A year of learning to stay instead of restart
The Pattern I Finally Saw
For most of my adult life, I’ve been addicted to a very specific dopamine hit: the thrill of getting back to zero, but going forward I want to go from zero to one.

Minus World
In the past, I would start projects, relationships, businesses—pour energy into them until they showed promise—then abandon them just as they entered a phase of maintenance and growth. I’d then start something new, feel the rush of novelty, and repeat the cycle.
- In business: I’d launch initiatives, see early traction, then pivot to the next shiny idea before harvesting the first one.
- In relationships: I’d date someone, feel the intensity of new connection, then sabotage it when it required sustained commitment and vulnerability.
- In creative work: I’d start blogs, YouTube channels, music projects—each with genuine enthusiasm—only to let them go dormant when the “messy middle” set in.
I wasn’t failing. I was resetting. And resetting felt like progress because it gave me the emotional payoff of recovery without the sustained effort of growth, but I wasn’t actually going anywhere.
This pattern became undeniable in 2023 when a long-term relationship ended—not because it had to, but because I couldn’t stay. We dated for a year and a half (the longest relationship I’d had outside of my 18-year marriage) and when she said she just wanted to be friends, it wasn’t just a breakup. It was an identity death.
Because the narrative I’d been living—the one where I find a wife, build a home together, and create a new life—ended mid-sentence, I found myself in this “liminal space” between who I thought I was going to be and who I actually was.
In April of 2025, I drew a hard boundary. That version of me—the one seeking confirmation through relationships, building my identity around someone else’s yes or no—was no longer allowed to run my future.
I moved from La Crosse, Wisconsin to Viroqua, Wisconsin—a small town an hour south—into what I call “the blue house with white shutters.” Not because it was the house I wanted to own, but because I needed physical distance from the old patterns. I needed a space where I could hear myself again.
This past year has been about learning a new way: to stay, to maintain, to leverage what already works instead of constantly starting over.
And in 2025, for the first time, I practiced staying.
What I Built in 2025
In previous years, I would have abandoned half of this list to chase something new. This year, I practiced staying.
Creative Output
I played my first open mic. On January 18, 2025, I performed at the Listening Room in Viroqua. I’ve been writing music for years, recording albums in my bedroom, posting them on YouTube where almost no one listens. But I’d never performed live. Standing in front of people with just my guitar and my voice—no edits, no retakes—was terrifying. And I did it.
I published two books. One fiction, one non-fiction. I’ve started many books over the years, but this year, I finished two and published them on Amazon – not because I think they’ll be bestsellers – but because finishing them worked a muscle I needed to strengthen.

I released two musical albums on YouTube – home recordings, but the point wasn’t fame – the point was: I made the work and I shared it. I didn’t let perfectionism or audience size stop me from completing what I started.
I continued vlogging. I’ve been making them since June of 2019. These aren’t just content. They’re a visual archive for my six kids and I to look back on years from now. Some things aren’t for algorithms. These are for legacy.
My two oldest are in college and don’t see me as much anymore. The two middle boys are in high school—one texts me daily on TikTok to keep the streak going. The two youngest girls and my younger son hang out with me on weekends. As they age, I’m transitioning from being their “father” in the protective, providing sense to being their friend and guide. The vlog is part of that—showing them not just who I was when they were young, but who I was becoming in the years they might not fully remember.
Professional Momentum
Another year at Anatta. I work as a business analyst at an ecommerce consultancy, leading discovery and delivery for enterprise Shopify Plus replatforms—the kind with 3 million+ SKUs, complex integrations, and high-stakes clients. I serve as the primary liaison between C-suite stakeholders and cross-functional teams of designers, developers, and QA. I document functional and technical requirements, co-create solution designs, oversee sprint planning, and facilitate UAT.
This was my second year there. In the past, I would have gotten restless and looked for the next thing. The title “business analyst” would have felt limiting. I would have convinced myself I’d learned all I could and needed a bigger stage. But this year, I stayed. And in staying, I deepened my expertise, mentored junior analysts, and became the person others come to for the hard problems—the ambiguous client situations, the complex integrations, the politically sensitive stakeholder conversations.
I also started recognizing something important about the nature of the work I was actually doing.
When a client with 500,000 products needed a marketing feed that wouldn’t require reprocessing all SKUs every time a single price changed, I wasn’t just “making a feed.” I was designing a sustainable operational mechanism—exploring API delta approaches, segmentation by category, building a system that could scale without breaking. That’s not requirements gathering. That’s system stabilization.
