Tag: the things i believe

I’m 37 years old, and I know that it’s okay to say goodbye to something you love.

We made a big move this spring, moving from New York to Park City, Utah. Those last few months in New York were bittersweet — we were marking an end to a wonderful era in our life. I’d lived in New York for a dozen years, and Sally for even longer. When we met, we were in our 20s. We grew into adulthood in the city, got married, made amazing friendships, started new careers, traveled. And then we had Ben, and we swapped out weeknight concerts and dinners for naptimes and singalongs. So much in our life changed when Ben arrived, but for the better, and New York was still a constant in our lives.

We recognized, sometime over the winter, that it was time for us to move. Sally was working most weekends, and I was often solo with Ben — and that’s on top of running my business and trying to have a life outside of parenting and work. I remember a Saturday when I had to hire a babysitter for a few hours so I could photocopy some tax forms. (Nothing like a weekend afternoon at FedExOffice!) We were making it work, but it wasn’t really working for us.

So we said our goodbyes and headed west to be closer to family. In a way, leaving New York gave us permission to move fully into this new era as parents. We’re filling our weeks with new things, new memories. We’re taking Ben on hikes and to swim classes at the local pool. We’re going on weekend adventures to new places. We’re discovering new favorite restaurants. We’re getting snow tires for the car and getting skis waxed for ski season. We’re making new friends, and we’re watching Ben grow up in real time. It feels like he’s transformed into a real person ever since we arrived in Utah — he’s walking and talking and is so fun to spend time with. It’s exciting to be in this moment and live in a place where everything is new.

Do I miss New York? Absolutely. I miss the people and the energy and the bagels (especially the bagels). But there are nights when Sally and I will sit on our back patio, watching the sun go down behind the mountains while we eat dinner and unwind from the day.

It feels right. It feels like we’re at the start of something exciting.

It feels like home.

Over the past year, there are certain things I’ve come to believe hold true. I know that my beliefs will continue to change. I know that I will change.

But here, at 37, is what I believe:

“It goes so fast” is the most annoying parenting advice. It’s also annoyingly correct.

There are days when I can be on a literal stage, sharing my expertise with hundreds of people, and just a few hours later, I’m negotiating with a tiny human who does not care about my expertise and does not want to listen to me as I beg him to stop throwing spaghetti across the room. Being a parent is humbling.

Also humbling: Asking another parent in the daycare drop-off line what they do for work and being told, “I’m an Olympian.”

Parenting a toddler means it will become entirely normal that, several times a day, you’ll stick your entire nose into another human’s butt and tell your spouse, “No, I don’t think he pooped.”

Whoever said “do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life” was never a working parent whose daycare only operated from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. and who had to cram eight hours of work into a six-hour window. I don’t know if parenting is hard, but the time-management part of it certainly is.

I need to say this, too: I wouldn’t trade anything for the time I get with my son.

When they’re babysitting, let the grandparents do their thing. Don’t supervise or intervene. And don’t ask later what they did while you were gone. (You won’t approve of it anyway.) If your child is alive and happy when you pick them up, the grandparents did their job.

Heck, most days, I don’t even need the “happy” part. If my son still has the same number of fingers and teeth as when I dropped him off, that’s good enough for me.

A sign that my business is growing the way I want is that I’m saying “no” more than I’m saying “yes.”

A good day is a day where I spend more time doing than worrying.

You don’t always have all the answers, but keep an eye out for the people willing to work hard to find them. Those are the people you should be working with.

I’m sure there will be a day when it becomes totally normal to see a moose walking down my street, but today is not that day.

No matter what you’ve been told, there is never a good reason to order food at the Margaritaville in Times Square.

There are plenty of days when things feel hectic and hurried. But I know that in a decade or more, I’ll look back on these days and think: Things were so easy then!

I try to remind myself to say thank you more often. I’ll say it for the little things: When Ben has a good night of sleep, when Sally does something small and kind to help, when a friend checks in to see how things are going. It always feels good to feel grateful.

And finally: I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or next year, or four years from now. But I’m hopeful about the future, about the idea that we can make something better than we have today. I remind myself to aim not for perfection, but progress. Maybe it’s foolish, and maybe it’s naïve, but I still want to make things a little better — for Sally, for Ben, for all of us.

