Good morning Reader—
And welcome to the 28th issue of The FAM.
What is it about a new year that compels us to reinvent ourselves? It’s tangible in an intangible way—the flipping of the calendar. You can see the year pass or arrive. The past fades; the future beckons.
We witness this in nature all the time: the snake shedding its skin, the butterfly emerging from its cocoon, the shift from spring to summer, night to day. This transition, this becoming, is everywhere. It’s natural. It’s real. And yet, while becoming is omnipresent, for you and me the clarity of change – and most importantly, the clarity of possibility and potential- becomes sharpest at this time of year.
As we literally and figuratively flip the calendar from 2025 to 2026, something shifts. Our heads, not to mention our hearts, swivel. We look backward at what’s passing while gazing forward at what’s possible.
We sense that what has passed is more than time.
Years ago, when I worked with sales departments in the radio industry, we talked about their inventory of 30- and 60-second spots. If a spot wasn’t sold and the time aired empty, that inventory was gone forever. It could never be reclaimed. It was crucial to account for every moment.
And it seems to me, at this time of year, as our heads and hearts swivel to the past, we feel the weight of that inventory of time. The time in our past that we’ve either seized or let slip into eternity unused.
At the same time our heads and hearts swivel forward with hope and belief that 2026 will brim with moments where we fully account for the limited time the year provides.
So now is a perfect time to go a little deeper.
Who Are We To Become
You know, the snake doesn’t hope to shed its skin – it sheds. The caterpillar doesn’t hope to become a butterfly – it emerges. Light doesn’t hope to shine from darkness – it shines. And yet, you and I, as we ready to step into the new year, carry the hopes of years gone by on our shoulders, declaring: “This year, 2026, will be my best ever.”
The hope is strong. Real. And fragile.
While the snake, caterpillar, and darkness need no hope to become what they’re capable of, we conscious beings grapple with hope’s fragility as our heads and hearts swivel to the future.
We can’t help but yearn for something more, even if we can’t yet name it. We conjure a kernel of belief that what’s coming will be better, fuller, richer, more meaningful and brimming with seized moments and fewer regrets.
And yet, when our hearts swivel forward, our heads too often halt us with reminders of reality.
First, these reminders are deeply personal: regrets, misses, unaccomplished dreams, the far-from-perfect life rushes in with vengeance. Finger pointed at our own hearts. Then, mercilessly, the world’s realities pile on. No wonder 88% of people who set New Year’s resolutions abandon them by mid-January. It’s easier to stay protected in your current skin, huddle in your known cocoon, and get by in the darkness.
As time’s inventory pass us by.
Who Before Why
What the snake, caterpillar, night, and day have over us is that their becoming is a “simple,” natural next step. As the new season of change approaches, it’s their instinctive occurrence. Abraham Maslow told us that what we can become, we must become. And yet, unlike these examples, you and I must consciously decide to shed our skin, consciously decide to step from our cocoon, and consciously decide to enter the light of who we must become.
Not so “simple.”
The snake, caterpillar, and light don’t ask why. They don’t ponder greater purpose. It’s as if their instincts know that questioning would impede becoming.
We on the other hand are conditioned to believe we must have and articulate our “why.”
Simon Sinek built an empire on the mantra: Start with why. Friedrich Nietzsche reminds us that with a strong enough why, we can endure any how. From religions, ethics classes, and company mission statements to my own We Supply America tour, we’re implored to be part of something bigger—to be, as I’ve said for years, a force for good.
I believe in all this; grounding in purpose and meaning is essential. And yet, paradoxically, it often surfaces prematurely.
From the outset, we feel pressure to know our purpose, our why, and confidently declare our contribution to something greater. There’s irony here: these less-evolved species become what they’re meant to without addressing why. They simply become.
Maybe, just maybe, the natural path is to become who you’re meant to be and worry about why, purpose, and meaning later.
I’m drawn to lessons from British philosopher Alan Watts and mythologist Joseph Campbell. Watts tells us: You are the meaning. Campbell echoes this, suggesting we’re asking the wrong question when we seek meaning—we are it. All of which crystallizes a thought that hit me weeks ago while walking a forest preserve near home:
Who must come before why.
And, following Sinek’s model, who must also precede how and what.
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