Thanks for the lessons, 2025

the year my center of gravity shifted

Alamo Square — final sunset of 2025

There’s a Zen proverb that says life presents us with the same lesson over and over again until we grasp its teachings. Until then, the lesson expresses itself in new contexts.

The spirit of my annual review each year is to marinate in and metabolize the lessons that life has delivered me over the last 365 days. Pulling the thread through on each lesson is an act of transmuting struggle into meaning — a means to honor and release the ways I may have enabled my own suffering.

As we say farewell to 2025, I’m memorializing the year’s curriculum to make space for future me to learn the new lessons that 2026 will bring forth.

Make decisions at the pace of your body’s intelligence

When I’m faced with a decision, I often find myself turning it over until the right next step becomes painfully obvious. Perhaps it’s an aversion for impulsiveness or a fear of failure — whatever it is, it’s kept me suspended in indecision long after my body has made its choice.

Despite a historical reluctance to trust the intelligence of my body, it often knows the decision I’ll make even as my mind is playing catch up, trying to rationalize it through pro con lists and contemplating the infinite outcomes.

This year, I spent many mental cycles betraying the clarity that the universe was delivering. Even when it became clear that it was time for me to move on from a pursuit or kindly decline an opportunity being presented, I found myself caught in mental loops and inadvertently prolonging the uncertainty that I was eager to put to bed.

Rather than resisting clarity and finality, I’ve learned to simply take the next aligned step. When I surrender to a decision in accordance with what my body is obviously signaling toward, it creates a reference point for my mind that it is safe to trust my body’s wisdom. There is no better way to integrate this lesson than to consistently put the reps in, one decision at a time.

As we move through life, the lessons grow subtler. This lesson was the latest iteration of learning to cultivate self-trust and giving up control.

You can only discern your no when you’re in touch with your yes

In early July, I went on my first jhana retreat with the Jhourney team. Unlike the prior modalities I’ve practiced, jhanas are about accessing deep levels of relaxation. During our daily group sits, bodies lay strewn across the meditation hall, all surrendered to their own form of rest.

Most of my experience meditating has been marked by rigidity, sitting still for an hour at a time and bringing awareness back to the breath when pain reared its head. At this retreat, the intention was to have as much fun as possible.

For the first time in over a decade of meditating, I found myself orienting an entire week around seeking the most enjoyable experience possible. In the middle of our retreat center, there was an in-ground pool surrounded by a dozen blue lounge chairs. I figured if I was meant to have fun, I might as well treat it like I was on vacation. As I meditated hours and hours to the light breeze by the pool, I unraveled into deeper and deeper states of relaxation, coming face to face with the most subtle ways I hold tension in my body and mind.

Within a few days, I relaxed enough to sense the subtle resistance that built in my body when I braced against something I didn’t want to think about or want to do. Cultivating the feeling of easing into flow and freedom is like building a muscle. With intentional practice, it feels as seamless as sinking into a warm bath. As I created new reference points throughout the week, it became far easier to identify the ways that nos landed in my body.

When I returned home, I felt the fog lift around two opportunities that I was contemplating. While both of them seemed right on paper, I could now feel a deeper resistance in my body — a knowing that neither of them were meant to be part of my next chapter. Once I made the decision to release both opportunities, I felt a pocket of spaciousness open up in my body as if to reaffirm that my body knew all along. Shortly after, a new door opened unexpectedly and presented me with an opportunity that felt more deeply aligned with my priorities for the season I was stepping into.

You won’t grind your way to aliveness

This lesson is one I’m grateful to walk away from 2025 having integrated. I spent much of my 20s convinced that if I just worked harder and longer, I’d find true fulfillment on the other side. Instead, grinding my life away resulted in arriving at a feeling of emptiness that I can only describe as burnout.

It turns out that investing time in things that intuitively make me feel alive — moving my body, spending meaningful time with friends, frolicking in the redwoods, writing a well-formed essay — is what fuels my best work. Rather than viewing these experiences as moments to be earned only after a long, hard week of work, I now sprinkle them throughout my days as sources of inspiration.

My favorite days of 2025 were decidedly ones that were full and varied, complete with moments of wonder and good work. A simple way to continue to orient toward aliveness is asking myself, “What can I do to make this 10% more fun?”

Be conscious of the games you’re opting to play

Life is a series of games. We’re all playing one game or another whether we’ve explicitly opted into them or not. I first woke up to this reality when I set off to take a sabbatical two years ago.

For most of my life, I had defaulted to the games that everyone around me was playing. Suddenly, I was stepping off the corporate treadmill in search of my pure ambition, who I was without work, and a new game to play. Unbeknownst to me, as I found my footing, I traded one widely played game for another alternative.

Instead of promotions and raises, I found myself optimizing for a new scorecard, internalizing it as my own. In the transition from game to game, I forgot that I could negotiate the rules.

It’s human to gravitate toward feeling like we’re a part of something greater than ourselves — to play within structures that offer us direction as we shape our own sense of purpose, but remember: it’s within your power to rewrite the rules of the game.

Set your sights on winning the games you’ve consciously chosen to play. After all, there’s no fulfillment that comes with playing stupid games to win stupid prizes.

Protecting people from your truth puts you out of connection with them

Growing up in a family system that fostered directness, I’ve often found myself softening how I express myself, hyperaware of how an interaction might land with others.

As I navigated a transformative experience this year, I felt myself holding back on sharing the joyful (and challenging) moments unfolding in my life, careful not to take up too much space. While deepening intimacy with my community was a top priority, by preemptively sanitizing my truth to “protect” friends, I unintentionally drove a wedge between us that left me feeling isolated and put me out of connection with them.

Rather than trust that my friends (particularly ones who were navigating hardships in their own lives) could dually hold their realities and welcome mine, I assumed a fragility that underestimated their capacity and the resilience of our relationship.

As I became aware of how I was undermining the depth I sought, I mustered up the courage to bring all parts of myself to these conversations and was met with an abundance of love.

As we turn the page to 2026, I wish you all the spaciousness to process your 2025 lessons and welcome in the next wave of wisdom. I can’t wait to root deeply into the new year and continue the journey back home to myself. Happy 2026!