———

Moving to the mountains meant that our holiday card was taken in a literal field in front of a literal mountain. The very talented photographer Lexi Rae took that photo.

I’m 36 years old, and I wish I could be more like my son.

Ben is just a few months old, and I still can’t believe that he’s part of our lives. There was a long time when Sally and I wondered if we’d ever be parents. Maybe we were just waiting for a child as wonderful as Ben.

For a baby, it’s remarkable how much Ben seems to already know about how to live a good life. He spends a lot of time with family and friends. He takes time to savor his meals. He sleeps well, and often. He makes great eye contact, laughs a lot, and is curious about everything. 

It’s amazing to watch the impact that Ben has on others. Every person who meets him leaves with a grin on their face.

Most of all, Ben lives in the moment. There have been times when he’s gotten upset — he’s hungry, he’s tired, he’s uncomfortable. He’ll start to whine or scream. I’ll worry that he’ll be in a terrible mood for the rest of the day.

But that’s never how it goes. Once Sally or I take a small step to correct the issue, all is forgotten. Whatever happened is in the past. Ben can be full of tears one minute and all smiles within seconds.

I wish I could be more like that. I can get caught up in a moment, replaying a misstep or a misspoken word for days. For Ben, those mistakes are easily forgotten. Whatever’s happening right now gets his full attention and can bring him joy beyond measure.

I see Ben and remind myself to laugh, to slow down, to be present. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to live quite like Ben, but I can try.

Over the past year, there are certain things I’ve come to believe hold true. I know that my beliefs will continue to change. I know that I will change.

But here, at 36, is what I believe:

You can’t do everything at once. You can’t be in five places at once. You will have to miss something you really want to be part of. It’s how it is, and it sucks, and it’s OK.

Try to do the right thing the first time. But if — or let’s be honest, when — you screw that up, do what you can to make things right.

Whatever happens today, you’ll get the chance to do better tomorrow.

Don’t try to work while you’re watching the baby. They will make you pay for it — they don’t care if you have unread emails or just a few slides left to finish. Give them 100 percent, and you’ll get the chance to give work your full attention later on.

Every parent is a world-class impersonator of their own child. I’m the Robin Williams of impersonating my own son. The only issue is that there’s only one other person in the world — my wife — who thinks the impersonations are funny.

Always write a thank you note. That person took the time to buy you something. You can take three whole minutes to write a note and put it in the mail.

There is no excuse that gets you out of more plans more easily than “My child is freaking out, sorry! Next time!”

Things don’t always get easier, but that doesn’t mean they’ll always get harder.

You have to be prepared in order to be spontaneous.

You always want to be on the first flight out during a bachelor or bachelorette party weekend. If you’re still there on Sunday afternoon, you’ve made a mistake.

Set a backup alarm when you travel. It might be the reason you make your early-morning flight.

Be willing to throw away your assumptions. Be wrong more often.

A kid is a 10,000-piece puzzle — every month, you get a few new pieces and try to figure out the full thing. But you’ve just got a few pieces! Be patient for the rest to reveal itself. It will in time.

There are days when I give big presentations or lead huge strategy efforts — and yet, the most important thing I do all day is help get a burp out of my son before bedtime. And it’s the most important thing by a mile.

Prepare for the worst. If you don’t, you will definitely get peed on.

And finally: You won’t know everything at the start. But surround yourself with smart people, get all the help you can, and ask lots of questions. Every day, you’ll learn a little more. You’ll never learn it all, but one day, you’ll find yourself in a new situation and realize that you know enough to find your way to the right answer.

———

That’s a photo of the three of us, taken just a few weeks after Ben was born.

I’m 35 years old, and I’m OK not knowing what happens next.

On a weekly basis, I’m getting asked questions that I don’t have answers to: When will you hire your first employee? When are you going to start a family? Do you think you’ll leave New York? Where would you move?

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.

There’s a certain pressure to have all the answers. It’s easy to feel like everyone else has it all figured out — why don’t I? But I know that big questions rarely have easy answers.

I do know that I’m tremendously lucky to have the life I have. Every time Sally and I go on a fun trip, or eat a great dinner out, or spend time with friends, or drive home down the FDR at the end of the night, I find myself thinking: Can you believe we get to live in New York City? Can you believe we get to do what we do for work? Can you believe the places we’ve gotten the chance to visit?

