Hungry

This is not your traditional “new year, new me” post. While a new year can be a powerful starting line for goals, routines, and intentions, the truth is that goals fade. Life gets busy. Discipline slips. And good intentions slowly give way to convenience.

2025 was a year of real growth for me. My kids are getting older, and watching them grow into who they are becoming has been one of the greatest joys of my life. I fall more deeply in love with my wife each year, which I did not know was possible. Professionally, my journey continues to unfold in ways I never could have imagined.

And yet, if I am being honest, I think I lost my edge.

The hunger that once drove me to lose 100 pounds. The mindset that carried me through thousands upon thousands of miles. The version of me that finished a marathon and an ultramarathon. That edge is quieter now.

I could list the reasons. A more demanding workload, especially the last four months of sixty-hour weeks. Kids’ schedules filling up every open space on the calendar. The constant fatigue that comes with trying to be present everywhere. All of those things are real. But excuses are cheap, and they do not move the needle. There is always a way forward.

So my New Year’s resolution is not a list of goals. I already know what I need to do to be my best personally, professionally, and as a husband and dad. That path has been clear for a long time.

My resolution is simpler and harder.

I want my hunger back.

The passion to attack life like I only get one shot at it. The edge that refuses to coast. The mindset that does not wait for perfect conditions or more time or better energy. Just intention, effort, and gratitude for the opportunity to show up fully.

Not a new me.

Just a sharper one.

For those who know the path but feel their edge slipping (I’m talking to myself here)

I cannot wait to feel motivated again. Motivation has never shown up first in my life. Action has. The hunger follows movement, not the other way around.

I don’t need to do everything. I need to do something consistently. The standard does not have to be extreme, but it does have to be non-negotiable.

Comfort has crept in quietly. Not in big ways, but in small permissions. Extra rest. Extra grace. Fewer hard choices. If I want my edge back, I have to make comfort earn its place again.

I’ve been here before. I know what it feels like to choose discipline when no one is watching. I don’t need to relive that season, but I do need to remember who I was in it.

Some of my energy is leaking. Not everything deserves the same emotional or mental investment. Hunger fades when everything feels like obligation.

My life deserves engagement, not autopilot. Coasting is still a decision. So is leaning in. I want to live like this season matters, because it does.

Hunger, for me, does not mean burnout or chaos. It means caring deeply again. Being awake. Choosing effort even when it would be easier not to.

And I believe this to be true.

The edge is not gone. It is just quiet.

And it is waiting to be called back.