A Look at 2025

The twists, the turns, and the tales

One of my least favorite birthday questions is, “so, do you feel older/different now?” Time, at least for me, has never quite worked that way.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for stopping the blurring of the lines between days, weeks, months, and years. Whether it’s the liturgical calendar, the celebration of birthdays, anniversaries, or the new year, there’s something necessary about marking some days out from the rest. We crave a rhythm of ordinary and extraordinary time, of feasting and fasting, or even, in the modern parlance, grinding and resting.

Still, when January 1 rolls around, I doubt I’ll feel different. I didn’t when Dec. 11th came and went. Well, actually I did feel different, but only because I was sick on my birthday. Perhaps, though, it’s not that we feel a day older or a new year brings with it any change within us. Perhaps, it’s that they offer us moments to reflect on what has been different, experience a day that is different for being set aside, and dream of how what comes next can be different.

It’s in that spirit that I wanted to look back on 2025, a year that brought plenty of different—often in unexpected ways.

January

The year began at a secluded cabin, staring at the stars as snow fell and dissipated upon meeting the steam of a hot tub. It was an idyllic start, and Eliza and I dreamed of what the year would hold.

We had no idea.

Creator: Official House Photographer | Credit: Ike Hayman

On January 20, 2025, Donald Trump was sworn into office for a second time as president. I begin my reflections here, not because I intend to make this a political post, but because it set a trajectory that would shape the rest of my year.

Back in September of 2023, I took a job with the federal government. Great benefits, good pay, and an opportunity to have steady work-life balance wherein I could clock out, not think about work, and dive into my various passion projects. In 2023, if you had asked people what a government job entailed, I imagine the adjectives, “steady” or “reliable” would have come to mind.

This year, that changed.

One of the first dominoes to fall was when our Public Affairs team (of which I was a part) received orders to delete all mentions of DEI from the website and social media. Thoughts on DEI aside, this was jarring to people who had been scrupulously trained on the many, many policies around public communication in the DOD which dictate such actions are not allowed for record keeping and transparency purposes.

As we’d learn, the old rulebooks were being thrown out the window.

With chaos reigning at work, I sought solace in great books. I filled my January reading Nikolai Berdyaev (The Divine and the Human) and David Bentley Hart’s The Experience of God. Having just wrapped up my “favorite reads from 2025” list, I find myself smiling at the fact that some of my best reading came in the most tumultuous month.

February

In February, my YouTube channel, Gospel Simplicity, hits a new milestone: 500 videos. It offers me a chance to reflect on years of wrestling with big theological questions, and I realize how much has (and hasn’t) changed in the years I’ve been making content online.

At a time when so much was up in the air at work, I experienced deep gratitude for the audience that had formed around my YouTube channel—something I’d come to need in new ways in the months to follow.

Eliza prepares for our first small group.

Eliza and I begin hosting a small group in our house, reading Delighting in the Trinity. I’m reminded that theology belongs in living rooms, not just on glowing screens. Jesus had 12 disciples, not 12 million YouTube views.

March

A circus of a month

I remember March as the height of DOGE madness. Threats of large layoffs are in the air, and Russ Vought is succeeding in his stated goal of traumatizing federal employees. My wife happens to work for the Federal government as well, and with both of us having less than two years in our positions, we find ourselves in a precarious place. Especially considering that we had bought a house one year prior. This is a month of late night contingency planning and mapping out how far our savings could stretch in the worst case scenarios.

We’ve got great family, we remind ourselves, and houses are just things.

April

At this point, I’m working full-time, doing grad school at St. John’s, running my YouTube channel, and I decide, “hey, why not start writing on Substack?”

Work-life balance has never been my strong suit.

But, in all honesty, it didn’t feel like more work. It was fun. And with everything going on, fun was just what the doctor ordered.

Writing was my first love. Making videos came second, and in many ways, I like the script-writing far more than the filming, editing, and certainly more than the posing for cringey thumbnail photos that get people to click.

When I begin writing on Substack, I rediscover the joy of being a beginner, of putting my thoughts out into the world without thousands of angry commenters. No pressure, just writing. For the love of the game.

Perhaps my favorite article of the year came from that period, a piece I wrote reflecting on the profound privilege of attending my best friend’s baptism at an Orthodox monastery. To this date, it’s probably my most vulnerable piece about the allure of Orthodoxy and what has held me back.