I don’t know if I’ll ever have all the answers, but I know this: If this is all there is, this is more than enough.

I don’t know where we’ll be in a year, or if we’ll be able to start a family, or what I might do with my business. Nobody really knows, and I know that it’s OK not to know. I’ll figure out the answers as I go, and I know there will be some surprises along the way. That’s a good thing, I think — a world void of surprises doesn’t seem like much of a world at all.

Who knows what happens next. Here’s to enjoying right now.

Over the past year, there are certain things I’ve come to believe hold true. I know that my beliefs will continue to change. I know that I will change.

But here, at 35, is what I believe:

You don’t have to do everything. You can’t do everything. But whatever you choose to do, it’s enough.

Saying “no” today is the fastest route to saying “yes” tomorrow.

It’s better to be lucky than good, but it’s still pretty important to be good.

Here’s how I’ve been traveling lately: In advance, I’ll ask friends who’ve been to that place for some recommendations. I’ll open Google Maps and star the places they recommend. And then when I get to that place, I start to wander. When I’m hungry, I’ll pull up my map and see if there are any places nearby that I’ve starred. Then I’ll head there. No plans, no reservations — but wherever you end up, it’s probably going to be somewhere great.

Don’t put up the same out-of-office reply every single time you take a few days off. Sit down and actually write something about what you’ll be doing with your time off. You’d be surprised how often a great OOO turns into a conversation starter when you’re back at work.

The right answer starts with a great question.

But also: It doesn’t matter what you ask if you don’t bother to listen.

Overdeliver, but don’t overwhelm.

Oysters on an empty stomach after a red eye is a very, very bad combination.

My definition of “impulsive” has changed as I’ve gotten older. I find myself saying: Did I really just book a trip to the beach a mere 26 days before making the actual trip? Oh, I’m really living on the edge!

Whatever you want to do, you can.

Sometimes, a friend is asking for advice, and sometimes, they just want to vent. Know which is which.

Here’s the best way I can explain what I do for work: My job isn’t to have all the answers — it’s to help you ask the right questions.

You know more than you realize. Share what you’ve learned.

And finally: Sometimes, you need a little reminder to remember how good you’ve got it. Because, right now, it’s possible that you’ve got it pretty good.

———

That’s a photo of Sally and I at a wedding in Colorado, on a great night with an amazing view.

I’m 34 years old, and I know that not everything goes according to plan. 

Back in March, Sally and I decided to take a trip up to Vermont to go skiing. We left in the early afternoon, and gave ourselves plenty of time to make it to the hotel in Burlington. We took our time at dinner, and even stopped for an ice cream cone in Massachusetts — we weren’t in much of a rush. In Vermont, I took over driving. Google Maps said we had about 90 minutes to go.

15 minutes in, the snow started coming down — a few flakes at first, and then sheets of it. The winds picked up, and visibility shrunk. I drove with flashers on, at maybe 20 miles per hour, but could barely see in front of the car. We saw an 18-wheeler going south, struggling to keep from sliding off the road. I got off the highway as soon as I could and found a gas station with a big covering to park under. I pulled out the weather app on my phone. A giant storm was passing through Vermont, and it’d be dropping several inches of snow — and bringing high winds along with it — for another three hours.

You learn a lot about a relationship when things get stressful when traveling. I learned early on with Sally that we make a pretty great team on the road. No matter where we are or what the situation is, we’re good at taking a breath, figuring out our options, and making a decision. Life is a series of lefts and rights. Make your choice, and go.

Which is what we started to do at that gas station in middle-of-nowhere Vermont, with temperatures quickly dropping below 0.

Make it to Burlington? Even if the storm did pass through, there was no guarantee that the highway would be passable — and if we did, we might not make it until 3 a.m.

Head back towards the White River Junction, where there were hotels? We could, but the highway was already so slick, and we’d be driving into the worst of the storm.

And then Sally had a third idea: Could we find a way, on back roads, to make it to Montpelier?

Montpelier’s the capital of Vermont, and it’s also the smallest state capital in America. Downtown is just a few blocks, with a handful of cute coffee shops and bookstores and a nice hotel right downtown. Google Maps said if we took the local roads, we were just 60 miles away, and at least we’d be heading in the direction of Burlington. We’d noticed a few cars and trucks passing the gas station, and things seemed a lot less slick on the local roads than they did on the highway.

