On the greatness of impermanence…

A thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts.

I quoted this maxim often as a senior at Wabash because it brought me comfort as I wrestled with the existential realization that my final weeks and months of being a student were upon me. And I do, in my heart of hearts, believe that only once a thing ends can we truly appreciate its impact on us.

Fletcher Loyer drops a three-pointer over a Marquette player earlier in December, during my third time covering a Purdue basketball game. One of my Photos of the Year 2025.

For me, 2025 elicits that exact feeling.

It was a year that brought me more questions than answers. My 18-year-old self, in all his wide-eyed ambition, conjured up such powerful dreams about my future. When those dreams inevitably did not come true exactly as I had envisioned, it crushed me. Utterly.

I wanted everything. The highest grades, the best score on my comprehensive exams, to speak at graduation, to land a perfect job that would launch my future career trajectory into the stratosphere.

None of that happened. And thank God it didn’t.  

I thought I had matured enough with four years of rigorous collegiate introspection that those childish, 18-year-old dreams wouldn’t matter anymore. But when they didn’t materialize and did for some of my closest friends, it was the first time in my life I felt truly, deeply, ashamed. Like I hadn’t lived up to my own expectations.

Which was totally stupid. Actually, it was insane to even contemplate.

Those goals were beyond perfect. I was expecting the impossible from myself, and when it didn’t come, I beat myself up about my own stupidity.

Planning out my life, ironically, didn’t go to plan. And as my good friend Matt Lepper so wisely told me recently, “Man plans and God laughs.”

I suppose it’s the beginning of learning humility. Clearly I have a long way to go.

What ended up happening was I moved home with no job and no plan other than to keep applying for jobs, hoping for a lifeline in one of the most unforgiving job markets in recent memory. Lucky me.

Truthfully, I was embarrassed to move home. It felt like yet another failure. I’m better at embracing it now, but deep down I still feel like a stranger in a strange place a lot of the time. Going from 4 years independent to being back at the homestead is yet another humbling experience.

But, a situation I thought looked bleak became a long string of blessings, and I know now that this was always THE plan, just not MY plan.

My sister Emily (right) celebrates with one of her best friends Isabelle after winning Homecoming queen this past fall.

I fortunately found a wonderful job with a great company that kept me active and outside for the summer and fall. I lost almost 40 pounds of college weight through dieting and am now almost back to the weight I was in high school.

My photography business was lucrative, and I made investments in gear and opportunities, including sending a cold email to the editor of the Journal & Courier. I now work as a freelance journalist for them, including having a press pass for Purdue men’s basketball this season.

I got to photograph my sister winning Homecoming queen, see my dad actualize his dream of becoming a music artist, hang out and joke with my brother while playing Madden, and watch my mom fall in love with a puppy that is so cute, it’s sickening. So many blessings all over the place.

None of which would have happened had I found a job right out of college and moved away immediately.

2025 was my year of learning to let go. The future isn’t going anywhere. In fact, I just need to focus on being 1% better today than I was yesterday. Stack enough of those days, and great things begin to happen.

Things aren’t beautiful because they last. In fact, I’m glad 2025 didn’t. Because now 2026 can bring even more opportunity.