May

This was the most pivotal month of the year. We learn that Eliza’s job is safe, and with that comes great relief.

Mine, however, begins looking more precarious. I was hired on a two-year term. Under normal circumstances, these are renewed without any trouble. My boss tries to do it early, but is told that term positions are under scrutiny. She had already tried opening a new position for me to prevent this from happening, but then the hiring freeze happened. Exemptions are tried. The Chief of Staff, a one-star general, says he’ll put his signature behind it, but even that proves too little. I begin staring at a ticking clock on my position.

It’s at this time that the second round of Deferred Resignation Program offers comes around—the buyout offers from DOGE to get people to resign. Take the offer, and you get paid leave until the end of the fiscal year (Sept. 30).

Just when I’m experiencing the worst of government bureaucracy, the government’s tendency to make illogical decisions offers a silver lining: even term employees can take the deal.

So, I can work full-time till Sept. 30, then see my position disappear, or I can not work through Sept. 30, see my position still disappear but keep getting paid in the interim.

What sounds like a no-brainer still involves many conversations at the dinner table. What if things change? Is it too big of a risk to take it? Is it too big not to?

I had long dreamed of doing YouTube full-time, but I didn’t think it would come so soon. After all, it would mean cutting my income by about 70%.

My wife says go for it. When else will you get a chance to chase your dreams like this? Having read Josh Nadeau’s book she adds, “isn’t this making Room for Good Things to Run Wild?”

I remind her that he explicitly said he wasn’t telling people to quit their jobs. But I side with her on this one.

So I do it.

On my final week of work, I put out my most popular video of the year. Maybe this could work, I think.

June

Before we turn off the lights to call it a night, I find myself whispering to Eliza, “I can’t believe I get to do this all again tomorrow.”

My days are full of writing, reading, and recording videos. It’s a dream. And, at least for now, nothing has changed financially.

This is the month I finish my novel. The high upon writing those final words is a feeling I won’t soon forget. After a year of writing from 5:30 a.m. to 7:30 a.m. before work, suddenly I have the time and space to finish the project. And boy did that feel good.

But with that comes a daunting question, now what? I’d written the book as a passion project. Because I had to do it. I couldn’t not write it. Writing it was fun. Getting it published? Terrifying.

We celebrate our third wedding anniversary. I find myself more grateful than ever for the woman that Eliza is.

July

The horses are actually the worst part, don’t let anyone fool you. Stay for long enough, and you’ll recognize them for what they are: oversized rodents. Still a magical place, though.

We go camping at the beach and unplug. We let our phones die and don’t recharge them. Just books, sand, and wild horses. It’s an annual ritual that I’ve never missed. Every July since I was born has meant a trip to Assateague Island which forever remains the most magical place in the world to me. My happy place.

It’s also the first time I see annual friends—you know, the type you see once a year, which means I’m answering the question, “how’s work?” with, “actually, I’m a YouTuber” for the first time. The words feel word on my tongue.

People younger than me think it’s the coolest thing. People my age tend to be pessimistic about careers and the economy, so there’s a feeling of solidarity. People older than me look at me with, at best confusion, at worst pity. He’s scared to say he’s unemployed.

I do some of my best theological thinking of the year during this month, returning from vacation with a two-part series on theological impressionism that reveals my developing thoughts on fundamental theology. I’m still quite fond of those ideas.

August

Back at home, I finish a summer course studying Arthur Schopenhauer. I write a final paper on how his hatred of mathematics elucidates his entire project, and I walk away from my time with Schopenhauer appreciative of his emphasis on beauty and somewhat sad for his pessimism. I’m grateful for the hope of the Gospel.

Summer nights at my parents

The days are long, hot, and humid, but I’m not ready for summer to end. Not ready to sweat from stress rather than the sun.

September

The final month of my old paycheck. It’s a month of double, triple-checking the budget. Hoping the numbers are going to add up. Thanking God for the kindness of Patrons. Reminding Eliza that we made this decision together. You’re not going to hate me if this doesn’t work out? She doesn’t even blink. Her faith in God’s providence and provision is so much stronger than mine. I realize, not for the first time, I want to be more like her.