So we called our original hotel, cancelled our first night, booked a room in Montpelier, and got back on the road.

Other cars had carved a path ahead for us, and I did my best to stay in their tracks. I couldn’t see what was beyond the edges of the road, and tried not to think about what we happen if the car’s wheels went too far to the left or right. I don’t think I went above 35 miles per hour at any point on the drive, but with my flashers on and windshield wipers on high, we slowly moved north, past farmland and over hills and through small towns. “We can do this, we can do this,” Sally kept saying aloud, partly to herself, partly to me. Slowly, our car plowed onward. The trees helped shield us from the worst of the wind and snow. Every 10 miles closer felt like a small victory.

And 90 minutes later, we somehow came over a hill and found ourselves looking at the lights of Montpelier. I cheered, Sally cheered. We pulled over at a gas station, and Sally grabbed a six-pack of Heady Topper, a great local IPA. At the hotel, we discovered that our room had a balcony, so even though it was well below 0 with wind chill, we bundled up, sat outside, and toasted to making things work even when everything went off script. I wasn’t how we’d made it, but we’d made it, and that was worth celebrating.

I think it was my single favorite night of 2021.

Over the past year, there are certain things I’ve come to believe hold true. I know that my beliefs will continue to change. I know that I will change.

But here, at 34, is what I believe:

You can’t operate at 110% capacity forever. Do a little less so you can get the most out of what you do.

Launching your own business requires you to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. I got to work with teams this year that I’m absolutely thrilled to call clients, and the revenue from the business is beyond anything I would’ve thought possible. But just because the work is good now doesn’t mean it’ll be like this in a year or two or five. Accepting that things are good now, and might not be this way forever, is part of the job.

You might get nervous doing something you’ve done hundreds of times before. It’s probably not because you’re scared. It might be because you care.

Be generous with how you spend your money, and careful with how you spend your time.

The hardest part about personal growth isn’t the setbacks — it’s the plateaus. Think back to when you first started. You’re a beginner, so improvement is rapid. Every day, every week, every month, you get a little better. It’s exciting! And then: You feel like you hit a wall. Suddenly, you’re not making progress at the same rate. Treading water feels like a step backwards. You get frustrated. You question things. Then you start again, and try to break through. If you’re lucky, you do! You start improving again. But with time, it happens again: Another plateau, and another chance to find yourself and break through.

One day, everything’s going to change anyway — so why not go ahead and do the thing you’ve been wanting to do?

Take time to acknowledge the wins. Even a small win is worthy of celebration.

When you’re visiting a new city, make sure you ask the hotel what time local restaurants close. It might be earlier than you think.

Always book the refundable option when traveling. Sure, you’ll have to spend a few extra bucks now, but when you have to cancel the trip at the last minute and aren’t on the hook for a $500 hotel stay, you’ll be grateful you did.

If you’re traveling with a partner or a group, take a few hours apart to do something solo. You’d be surprised at how much the time alone recharges everyone.

Is New York forever? I have no idea. But it’s all I want for now.

It’s OK to fail. The only mistake you can make is failing to pivot away from your failures.

There’s an element of randomness and luck in every single day. Be grateful when you’re lucky — and when you’re not, be optimistic. Things often even out.

And finally: You don’t have to fill every moment with something. I’m thinking about this moment earlier in the year. It was a Saturday afternoon, and I was running errands in the car, and with traffic, I realized that I’d be out driving for more than two hours. My mind started to go through options. Two hours was a lot of time to do something new. But what should I prioritize? Should I start a new audiobook? A new podcast? Call some friends?

Then I did something I never do: I turned on the radio, rolled down the windows, and let the time pass. Everyone should make time for a few minutes of absolutely nothing.

———

That’s a photo of Sally and I on the chairlift at Stowe, 48 hours after our late-night driving adventure in Vermont. I still can’t believe we made it.

I’m 33 years old, and I’m starting to appreciate the little decisions each of us makes in life.

I’ll take you back to March. I had a busy spring lined up: I’d be traveling to nine cities in 12 weeks. Berlin, Sao Paulo, St. Louis — it was all happening. I’d been following the news about the novel coronavirus fairly closely, but I wasn’t too worried. The World Health Organization kept saying this wasn’t a pandemic (really, this happened!), and only a handful of people had tested positive in the United States. I flew to Boston for work (the first cases there would be reported hours after I left), and then to Austin, where I gave my first-ever remote talk. (I didn’t know it’d be the first of 20+ digital events I’d speak at this year.) I visited friends, and even attended a concert. (Indoors! At a crowded Austin bar! No masks!)

