Welcome to the final day of 2025. Happy New Year!

As this very well may be the final newsletter you read in 2025, I want to use this opportunity to set the tone for the year ahead.

You're all familiar with the idea of New Year's Resolutions:

Specific actions or behaviors you commit to for the coming year.

I've never been a fan. The notion that you can choose the perfect resolution on January 1 and have it continue to be relevant throughout an entire year has always struck me as wishful thinking.

I prefer to set New Year's Intentions:

Big picture, open-ended ideas and mindsets that I want to focus on.

The intentions set your general direction. They establish a true north.

Here are the 6 intentions I'm setting for 2026...

1. Make peace with being disliked.

I want to get more comfortable with being disliked.

Not because I want to provoke people. Not because I want to be contrarian for sport. Not because I want to be disliked.

But because I want to accept a simple truth:

No matter what you do, some people won’t like it.

They won’t like your decisions. They won’t like your priorities. They won’t like your values. They won’t like the way you show up, the path you choose, or the way you walk it.

I spent the last 34 years of my life trying to avoid that reality—and honestly, it was exhausting. Even worse, it quietly pulled me away from being myself.

Making peace with being disliked means choosing whose opinions actually matter. It means narrowing the circle to the few people you deeply respect, trust, and love—and letting the rest fall where they may.

It means doing the work you believe in. Living the life that feels aligned to you. Resisting the temptation to edit yourself just to be more palatable to the world.

In 2026, I will make peace with being disliked.

2. Chop wood and carry water.

I want to stay true to the boring basics.

There’s an old Zen saying that I think about often:

“What do you do before enlightenment? Chop wood, carry water. What do you do after enlightenment? Chop wood, carry water.”

As you start to experience success, notoriety, and achievement, it’s easy to lose sight of the work that got you those things in the first place. It’s easy to get distracted by results. By recognition. By the illusion that success somehow exempts you from the basics.

It doesn’t.

The outcomes may change. The titles may change. The scale may change. But the work doesn’t.

Chopping wood and carrying water means showing up when no one is watching. Doing the boring work well. Being reliable. Executing consistently. Returning to fundamentals even when you think you’re above them. Especially then.

In 2026, I will chop wood and carry water.

3. Fall in love with the final 5%.

I want to take things all the way to the finish.

The last stretch is where most people ease up. Where the dopamine of early results wears off. Where the incentives fade. Where corners get cut. Where the allure of good enough quietly replaces the expectation of excellent.

It’s also where extraordinary outcomes are created—simply because so few people are willing to see it all the way through.

The final 5% is about unreasonable care. Unreasonable attention to detail. The willingness to keep going when it would be much easier, and seemingly more rational, to stop and settle.

Most things in life don’t fail because of lack of effort at the beginning. They fail because of lack of care at the end.

You’re always building your own house—and the final touches are the ones you live with the longest.

Falling in love with the final 5% means seeing things all the way through. It means leaning in when it’s uncomfortable. It means finishing with the same intensity you started with.

In 2026, I will fall in love with the final 5%.

4. Embrace your most selfish pursuits.

I want to reframe selfishness.

Selfish is usually viewed as a character flaw. As something to correct. As evidence of an inward focus or a disregard for others.

But I’ve come to believe the opposite is often true.

The most meaningful things I’ve done professionally have been a direct result of following one simple rule:

Create what I want to consume.

Go build what you wish existed. Play games you actually want to play. Work on things you care about, with people you care about.

This kind of selfishness isn’t about taking from others. It’s about grounding yourself in the work that feels intrinsically rewarding rather than externally validating.

And interestingly, when you create from a place of selfishness, the results are of greater value to the world.

Selfish work is an act of selflessness.

In 2026, I will embrace the most selfish pursuits.

5. Leave room for surprise.

I want to create space for serendipity.

I thrive on structure. I derive happiness from growth. From improvement. I’m a routine guy, through and through. A creature of habit.

This demeanor has created extraordinary value in my life.

But it also leaves very little space for life to do what life does best.

Some of the most meaningful moments are impossible to plan. They weren’t structured. They weren’t on the calendar. They arrived through chaos. Chance. Detours. Decisions that didn’t make sense then (or now).

If every moment of your life is planned, there’s no room for that to enter.

Leaving room for surprise means loosening the grip just a bit. Letting go of the need to control every variable. Allowing curiosity, randomness, and unexpected opportunities to find their way in. Trusting that some things simply cannot be engineered in advance.

In 2026, I will leave room for surprise.

6. Find joy in the little things.

I want to embrace the small.

Author Kurt Vonnegut once wrote:

"Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you'll look back and realize they were the big things."

He was right.

The little moments are easy to overlook. Easy to rush past. Easy to ignore in favor of something bigger, louder, or more important.

But at some point along the way, you come to learn the truth:

The little things are the big things.

Life isn’t lived in milestones. It’s lived in the in-between moments. The ordinary mornings. The quiet conversations. The familiar routines that make up most of our days.

Finding joy in the little things means slowing down enough to notice them. Putting the phone down more often. Being present in moments that don’t announce themselves as special, but really are.

It means sitting in those moments rather than racing through them. Letting them register. Letting them count.

In 2026, I will find joy in the little things.

The Power of One Year

With a fresh new year ahead of you, here's an important closing message:

Your entire life can change in one year.

Not ten. Not five. Not three. One.

One year of asking the right questions. One year of showing up when the rewards are uncertain. One year of focused, daily effort. One year of clear, aligned intentions.

So, let's get started today.

Who's with me?