When we ran enterprise Shopify go-lives, I built and maintained the go-live checklists across design, configuration, marketing integrations, privacy compliance, SEO, analytics—using them as an operating system to reduce chaos and missed dependencies. Not just documenting what needed to happen, but creating the control structure that made it repeatable across projects. That’s launch governance.
On a project integrating Shopify and WooCommerce with Business Central OMS, Salsify, complex bundle logic, and multi-warehouse fulfillment, I drove standardization of definitions and flows so partner integrations could test and validate consistently. Fewer edge-case fires. More predictable throughput. That’s operational stabilization.
I consistently operated as the bridge between C-suite stakeholders and delivery teams—translating executive intent into requirements, facilitating discovery sessions, aligning designers/developers/QA around shared understanding, managing UAT readiness. I coordinated external vendors getting testing access, understanding validation steps, aligning milestones to staggered go-live dates.
For one enterprise client, I captured and organized a deeply complex integration ecosystem—NetSuite, Akeneo, Workato, Algolia, Segment, Klaviyo, Avalara, ShipHawk, and more—into a shared understanding the team could actually act on, then drove systematic follow-up question development. That’s not documentation. That’s coordination of complexity into an executable plan.
I created implementation-ready tickets for wholesale versus allopathic navigation and journey changes, including flow logic for “Request Samples” and where data lands in the system. I made structural product decisions: who sees what, when, and how requests get operationalized.
And across multiple clients, I kept pushing the same thesis: execution fails because structure fails first. Not tools. Not platforms. Structure. Roles, incentives, decision-making frameworks. I was choosing organizational and operating-model design as the primary lever, not just technology swaps.
This is when I realized: I’ve been doing COO-level work just without the title: systems thinking across tech, people, and process; cross-functional coordination; and internal change initiatives. I’ve been acting as a bridge between business strategy and technical execution. The skills are there. I just don’t have the title…yet. But staying at Anatta gives me something crucial: stable income, enterprise-level case studies, and health insurance.
Another year running Market Jack. My independent ecommerce consulting company. I’ve consulting on the side for years, but I used to treat it like a hobby—something I’d work on when I felt like it, then neglect when something shinier appeared. I’d take on clients, deliver good work, then let the pipeline dry up because I was chasing the next idea instead of serving the clients I already had.
This year, I treated it like a business. I served my existing clients well. I didn’t chase new ventures. I just showed up consistently for what already worked. And something shifted: my existing clients started referring me to others. The work became steadier, not because I was hustling harder, but because I was staying longer and doing better work for the people who already trusted me.
Framework Development
I created the 4-Year U. framework. This is my life-architecture system—a way of thinking about long-term goals, seasonal rhythms, and sustainable growth without burnout. I’ve been living by this framework since my divorce, using it to rebuild after that identity collapse in 2020, but in 2025 I formalized it. I wrote it down. I structured it. I made it teachable.
The 4-Year U. isn’t a productivity system or a motivational program. It’s life architecture. It’s designed to help people make progress on long-term goals without burning out, restarting, or losing hope. It highlights how to leverage over time—something I was teaching others but only inconsistently doing myself.
The framework is built on four-year arcs (not one-year sprints or ten-year dreams), seasonal rhythms (winter for rest, spring for preparation, summer for execution, fall for harvest), and the idea that life unfolds best when you align with God’s design of cyclical growth instead of forcing linear urgency.
Ironically, I built a system about leverage and staying power while still struggling to do it myself. But that’s the work of 2025—practicing what I’ve been preaching.
I published my first two digital products for 4-Year U. A Life Planning Guide and a Debt Reset Planner. Small products, humble sales. I’m not making significant money from them yet, and that’s okay. The goal right now isn’t revenue—it’s practice. Practice creating page-by-page instead of launching big and then abandoning. Practice maintaining something over time. Practice building 0 to 1 instead of constantly resetting to zero.
Each product took weeks to create. Not because they’re complicated, but because I worked on them slowly, deliberately, consistently. A page here. A section there. Building the muscle of staying with something through the boring middle when the novelty has worn off and the finish line still feels far away.
And you know what? It worked. I finished them. I published them. They exist in the world now, generating small amounts of revenue and helping a few people structure their lives better. That’s not nothing. That’s everything.
The Themes That Emerged
As I look back on 2025, seven themes stand out—not as goals I set, but as patterns that revealed themselves through the work of staying.