And then on March 11, I took off on a flight from Austin, and landed in a world I didn’t recognize.

It’s 2 hours and 10 minutes from Austin to Atlanta, but that’s the longest flight I’ll ever take. I watched on the in-flight TVs as the NBA postponed its season, the President shut down travel to Europe, and Tom Hanks announced that he’d been diagnosed with COVID-19. I landed in Atlanta and knew that everything had changed.

So I flew home.

Well, not right away. I actually — and I cannot believe I did this — first flew to a conference, in South Carolina. I stayed about three hours at the event, never sat down, and spent most of it on the phone with friends trying to figure out if New York was about to close the airports. 

Then I flew home.

Sally and I spent the weekend trying to figure out what to do next. At that point, it was pretty clear to us that:

1.) Things were very bad in Europe.

2.) Things were likely to get very bad in New York.

3.) We were both about to start working fully remotely, indefinitely, from a one-bedroom apartment. (So much for all that travel I’d planned!)

4.) If we had a chance to leave New York, we had to leave as soon as possible.

We started texting and calling friends, looking for advice. Some told us to stay, many suggested that we go. We leaned towards “go” — we just weren’t sure where.

I called Ryan, one of my best friends for more than 15 years. The week before, he’d texted me a photo of himself on an empty flight — he was wearing a surgical mask over his nose and mouth, and I teased him for looking like a doomsday prepper. But Ryan usually knows the right thing to do, and in this case, he’d already done it: He’d flown back from California, where he lives, to his home state of North Carolina. His family owns a house along the beach, and he’d be riding out COVID-19 from there.

He asked: Would you guys want to come down here for a few weeks? I’ve got space.

Eight hours later, we were in a rental car, headed south.

We didn’t know just how bad it would get in New York. We didn’t know that Sally would graduate from nursing school in that house — not at Yankee Stadium, with the rest of her NYU class, but on YouTube. We didn’t know that we’d spend 10 weeks with Ryan living in North Carolina.

What I do know is this: If you’re lucky, you get to have people in your life who are there for you when you absolutely need it the most. We didn’t know how much we’d need your help when you invited us down, Ryan. But we’ll always be grateful for that kindness — and for you.

Over the past year, there are certain things I’ve come to believe hold true. I know that my beliefs will continue to change. I know that I will change.

But here, at 33, is what I believe:

Fifty years ago, Mel Brooks coined this line: Hope for the best, expect the worst. That’s 2020.

We’re never going to be able to fully explain this year to our children. Our kids will look at us and say: ”So they asked people to cover their faces and stay home, whenever possible, and people just… refused?”

Part of the reason this year has been so challenging, I think, is that you can’t see where this battle is being fought. Anderson Cooper isn’t broadcasting from inside an ICU. If people could’ve seen, from the earliest days, what nurses and doctors saw inside our hospitals, I think things might have been different.

There are days when I wish I didn’t have to spend so much time on Zoom. But the truth is: Zoom allowed me to not just stay in business, but to grow it this year. To the team at Zoom: Thank you.

At the time, it seemed absurd to pack up and leave for North Carolina on just eight hours notice. Looking back, I’m surprised we even waited that long.

I remember Memorial Day in North Carolina, seeing people partying on boats, acting like COVID-19 was over, and knowing: Yeah, it’s time for us to go home.

I love my wife. But a little alone time is probably a good thing for a marriage.

Corporate jobs bring frustration. Running your own business brings stress. Every job has pressure — it’s just about the type you choose.

No one is supposed to spend this much time staring at a computer. This year reminded me of what I want, whenever life gets back to some sort of normal: A few coffees or lunches per week. A little time in the office with my clients. And maybe once a month, a work trip somewhere. That’d be more than enough.

Had ESPN made a 10-part documentary about Michael Jordan getting food poisoning in Utah, I probably would’ve watched.

Publix makes some of the best subs in America. I’m a believer.

