New Year. New Chapter. New Turns.

New year. New chapter. I feel that. I like the clean edge of it—the sense that something is turning over, even if nothing in the real world actually pauses.

But what I’ve learned is this: the year doesn’t carry us. It just shows up. And then it starts asking questions—fast.

That’s the part I didn’t see for a while. My life can look like momentum—court, contracts, closings, client calls, deadlines, tennis, and other moving parts—like I’m always driving forward. But the truth is, a lot of days feel like a trial. Not always the dramatic kind. The quiet kind. The mental trial. The patience trial. The “stay composed when everything around me wants a reaction” trial. The kind of pressure that doesn’t care that it’s January, or that I had big plans, or that I wanted this year to start smoothly.

I’ve walked into days thinking they were routine, and they turned into a full hearing before lunch. A deal that was “almost done” becomes a negotiation. A simple ask turns into a conflict. A schedule gets ambushed by something urgent. And none of it asks permission. The year doesn’t tap me politely and say, “Ready?” It just moves. And if I’m not grounded, it can carry me in the wrong direction—not because I’m weak, but because I’m human.

The year is a chapter, sure—but I keep coming back to the idea that the chapter is built on motion. The calendar flips, the road turns, and it keeps going. And every day is a subchapter—small, manageable, and honest. Not a whole reinvention. Not a dramatic new identity. Just one page where I can write something clean: one decision made with intention, one loose end tied up, one standard held when it would be easier to let it slide. Some subchapters are wins. Some are recovering. Some are survival. But they still count.

In the world of law, real estate, and business, small things turn into big things if they sit too long. Deadlines don’t care about feelings. Paper trails matter. Timing matters. And pressure has a way of revealing what’s real. The funny thing is that the same truth applies outside the courtroom, too. Momentum isn’t a mood. It’s a pattern. It’s what happens when I keep showing up even when the “new year energy” is gone, and it’s just a random Wednesday that feels heavy.

So I’m walking into 2026 with a simple frame: new year, new chapter—but the chapter is made of daily turns. That takes the pressure off the calendar moment and puts the power back into the day. If a day goes sideways, it doesn’t have to become the whole story. It’s just a subchapter. I can write the next one better. I can reset. I can keep the year from carrying me by accident.

Dear 2026, I want less performance and more execution. Less waiting on motivation, more movement. Not chasing perfection—just building consistency that holds up when it gets loud or when traffic hits. If the year turns into a trial again—and it will—I want to be prepared. Not because I have all the answers, but because I’m human, and I am learning to keep my head on ordinary days and new turns.

#TheMustangLawyer