1. Integration and Synergy
For years, I’ve kept parts of myself separate. Professional Erich (the business analyst, the consultant) stayed in one box. Personal Erich (the musician, the writer, the father) stayed in another. Creative Erich, spiritual Erich, broken Erich—all in separate compartments.
This year, I started letting them integrate. My professional work in ecommerce—helping companies transition from chaos to structure, from reactive to strategic, from short-term sprints to long-term arcs—is the same work I’ve been doing in my personal life. The 4-Year U. framework I built to help me rebuild after identity collapse is the same framework that helps companies build sustainably.
I’m not separate people. I’m one person with one way of seeing the world. And in 2025, I started letting that coherence show.
2. Leverage Over Novelty
The dopamine hit of “new” is seductive. New relationship, new business idea, new creative project. But novelty doesn’t build anything. It just resets the clock.
This year, I practiced a different kind of dopamine: the satisfaction of small, incremental improvements over time. In Minecraft, I built the same world day after day instead of starting new worlds. In the 4-Year U., I created products page-by-page instead of launching a flashy website. In my social media channels, I posted simple videos to existing accounts instead of starting new ones.
I trained my brain to get the reward from maintaining instead of starting. And I discovered something: maintenance is leverage. Consistency compounds. Staying with something long enough to see it mature creates value that restarting never can.
3. Long Arcs, Short Actions
The 4-Year U. philosophy is built on this: life unfolds best in long arcs, not short sprints. Not one-year goals that burn you out. Not ten-year dreams so distant they feel meaningless. Four-year cycles that mirror natural seasons—long enough to build something real, short enough to stay connected to the outcome.
But long arcs only work if you take short actions consistently. Daily habits. Weekly rhythms. Monthly check-ins. Small steps that don’t feel dramatic but accumulate into transformation over time.
This year, I lived this. Not just taught it—lived it. Paid down debt month by month. Worked on digital products page by page. Attended men’s group week by week. None of it felt heroic. All of it mattered.
4. Identity-Work Alignment
I used to think my work was just how I paid bills. My real self—the creative, the thinker, the builder—existed somewhere outside of business hours.
But this year I realized: my professional work is who I am. I help companies and clients build structure from ambiguity. I guide them through transformation. I mentor others. I see patterns across systems—people, process, technology—and help integrate them.
That’s not separate from my personal identity as a “sage-builder,” a guide for others. It’s the same thing. And when I stopped trying to keep them separate, both got stronger.
5. Revenue Up, Expenses Down
I’m building what I call “The Storehouse”—a financial foundation that creates optionality for whatever comes next. Whether that’s marriage, a family crisis, helping my kids, or seizing a professional opportunity, I want to be ready.
Right now, I earn a stable income from Anatta and supplement it with independent consulting through Market Jack. I have monthly obligations including child support and housing costs, plus outstanding debt that I’m systematically paying down.
My goal for 2026: significantly grow my Market Jack revenue, eliminate my highest-interest debt, and reduce my housing costs. By the end of 2027, I want to be debt-free except for student loans. By the end of 2028, I want to be positioned to buy a house.
This isn’t about getting rich. It’s about building breathing room—financial and psychological—so I can say yes to the right opportunities instead of being constrained by monthly obligations.
6. Contextual Work
Not all work serves the same purpose. Some work is for income. Some is for regulation. Some is for legacy. Some is for learning.
I used to feel guilty about my multiple creative channels—vlogging, music, ASMR breakfast videos, chess recordings, comedy experiments. I thought I should “focus” and pick one. But this year I realized: they serve different needs. The vlog is legacy for my kids. Music is emotional regulation. ASMR breakfast is a way to feel less alone. Chess is strategic practice.
None of them need to “become something.” They’re already serving their purpose.
The work that needs to grow and leverage is Market Jack and the 4-Year U.—those are my professional identity. Everything else can remain what it is: practices that keep me regulated, creative, and human.
7. Emotional Regulation in Work and Personal Life
Personal growth and professional growth are the same thing.
When I’m emotionally dysregulated—anxious, resentful, obsessing over a past relationship—my work suffers. When I’m financially stressed, my relationships suffer. When I’m neglecting my body, my creativity dries up.
This year, I started treating emotional regulation as infrastructure, not luxury. Daily prayer and Bible reading. Regular exercise. Intentional time with my kids. Therapy when needed. Boundaries around dating. Practices that keep me grounded.