New York City says it’s going to allow outdoor dining to continue in 2021 and beyond. Now the city should bring back the other bright spot of 2020: To-go drinks. Make it a once-a-year thing, just for the week of 4th of July. I’m not saying New York should become New Orleans — but I wouldn’t mind it for one week a year.

Your vote matters.

Sally, you were right. The Peloton was a good investment.

In retrospect, getting airline status for 2020 wasn’t quite the game-changer I thought it’d be.

I remember this moment from the summer. Sally and I had rented a car and gone to New England for a quiet weekend away. On the drive home, we decided to pick up a pizza at Frank Pepe’s in New Haven. They didn’t have outdoor seating, so we took our pie, drove to a nearby strip mall, pulled out the camping chairs, and tailgated. It was a Monday afternoon, a beautiful, sunny day, and for a few minutes, we forgot about the fact that we were eating pizza in a Palm Beach Tan parking lot. I’ll remember 2020 a lot like that: Surreal, strange, but occasionally kind of beautiful.

Of course, five minutes later, a guy in a RAV-4 pulled up next to us and started projectile vomiting out the window. I’ll probably remember 2020 a lot more like that.

And finally, whenever we make it through this pandemic, remember: Be good to each other. Enjoy every moment. And whatever you really want to do, do it now. You never know when you’re going to get the chance to do it again.

I am 32 years old, and I’ve taken the leap. Twelve months ago, I was at The New Yorker — a dream job at a dream organization — and focused on the work ahead of me. Nine months ago, I started giving regular talks about how news organizations could get more out of email, and realized that I could help those newsrooms in a more hands-on way — you know, in the future. Six months ago, I started thinking that maybe that work could happen sooner, possibly as soon as mid-2020. Three months ago, I left The New Yorker and launched a consultancy to start the work immediately.

This year moved fast.

What changed? I started asking more questions of my colleagues in other newsrooms, and really listening to what they were telling me. I heard over and over again: We need help growing our audience and turning them into subscribers or supporters, and we want to learn from the work you’ve done at BuzzFeed and The New Yorker. I realized that my moment to help was right now, and that if I wanted to serve this community, the work couldn’t wait.

So I made the leap. I’m thankful for everyone who had my back: The friends and family who offered support (and free legal aid!), the colleagues who helped me figure out how to approach consulting work, and the readers who reached out to work with me (and told their networks to do the same). This consultancy is just me, but it also feels like the biggest team I’ve ever been apart of. I feel incredibly, incredibly lucky.

This year, I’ve given talks on four continents in front of more than 100 news organizations. I’ve written more than 35,000 words about email for newsrooms and non-profits, and had nearly 3,000 readers in more than 50 countries sign up to be alerted every time I write. I’ve launched a consultancy, signed more than 20 clients, and helped launch dozens of email products.

It’s been the single most transformative year of my life, and the work’s only just begun. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m pretty sure I can see just around the corner — and what’s coming next is exciting and terrifying all at once. I can’t wait.

Above all, I’m thankful for Sally. A year ago, the idea of leaving my job to start my own business — while she was still in school! — would have been unthinkable. But it was Sally who gave me the green light to do this. She kept telling me: “You can’t wait. You have to do this now.” I’m remarkably lucky to be married to someone so supportive, and so selfless. Doing this work meant that I would be busier than ever before, and traveling more than ever — and yet, she’s been my biggest champion. I wouldn’t have, couldn’t have done this without her. Every day, I try to do work that makes her proud.

Over the past year, there are certain things I’ve come to believe hold true. I know that my beliefs will continue to change. I know that I will change.

But here, at 32, is what I believe:

God bless Google Docs.

I tend to oscillate between “This is going to work!!!” and “Holy shit, what am I doing???” on a weekly basis. I’m scared and excited, but never bored, and always thrilled to be doing this work. That’s how I know I’m in the right place.

Nobody has everything they want. Life is about making the most of whatever you have.

Just be honest with people. If you screw up, if you don’t have the answer, if you’ve got something that needs to be known: Be open, be transparent, and be direct. It’s the best way.

Doing the right thing is usually the right thing.

Be confident but not arrogant. There’s a line there. Don’t cross it.

Keep making things better. I gave this one talk six different times this year — but every time, I learned something new, and then made the next one a little better. Just because the work is finished doesn’t mean the work is done.

