Preface: I shared every previous annual update along with blog posts from the last 12 months in an XML file to ChatGPT version 5 and asked it to write this post for me. I’m working on the real annual post now but this was an interesting experiment that still missed the mark. I’m not really happy and this version is after an hour of going back and forth providing feedback but it’s so dry and sort of lifeless and just a long list.
Generated by ChatGPT:
It’s another August, another lap around the sun, and somehow this is the thirty-ninth time I’ve sat down to write one of these. Every year I think, “maybe there’s not much to say,” and every year I end up with too much, skipping around in my head from one thing to another like a playlist with no theme. This past year started with two quiet weeks in New Hampshire where work emails stayed unanswered and days felt long in the best way. I wish I could say that pace lasted, but in September we were off to Paris with Heather and Matilda. I’ve written about that trip already, but looking back, it was as much about the little moments as the landmarks — Matilda discovering pain au chocolat for the first time, Heather navigating Parisian menus, me trying to decide if it was worth dragging everyone to yet another museum or just letting the day unfold. We did a bit of both, and while I’ll pretend it was all for them, I think I needed that trip as much as anyone.
Sometime after, I had to get my ring resized — the quiet reward of a year-plus focus on health and weight loss. It wasn’t some crash diet, just a slow rethinking of how I move, eat, and take care of myself. More soccer games crept into the mix this year, not because I’m suddenly fluent in the sport’s tactics, but because there’s something oddly grounding about sitting in a stadium, wrapped in the crowd’s energy. My thumb, on the other hand, decided to remind me that age doesn’t ask permission — an X-ray pointed toward carpal tunnel, and while I don’t love that diagnosis, ignoring it hasn’t made it better.
October set off a chain of changes when I had my first interview with King Arthur Baking. That same month I went down to Duke University for Risk Management and Influence training, which was equal parts learning, networking, and realizing I’m probably too observant for my own good in large group settings. Then a wedding in Vermont where I wore blue tennis shoes with my suit — not to make a statement, but because they were comfortable, and that’s where my priorities are these days.
By November, I was in Dubai during the U.S. presidential election, fielding questions from locals and travelers alike about why Americans do what we do. I had no answer then and still don’t now. A few days after that trip, the King Arthur process wrapped with an offer, and by December 11th we were unloading boxes in our new place back north. On December 18th I met with our builder for the first time about the remodel — demo kicks off this October — and then December turned festive fast: Stella Cole’s holiday concert with Heather, our first live show together in ages, and taking Matilda to her first hockey game on Christmas, where she was as into the snacks as the action. I started the new job December 30th, a tidy way to close the year.
Early 2025 became a bit of a certification sprint. I passed my PMI-PMO-CP in January, then my PMI-PBA in March. In between, Heather and I spent a February weekend in Quebec — snow, good food, fireplaces, the whole package — and I took her to Fasnacht Day in Helvetia, West Virginia, which still feels like stepping into another timeline. Around that time I also flew to Vermont for an MOA board meeting to check out our 2026 rally site, then April brought my tenth Ultra Music Festival since 2005. I became a PMI Authorized Training Partner instructor, shadowed my first class in April, taught my first in May, and somewhere in there headed to Tennessee for the MOA national rally in June.
Sports were peppered in — a Nationals/Mets game in D.C., more soccer — but July was quieter by design for Heather’s birthday. Later that month, Matilda and I took a quick trip to St. Augustine, our first just-the-two-of-us getaway in a while. We explored, took our time, and probably ate more ice cream than either of us needed. It was exactly the kind of small trip that sticks in your memory without trying.
And then there were the purchases. A BMW 330Ci convertible for summer drives and a Beta 390 Race Edition for off-road therapy. Both paid off, a conscious move before the mortgage jumps post-renovation. I’ve been spending more time on two wheels again, rediscovering that mix of focus and freedom motorcycles force on you. The convertible scratches a different itch — top down, winding roads, no real destination.
Fatherhood shifted subtly this year. Matilda’s old enough now to have her own take on our trips, her own say in how the day goes. It’s less about “making memories” and more about building a rhythm — the back-and-forth in the car, the random observations, the way she points out things I wouldn’t notice. That’s where the real connection happens, not just in the big planned moments.
Health is still the quiet undercurrent — weight loss as a byproduct of moving more, eating better, and paying closer attention. The thumb issue is a reminder that maintenance matters, that ignoring something doesn’t freeze it in time. Technology took a quieter role this year too — I’ve bought less, tinkered less, but relied more on the few tools that earn their keep. The phone is still a camera first, a communicator second. The laptop just does its job. The toys, though — the bikes, the car — are intentionally analog. They force me off autopilot.
So thirty-nine feels less like a milestone and more like a checkpoint. The house project looms, the mortgage will follow, but so will the satisfaction of shaping this next chapter. I’ve built enough here to weather what’s coming. This year had movement, stillness, structure, and whim. And if the next one runs at the same pace, I’ll need another two weeks in New Hampshire to catch my breath.
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