And I noticed: when I’m regulated internally, everything external flows better. Clients trust me more. My work improves. My creativity returns. Emotional regulation isn’t separate from success. It’s foundational to it.
2026: Leverage and Activation
My theme for 2026 is Leverage and Activation.
In 2025, I learned to stay. In 2026, I activate what I’ve built.
Here’s what that means practically:
Professionally:
- Maintain Anatta as my stable financial base (steady income, health insurance, enterprise experience)
- Significantly grow Market Jack by doubling down on existing skills and network—no new ventures, just better execution on what already works
- Position Market Jack as fractional COO services for ecommerce companies, built on 4-Year U. principles of sustainable growth
- Create or acquire one income-producing asset that generates passive income by the end of the year
Financially:
- Eliminate highest-interest debt by December 31, 2026
- Reduce housing costs significantly when my current lease ends in April 2026
- Build an emergency fund
- Start saving for a house down payment
Physically:
- Achieve and maintain a measurable standard of physical capability
- Become physically reliable—a fit body that supports long-term goals, not just short-term aesthetics
Relationally:
- Operate from clarity and integrity in all relationships
- Show up socially as a grounded man with a full life, not someone auditioning for rescue
- Create intentional memories with my six kids on our regular custody schedule
- Remain open to a serious relationship, but only pursue depth when my foundation is solid
Spiritually:
- Practice daily alignment practices that strengthen attention, discipline, and peace
- Live from order and obedience—not performance or shame, but genuine alignment with what I believe
Creatively:
- Continue vlogging and posting for creative reasons, not metrics
- Look for opportunities to create content that supports my identity or financial goals (Market Jack, 4-Year U.)
- Let other creative channels remain regulatory practices without pressure to monetize
Building 10 Feet Tall
For years, I’ve struggled with a tension: I have the desire to build something “10 feet tall” instead of “10 things 1 foot tall.” But I’ve been afraid to choose one thing to focus on—caught between the dopamine trap of novelty and the paralysis of not wanting to choose wrong.
This year, I’m making a choice.
My one thing is: Fractional COO services for ecommerce companies, built on 4-Year U. principles of sustainable growth.
This integrates everything:
- My 20 years of ecommerce, business analysis, and operations experience
- My 4-Year U. framework for long-arc thinking
- My identity as a sage-builder who helps others build what they couldn’t build alone
- My financial goal of growing Market Jack into a sustainable primary income source
Everything else—the vlog, the music, the ASMR breakfast videos, the chess recordings, the comedy experiments—remains as regulatory practice. I’m not abandoning them. I’m just not asking them to become something they’re not meant to be.
This is what integration looks like. Not forcing everything into one brand, but knowing what serves which purpose and letting each thing be what it is.
The Long View: Beyond 2026
This is a four-year arc. Not a one-year sprint.
By the end of 2027:
- Significantly reduced debt burden
- Market Jack consistently generating substantial supplemental income
- Positioned for a COO role (either fractional or full-time)
- Moved back to La Crosse area, closer to my kids
By the end of 2028:
- Remaining debt paid off
- Down payment saved, ready to buy a house
- Financially and emotionally ready for marriage if the right person appears
- Living the blue house with white shutters vision—not the literal house yet, but the identity it represents
By the mid-2030s:
- Debt-free, house-owning, with the option to scale Market Jack, take a full-time COO role, or build something new from a place of stability instead of desperation
This isn’t about rushing. It’s about building properly. One season at a time. One year at a time. One day at a time.
A Question for You
If you’ve read this far, thank you. Seriously. This is long, personal, and probably more introspective than most year-end posts you’ll read.
But I’m curious: What arcs or patterns do you see in your own life?
Are you addicted to starting over instead of building forward?
Are you keeping parts of yourself in separate boxes instead of integrating them?
Are you chasing novelty instead of leveraging what already works?
Are you rushing to the next chapter to avoid sitting in the liminal space?
I don’t have all the answers. I’m figuring this out in real time, same as you. But I do know this: the work of staying—of maintaining, of leveraging, of building 0 to 1 instead of constantly resetting to zero—is harder than it looks. And more rewarding than I ever imagined.
If this resonates with you and you want to follow along:
- For ecommerce consulting or fractional COO services: marketjack.com
- For life-architecture frameworks and digital products: 4yearu.com
- For personal updates, vlogs, and reflections: Subscribe to this blog
Here’s to 2026. Not as a year of reinvention, but as a year of leverage and activation.
Not starting over. Just building forward.










