Will It All Come Together?

I will be the first to admit that my life can easily be categorized by “phases.” When I was younger I went through many intense fascinations—in today’s pop-psychology saturated language we would call them hyper-fixations. Sometimes they would last months, others years, but they were always accompanied by an intensity that few people around me could understand. As an adult my life hasn’t not been that much different than when I was a child, the phases just tend to last longer, and if I’m lucky they have something to do with making me a living.

Music was my first love. Or, maybe more accurately, it was the first of the phases that lasted long enough for the majority of people in my life to catch up and catch on to how committed I was. I dove headfirst into music (and my youth group) after a knee injury abruptly ended my previous hyper-fixation of going D1 in volleyball. It was a form of expression and therapy I desperately needed, and I just happened to be good enough (or again, more accurately, doggedly committed enough) to get some positive feedback, and eventually make some money at it.

Photo by Etienne Girardet on Unsplash

I committed my life to music in all its forms, from songwriting to performing, engineering and producing to instructing and tour managing. I even became obsessed with building my own guitar pedals (and I still know my way around a circuit board—as long as it’s simple). Through my obsession with music, I gained far more than just musical skills. I learned how to listen. I learned how to choose my words carefully. I learned about rhythm and timing. I learned how to spend an ungodly amount of time in the car without going (completely) insane. I learned how to collaborate—and when not to.

In my late 20’s, shortly after meeting my now wife, I realized I needed a career that could support not only me and my borderline insane passions, but a whole family. I set music aside, not because I didn’t love it anymore, but because the practicality of the moment called for something else. If I had a dime for everytime someone asked me if I missed it, I would be rich, but my answer was always the same: “No. I don’t miss is. And I have no regrets.”

You see, I pushed music hard for over a decade. I, as any high school football coach would say, left it all on the field. I followed my passion more aggressively than most, and I loved it—even when I hated it. When it came time to put it down, it wasn’t easy per se, but I did it without regret or resentment, I had a new passion to follow.

What also helped to ease the blow, was that all the skills I had developed while trying to make it as a singer/songwriter and performer lended themselves to my next endeavours. I knew how to promote myself and use social media. I knew my way around a recording studio and video camera. I wasn’t afraid of public speaking and being the center of attention. And the same was true for the other obsessive phases I moved in and out of as an adult.

Working in coffee taught me about efficient movement, hospitality, and being a servant leader. Teaching yoga classes taught me how to see both the collective and the individuals at the same time, as well as how to regulate myself in the midst of chaos. As I’ve moved forward into new spaces, I’ve carried so much good with me. When I found myself the unexpecting mouthpiece for an entire community in the Gravel Cycling world, all of my previous experiences came to my aid. When I was asked to help build a spiritual community, the same. The Universe has had a way of bringing it all together in ways I never expected.

And yet, now, in this current moment, I find myself sitting amongst so many loose ends. Music has re-entered my life with a bang. My teaching/coaching career is moving forward again. I have let go of my cycling-influencer status—but not my love of bikes and the people who ride them. I was lit up by my semesters at school to do more for the environment. I feel more connected and committed to my family than I ever have before. I am an active member of a church community—and I am feeling a deep spiritual hunger that is a signal to me that a new phase is on the horizon. I can see all these things with clarity, and I find myself wondering, “How on Earth will this all come together this time?”

I don’t doubt that it will come together this time, but if I’m honest, I truly can’t see how. There are too many things from too far out of left field and right field and even all the way out of the stadium for any of what’s next to make sense. Much of 2025 didn’t make sense either for that matter. And so I’ve been sitting here the last several days pondering what I would like my 2026 intentions to be, and this is what has emerged: Watch It All Come Together.

Not “make it come together,” not “figure out how it’s supposed to work together,” just “Watch,” with trust, hope, and faith that it will. Don’t force it. Don’t push it. But let it unfold, and watch with curiosity and enchantment.

As we move out of 2025 and into 2026, I hope you can find time to reflect on the year, or even years past, and what you’re bringing into this new year. I hope you can slow down enough to listen to your heart and hear it’s gentle call. And I hope you have the courage to follow it wherever it may lead.