A major first comes around. I’m booked for a speaking engagement in Indiana, and for the first time, people are buying tickets to hear me talk. It’s one of those milestone moments. Numbers on a screen become people I’m meeting in person. A line of people tell me about how my videos have impacted their life. It’s not a huge crowd, but I walk away wondering how God used a guy who barely passed public speaking in high school (true story) to touch people’s lives.

Later that week, I read for the first time at the Episcopal Church we’ve been attending. I lose my place and my voice shakes. God doesn’t let the speaking gig go to my head.

October

Since I took the DRP in May, we had been planning to go from three incomes (my job, YouTube, and Elle’s job) to two incomes in September. A major change, but I’ve triple-checked the math. We have a plan.

Instead, the government shuts down. We go from three to one. And the one that remains is by far the smallest.

Man plans, God laughs, I suppose.

We learn new things about saving money, and in the meantime, I thank my dad more than once for teaching us about emergency funds. He led Dave Ramsey classes for years, and I’d make jokes about him being “Rob Ramsey.” He bought the books in cases and gave them away. Suddenly, I’m grateful for those conversations around the dinner table about compound interest and budgeting.

What could have been much more stressful becomes a surprising gift of more time with Eliza. We cook a lot together, find ways of keeping the grocery bills low, and we soak in the time together, unsure how long the whole thing will last (spoiler alert: longer than any other shutdown in U.S. history).

At the end of the month, after many rejections, I get an email from a publisher expressing interest in my novel. I can’t believe it. I’m going to be an author.

November

Eventually, the shutdown ends. The backpay comes in, and we breath a sigh of relief. We tightened our belts, but no bills were missed. In the end, it was less stressful than we thought it would be. I’m sure it had something to do with Eliza’s faith. She’s never read Julian of Norwich, but all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well has sunk into her bones. It’s rubbing off on me.

I find that the chaos of the year has deepened our appreciation for the Book of Common Prayer. By this point, we’re about a year into praying morning and evening prayer (family version), and it’s paying dividends. I like to check in with Elle, ask about how she sees God at work in her life. She answers with the BCP and the people of St. B’s.

She’s taken up the language of becoming an everyday saint. We have Josh to thank for that.

We start watching Christmas movies well before my more liturgically faithful friends would permit. The days are getting shorter, but we read by the fake fireplace (The Name of the Rose was the standout from this month) and enjoy the warm Christmas lights we’ve put up too early. It’s the first year of our marriage we haven’t moved, and our house is feeling like home more than ever before. Perhaps it was all the thoughts of losing it that make us grateful for it.

December

I turn 27. I don’t feel older. The number is a funny one. Odd years always seem to have an edge to them. I wonder if I’m ahead or behind (ahead or behind what? Honestly, who knows). On my good days, I don’t care.

Harrison Burnette asks me to write a short story for Everyday Epiklesis. I’m honored—and a bit nervous. I love writing fiction. Sharing it still makes me uneasy. The book deal is counterbalanced by the full folder in my inbox of rejection letters from publishers and agents. I’m reminded of the kid whose voice cracked in public speaking class.

I’ve learned to speak theology with confidence. Now, I’m learning a new language. Or, perhaps more accurately, I’m the kid who passed AP Spanish but is now wondering if my accent sounds funny to native speakers.

I write several more short stories for Christmas presents. People cry. I think they like them. I’m not very good at writing happy stories.

We end the year with family, sitting around fires, and as I type this up, I’m keenly aware that I couldn’t have seen this year coming. If for no other reason than that, I have no idea what next year will hold.

But, in taking a page out of Eliza’s book, I’m trying to lean into faith in God’s providence and provision more. I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions. Somewhere in the course of writing my novel, though, I’ve become convinced that my goal in life is learning to pray. One of the characters taught me that. Or, I guess, the idea was already in me and writing made it clear.

I have plenty of other goals. Things I’d like to achieve in terms of Gospel Simplicity. Books I’d like to write. Exercise more. Master the pizza oven we got as a Christmas gift. Do more cardio to counter-balance the previous goal. Keep growing as a husband. Hopefully grow our family.

But in the end, I want to learn to pray. I don’t expect I’ll master that, but nothing worth pursuing is easy, I suppose.