeniably better when I do it. The benefits over the past six months are too clear to ignore.
Less
TV.
I’ve cut back, and I’m better for it. I’ve also seen what I can accomplish when that energy goes elsewhere. That said, I’m not cutting it out entirely. I still need the humor of a sitcom and the perspective that comes from watching fictional lives unravel in 30-minute segments. I don’t think I’ll ever stop seeing parts of my life through that lens.
Sitting in my den.
This ties into a lot of the above. I’ve spent a long time staying out of the way, focusing on stability, resting between functional tasks. It’s time to rebalance that.
“What are you leaving in 2025?”
It’s easy to say you’re done with this or that. Easier still to talk about beliefs you’re questioning or pressure you’re setting down.
For now, I think this is more about routines and habits I’m ready to break.
I’m at a place professionally that I’m content with for the moment. I want to stop chasing the next rung and focus on doing the best job possible where I am. Less chasing. More using what I already have.
If that creates space to pursue other things—my kids, a few long-standing dreams, a little more happiness—then that feels like the right trade.
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