2025 --> 2026

As I write this, we're in the closing hours of AD 2025. A lot has happened these last dozen months. And a lot lies ahead.

I'll start with a quick review of the last year – heavily accented with photos! – before reflecting on my goals for the year to come.

2025: A Retrospective

January started with a bang; the evening before, Cade accepted my proposal, surrounded by fat ponies. As far as happy new years go, this one was hard to top.

January

Highlights:

• Cade had graduated from chemo and was adjusting his meds.
• Trump was inaugurated for a second, non-consecutive term.
• I underwent special diocesan training to be a parish volunteer.

February

• Cade and I bought a horse trailer.
• We attended a beautiful performance of Esther the Musical at Spectrum Theater.
• Cade had an elective surgery.
• The Kent GOP had an emergency convention in which MAGA was officially banished from its leadership lock.

March

• Big changes to work processes for my primary consulting client.
• Michigan Horse Expo in East Lansing.
• Tinley Park! For the spring edition of the NARBC reptile expo.
• We tried to pick up Valkyrie the mustang yearling in Liberty, KY – but we "lost" the doors to the trailer and a friend had to handle the transport a week later. But staying in Lexington KY for the night, and visiting Kentucky Horse Park, was well worth the trip.

April

• Valkyrie settled in – lots of "after the barn closes" training nights with her.
• The Triduum and Easter.
• Camping up north with my brother.
• Cade's grandmother received a leukemia diagnosis that required an extended hospital stay.

May

• Cade becomes "legally Cade." #IYKYK
• Attended the beautiful Lantern Festival at John Ball Zoo.
• Tyr gets a checkup and a massive intervention to start getting his weight up.
• Writing retreat with my Tribe friends on the shores of Lake Erie.

June

• We dropped into the annual Berlin Fair.
• We people-watched at the (scorching-hot) GR Pride festival.
• Henrietta the Quail had a major infection odyssey that stumped even an avairy vet.
• Tyr offically became mine; the Bureau of Land Management awarded me his title.
• Off to Minneapolis for the Midwest Book Awards gala.

July

• Oliver and Tyr get dental work. And hoof work.
• I take over as president of the Midwest Independent Publishers Association.
• Independence Day parade and cookout for the dojo.
• Summer Writers' Conference at the bookstore. And also Bob's birthday.
• Begin private study with Chris to prep for my eventual sandan (third-degree black belt) test.
• The flock of quail move to my house.

August

• Mill Creek Days.
• Arthur arrives – he's an elderly California kingsnake retired as an ambassador at a nature centure. Funny little dude.
• Bella arrives – she's an elderly ball python with a touch o' the wobble. She was an owner surrender to Angela, Miss Anthrope, the Bugmistress General at the Asylum.
• I begin funeral ministry at my home parish. Also, I'm added to the schedule as an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion.
• I became a third-degree member of the Knights of Columbus.
• Dinner with Cade, Tony, and Jen at the Chop House.
• Ellie's first beach day!

September

• Tyr turned five.
• I return to duties as a sacristan, helping my friend Chuck on the 1st weekends of the month.
• We went to the Michigan Renaissance Festival and saw the Birds of Prey special show, with a raven and an owl and a hawk.

October

• The Fall Writers Conference.
• Macey – a 19-year-old quarterhorse – arrives.
• Tinley Park II: Reptile Bugaloo.
• Kickoff for "That November Thing" of the West Michigan Author Alliance.
• Kiko started her internship with the West Michigan Animal Foundation.
• Quick trip to Las Vegas to celebrate my friend Mark, who had been the driving force behind the 360 Vegas podcast. Mark had taken his own life earlier in the summer; we got together as a community to honor him and the relationships that his endeavor had built. RIP.
• Halloween Party at the bookstore!

November

• Tyr's first emergency vet appointment.
• Thanksgiving got moved to Saturday, but we did Cade's family at the bookstore.
• That November Thing's annual Day of Knockout Noveling was a success!
• Three mischiefs of mice arrive.

December

• Finished reading the Bible, cover-to-cover, during Eucharistic Adoration. I started the practice in the summer of 2021 at Sacred Heart (covering the midnight-to-2a shift on the First Friday devotion) and finished Revelation this month. (In January, I shift time slots and texts; I'll be doing 10p to 11p and reading the Catechism.)
• Tribe Christmas party.
• Fun shopping day at Rivertown Mall.
• Saw the Harp Twins in concert.
• Emma, Tara, and Kiko came over to pickle some quail eggs one morning.
• Witnessed a beautiful dance performance in Coopersville, featuring Cade's sister Minka.
• Welcomed Po, Tater, and Spud – three elderly male rats.
• Cade's family Christmas on the 25th, in the bookstore.
• Jason's family Christmas on the 24th, at mom's house.

