I Don't Follow The Year

Something changed in me when I left policing.

I talk about it briefly at the end of Tightrope, but I never really flushed out how deeply it reshaped the way I see time.

I stopped technically doing my job in May. I didn’t formally resign and retire until October, six months later. That in-between space was both challenging and enlightening. The weather was beautiful. I travelled to Africa. I finally slept in. For the first time in decades, I caught my breath.

Then October came. I signed the papers.

And suddenly, I no longer carried a badge.

I gave it back. It was returned to me later, encased, a token of service, a symbol of a chapter closed. The season had changed too. Shorter days. Longer nights. Grey skies. Rain and wind.

It was during that stretch, in that darker, quieter season, that I truly began writing what would become Tightrope. I didn’t know the title yet. Some days I didn’t even know what the book was about. I just knew I had to write.

By spring, the first drafts were done. April arrived. The sun returned. Flowers bloomed. I was back in my garden, barefoot in the grass, planting vegetables and feeling life open again.

Now we’re at the end of 2025.

Everywhere I look, I see “end of year” posts, summaries of accomplishments, reflections on the year behind, declarations of what’s coming in 2026. Last year, I did that too.

But not this time.

Because somewhere along the way, I realized: I don’t live year to year anymore.

It’s not that I don’t know the date. It’s that I’ve stopped organizing my life around the calendar. I’ve let go of “next year I will…” and “in 2026 I plan to…”.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about how short and precious life is. We never know the end. We see tragedies around the world, the ones that make headlines. But then, just days ago, a young Washington State trooper, Tara-Marysa Guting, only 29 years old, was killed while responding to a collision. She had just started policing in January 2024.

Life is full of moments stamped with dates: birthdays, graduations, weddings, holidays, retirements… and one day, the date we will die.

And yet, for me, the calendar is no longer the driver.

My life has shifted into seasons.

Shorter, more meaningful timelines. Not based on years, but on where I am,  emotionally, physically, spiritually. I can feel each transition when it comes. Winter into spring. Spring into summer. Each season carrying its own work, its own lessons, its own kind of living.

I love each one for very different reasons.

So right now, I’m not writing an “end of 2025” post. I’m in the middle of my winter season. It started in November, and for me, it runs until the end of February. This season isn’t done yet.

There’s still something here for me.

Maybe I just woke up one day and decided I liked living this way better. Maybe my mind and body are returning to something more natural. All I know is, it’s changed how I move through my life.

I don’t know how many years I have.

But I know exactly what season I’m in.

And I know how I want this one to unfold,  because once it’s gone, it’s gone. There’s no coming back to this exact version of it.

So I’ll still say: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. It’s a beautiful time of year.

But if, like me, you’re more seasonal in nature, maybe this resonates too.

Have a wonderful holiday. Keep chasing the adventures. Live quietly some days and loudly on others. And remember: you don’t have to “end” a part of your life on December 31, and you don’t have to become someone new on January 1.

No one said you had to follow the same timeline as everyone else.

Do what feels natural. Do what brings peace to your heart.

I don’t follow the year anymore.

I follow the season.