Happy New Year – Michael here
(Written December 2025 as if it were December 2026)
Twenty years ago, while working with my then business coach, Lori Darley, I was introduced to a simple but powerful practice: writing an annual letter of intention and vision for the year ahead—written as if the year had already occurred.
What I learned over time was that belief had to come before activity. When I committed to a vision internally, my actions tended to follow with greater clarity and consistency.
Looking back on 2026, one theme became unmistakably clear across every area of my life—personal, professional, and physical: structure created opportunity. Where I built intentional structure, possibilities emerged that would not have existed otherwise.
Time
Late in the year, I came across a calculation by Tim Urban that stopped me in my tracks. By the time a child leaves home at eighteen, they’ve already spent roughly 93% of their in-person time with their parents. The remaining 7% gets scattered—just a few days a year—across decades.
It was a reminder that the most meaningful things in life rarely happen by accident—they happen because we decide to protect them.
With that in mind, Tina and I made a deliberate decision in 2026: we brought the family together for dinner once a month. No agenda. No occasion required. Just time, intentionally protected.
In good weather, we sat outside at the large table. When it was too hot or too cold, we gathered inside at the dining table built for meals exactly like this. All our children, their spouses, and their children filled the space—loud, imperfect, joyful—full of food, conversation, and chaos.
Our goal had been twelve dinners. Somehow, we did all twelve.
What surprised me most was not the consistency but the outcome. By creating structure, we created space—not just for ourselves, but for our children and their children. It felt less like a series of dinners and more like the beginning of a continuum, one that could carry forward for generations.
And yes—having abundant good wine never hurt.
Late in May, our family grew again with the arrival of a new grandson. Holding him, I felt the weight—and the gift—of time in a way that’s hard to explain. He arrived quietly into a family already gathering, already choosing to be together. It reinforced something I had been learning all year: legacy isn’t built in grand moments. It’s built in ordinary ones we decide to protect.
I also became more aware of how much unclaimed time I had been giving away without noticing—especially in the car. Too often, I defaulted to the radio, a podcast I half-listened to, or endless scrolling through social media.
In 2026, I changed that. Instead of filling that time passively, I began planning who I would call. Not text—call.
It felt old-fashioned at first, almost inefficient. But the conversations that came from it were nothing but. There was laughter, depth, reconnection, and a level of presence that never happened through a screen.
Once again, by giving time a simple structure, opportunity appeared—in this case, connection.
I also realized that even in a relationship where we spent a great deal of time together, intentional time still mattered.
Tina and I work together. We attended Dallas Stars games together, usually with a quick dinner beforehand. We shared an abundant life, often moving from one thing to the next without much pause.
Somewhere in the middle of the year, something shifted. We both began showing up differently—less by default and more by design.
What we were doing naturally wasn’t the same as what we were planning. So, in 2026, we began scheduling time together in advance. Real-time. Protected time. What most people would call a date. (We even take turns paying!)
It wasn’t about doing something elaborate. It was about choosing each other on purpose. And once again, that simple structure created space—for conversation, for connection, and for the kind of closeness that didn’t compete with the rest of life, but strengthened it.
Health & Physical
For much of our marriage, movement had been something Tina and I shared. We ran together. We trained together. We competed just enough to keep it interesting—and yes, we kept score.
About a decade ago, that rhythm was interrupted when I spent a year in a health battle. We recovered from that chapter and found our way back, running a couple of half marathons in 2016 and completing a Half Ironman together in September of 2017.
Then life intervened again.
Later that year, Tina suffered a serious injury. Not long after, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. What followed were years defined less by training and more by endurance—surgeries, treatments, recoveries layered on top of one another.
Progress measured in patience, not miles.
Through it all, we stayed together.
By the time we reached 2026, the long arc of healing was finally behind us. The surgeries were complete. The waiting had eased. And the question we began asking wasn’t what had been lost, but what we wanted to rebuild.
We began training again, carefully, intentionally. Not chasing finish lines, not proving anything. Simply returning to movement as something shared.
At the end of the year, our office team completed the Dallas Marathon Relay. Different legs. Different paces.
One shared effort.
Crossing that finish wasn’t about the race itself. It was about continuity. About showing up again. About choosing strength together after a long season of waiting.
Once again, structure created opportunities not just for physical health, but for gratitude, connection, and forward motion.
Our Office Family
In January, our team grew to ten. By the end of the year, we had grown again, adding an eleventh. We expanded our space and strengthened our systems, not to become bigger, but to serve better.
Throughout the year, we were trusted with moments that mattered. Decisions that carried weight. Questions that didn’t always have easy answers. Lives in motion.
We showed up for the people we serve with care and consistency. We listened closely. We took responsibility seriously. And when things were complex or uncertain, we stayed present.
Yes, we hit our numbers.
Yes, our systems improved.
But those were not the win.
The real win was that the people who trusted us felt supported. They felt seen. They felt steadier, even when life wasn’t.
Inside our office, that shared purpose shaped everything. We had each other’s backs. We protected the culture that allows good work to happen—without sacrificing the things that matter most.
This is what Team success felt like in 2026.
Grounded.
Human.
Built to last.
Closing Reflection
As I looked back on 2026, I realized that any single accomplishment didn’t define the year. It was shaped by a series of small, intentional choices about how and where to show up.
Time protected.
Health rebuilt.
Relationships prioritized.
Work done with care for the people who trust us.
Again and again, structure created space, and in that space, something better emerged.
Not simply more.
But better.
- More present.
- More grounded.
- More lasting.
This was a year built with intention—and lived with gratitude.
An Invitation
I’m often asked how I do this every year—how I write a letter like this and keep the practice going.
The truth is there’s nothing complicated about it. I sit down once a year, start from the future, and write honestly about what I want to protect and how I want to show up.
If you’d like to try it yourself, I’ve created a simple worksheet to help you get started.
You don’t have to do it perfectly. But you should do it.
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