2026: A Year of Hope

A few big things struck me this past year.

First, life is short. Serving so many funerals since August – and having one friend attempt and another complete suicide over the summer – has highlighted just how difficult the journey can be. When I was a hospital chaplain, years ago, I remember that no one regretted their credit score but many people regretted relationships they'd lost or dreams they never accomplished. Goals that some view as critical, may not be important; what's important, may be crowded out by dumpster fires. One of the keys to living well is to find the things that are important and to not let the tyranny of the urgent get in the way of building a web of meaning for yourself and those you love.

Second, people are valuable. I've grown acutely aware of how easy it is to let friendships wither on the vine, or to assume that you'll always have tomorrow to pick up the phone. I'm trying to do better on that front – which leads to:

Third, time will escape you unless you master it. Over the last year, in particular, I've felt pulled in 20 different directions. Everything, everywhere, all at once, or something like that. I've gotten better at delegation, but there are still some things were "only I can do it." Or at least, "only I can teach it." After a lot of wrestling with a Grand Unified Eisenhower Matrix of my life, I've concluded that the important things (to me) aren't being done well enough, and the urgent things are so scattershot that the issue is really one of efficiency. You can "do" a lot but not accomplish a lot. So I've spent the last month fine-tuning a block-schedule model. I'm planning my life into a fortnightly grid, where all the things that matter get hours on the calendar. What doesn't get done in a block gets kicked not to tomorrow, but to the next block. I've also retired Obsidian and Todoist and rely just on an app called Noteplan to integrate my calendars, tasks, notes, and journal. I hope that this approach will allow for deep concentration with less interruption and also more compartmentalization so that one three-day window of unexpected crises (vet visits, ER visits, work emergencies) doesn't require me to flail in a panic for three weeks then spend a dozen hours over a weekend rescheduling literally hundreds of tasks – which, so far, as how things have gone, about once per calendar quarter. This experiment might work. It might not. Life is about – as Cade would say – "science biotching it."

Fourth, meaning comes from within. As a Catholic, I can plug into the rich traditions of the faith and combine those with the changing Michigan seasons (thank you, horses, for making me go outside daily regardless of the weather) to feel a rhythm and flow to life itself. It's easy to think about people who have died or traditions that have withered and feel as if your world is smaller. But you know what? You can meet new people. You can build new traditions. You can grow your own world.

In 2009 I started a document I call The Roadmap. Originally a one-page document in Microsoft OneNote, it's now a NotePlan asset that I update every year on July 4 and December 25. I've noticed a lot of things that were important to me that I just have never accomplished because I've been too busy. But the truth is, it's not so much a question of busy as much as it's a question of storytelling. Who am I? Who do I tell the world that I am? Who would describe me accurately if all they could see was my calendar and to-do list? If you frame the right story, the things that really matter become more apparent, and a "why" takes shape for the things that that might sound good in the abstract but don't, deep down, actually matter.

So meaning-making starts with reading, and writing, and thinking, and talking. I'm scheduling a lot more of that for 2026. And I think that everything else will fall into place. If you make time for what's important, what's unimportant – even if it's allegedly urgent – seems to find its place.

Finally, seize joy where you can. I go to the barn as often as I can not because I have to – it's not a chore – but because I grin like a toddler at Disney knowing that I get to see Tyr. He's my dude, my heart horse. Little moments with the herd, or holding hands with Cade in public, or playing with a rat, or letting the cat "win" when demanding lap time, or getting lost in a chapter, or being struck by a passage in the Office of Readings, or listening to the forest at night with the campfire cracking at your feet ... each of these moments is a moment of joy worth savoring. Too often, I've let work get in the way of joy. Not on purpose, but because I didn't find an alternative strategy.

I think I have a strategy now. And although I'm feeling a bit "meh" tonight, I'm hopeful that being more intentional about what I do, and when and how I do it, will lead to 2026 feeling more full and more accomplished, but also less busy, than any I've experienced since the pandemic.

Wishing you the best of happiness, health, and peace for the new year and for all the years to come.