Between Years and Bearings

Entry No. 46
Dear Faithful Companion,

The turning of a year invites reflection whether one seeks it or not. As 2025 closed its account, I found myself weighing not achievements alone, but endurance—how often I showed up, how often I faltered, and how often I chose to stand again without ceremony. Growth, I have learned, is rarely linear. It is more akin to a long ride over uneven ground: moments of confidence broken by doubt, clarity interrupted by misstep, and the occasional unceremonious meeting with the earth. What matters is not the fall, but the willingness to remount with a steadier hand and a clearer eye.

Over the past year, I worked—sometimes well, sometimes imperfectly—to grow as a person, as a partner to Jesse, and as a leader within my profession. There were decisions that demanded patience, others that required humility, and a few that required both at once. I did not always see the best path immediately. At times, I chose poorly, learned sharply, and adjusted accordingly. This, too, is the work. Any man who claims an unbroken ascent has either forgotten his own apprenticeship or has not yet begun it.

I was reminded during this past year—particularly in moments of misstep and recalibration—that difficulty is not an interruption to progress, but often its mechanism.“The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.” — Marcus Aurelius

As this entry is set down, we stand at the quiet threshold of the new year, still in Cuba, with my parents having departed earlier this morning. Their absence is felt not as a loss, but as a warm echo of what we were fortunate to share. Nearly two weeks together over Christmas and New Year—unhurried meals, shared laughter, sunlit mornings, and memories formed without agenda. Jesse and I are deeply blessed to have had this time, and travel once again proves its quiet wisdom: it restores proportion, reminds one that work—while meaningful—is not the whole of life, and that presence itself is a discipline worth mastering.

This pause has also brought clarity about this Chronicle. Last year, I struggled to keep it faithfully. When I fell behind, I allowed the distance to grow until returning felt heavier than it ever needed to be. That weight was self-imposed. The Chronicle was never meant to be a contest of consistency, but an instrument of mental fortitude. Journalling—particularly for men—is often dismissed as indulgent or unnecessary. The evidence suggests otherwise. Writing clarifies thought. Clarified thought improves judgment. Improved judgment strengthens leadership, emotional regulation, and resilience under strain. I have found particular comfort in late-night journalling, seated quietly in my home office, when the world has settled and honesty comes more easily. In those hours, the page does not judge; it simply holds the truth until one is ready to carry it forward.

Verbum Ultimum

To fall behind is human; to return deliberately is discipline. I write not to keep pace with a calendar, but to maintain command of my own mind. The work will always be waiting, but the moments that endure are the ones shared—quiet laughter, unhurried days, and time spent with those one loves. It is the great memories and the small, gathered patiently over a lifetime, that one hopes to look back upon when the noise has faded and the pace has slowed. These are not distractions from a well-lived life; they are its proof. I resume this Chronicle as one resumes the road—without apology, without haste

Until next we meet, with ink as my witness and virtue as my guide.
JCB