Life is unexpected. One minute you’re waiting in the Brisbane airport, thinking about the giant presentation you need to put together on the flight home. The next, you’re freaking out because your water bottle leaked in your backpack and your laptop’s dead and the presentation’s in 36 hours and you’re completely, totally fucked. The next, you’re wondering why there can’t be an Apple Store inside the airport. The next, you’re walking through duty free and realizing: They sell MacBooks here — tax free! The next, you’re boarding your flight, passport in one hand, the brand new laptop you bought 20 minutes ago booting up and restoring all your files from the cloud so you can finish that presentation on the plane.

Like I said: Life is unexpected, but also pretty amazing if you’re ready for it.

New rule for traveling: Water bottles always stay outside your backpack.

Whatever it is you do, be the best at it. I’ll always be thankful to The New Yorker for teaching me that.

Less isn’t always more — but it’s enough.

When you start traveling regularly, you’ll realize that the four greatest words in the English language are: “Sir, we’ve upgraded you.”

Listen. Learn. Work. Repeat.

Right now, everything is potential — and potential is pure fucking joy.

Privilege is a tailwind, and I’ve had a strong wind at my back all these years. I know I’m lucky, and want to do the most I can with this opportunity for as long as I can.

And lastly: You don’t have to have all the answers when you start. Keep trying new things, and keep learning along the way. You’ll get there.

I am 31 years old, but I know I’m not too old to try something new. It was a year ago, right around Thanksgiving, when Sally made an incredibly brave choice: After nearly a decade in social work, she decided she wanted to go back to school to pursue a new career in nursing. We talked about the sacrifices she’d have to make to become a nurse, the work she’d have to put in. But we both knew: If she didn’t do this now, she might never get the chance again.

In January, Sally started taking classes at a community college in the city. It hasn’t been easy. There was a stretch those first few weeks where she’d come home every other night in tears. “Can I do this?” she’d ask me. “Should I drop this class?” But she always kept at it. I’ve watched her grow at school: making new friends, forming study groups, going to office hours and study halls, and taking notes until her hands hurt. She’s made more than 6,000 flash cards this year — I’ve got the Amazon order history to prove it. But my greatest joy has been those nights when Sally’s asked me to stay up late to stay with her to study, and I’ve asked her about something on one of those note cards, and her face lights up. “Oh my God, so this is so cool…” she’ll say, and then talk for five minutes straight about the human heart or the periodic table or a concept she learned in bio. I’ve known Sally for six years, and we’ve been married for two, but I didn’t know that the woman I married was this hard-working, this tough, this smart. I do now.

A few weeks ago, Sally got into nursing school. She starts in January. I’m so proud of her — of the work she’s put in, of the dream she’s still chasing, of this idea that with a nursing degree and a social work background, she can do even more to help her patients. I know how lucky I am to be married to someone who has the courage to do this.  She’s an absolute wonder, and she’s going to be an amazing nurse.

Over the past year, there are certain things I’ve come to believe hold true. I know that my beliefs will continue to change. I know that I will change.

But here, at 31, is what I believe:

You can learn something from everyone. You just have to ask the right questions.

There are going to be moments when you look at former classmates or colleagues and think that they’re ahead of you in their careers. Remember these words: You are not behind. There is no timeline but yours.

Your plan can be complex. But your goal should be simple.

Leadership means being willing to accept blame, even when it’s not your fault, and doling out praise to others, even when you deserve the credit.

If you’re reading, you’re learning. Read more.

New York City can be such a frustrating place to live. But once a month, it still does something that makes me go, “I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

The staff at LaGuardia Community College deserves so much credit for Sally’s success this year. I’ve been so impressed with the resources — in particular, the study halls for several classes, and the library — that they have for their students. I’ll always be thankful for the support they gave Sally — she couldn’t have done this without them.

Wedding hashtags are out. 2019 will be the year of the shared iCloud wedding album.

It’s O.K. to believe.

Be kind. The world needs more of it.

Commit to making time for something simple in the year ahead. Make a goal to try the crossword every morning, or to invite friends over for a home-cooked dinner ever week, or to see live music once a month. It’s the little things that often make you the happiest.

And one last thing: This year was incredible in so many ways. I got to launch some new products at work. I got to see some of my favorite people in the world get married. I got to drink champagne out of the Stanley Cup. I got to watch my wife take an incredible step in her career. I am so lucky, and thankful, for all of this.