At the end of every year, there’s a natural pause.
The noise fades. The scoreboards stop flashing.
And you’re left alone with the question that matters most:

What did this all really mean?

For a long time, my answer would’ve been simple. Wins. Titles. Medals. Proof.
Proof that the work was worth it. Proof that I belonged.

But time has a way of refining the lens.

What Matters Now

When I first started competing, growth meant climbing. Higher rankings. Bigger stages. Louder recognition.
Now, growth feels quieter. Deeper.

It looks like impact.
It feels like responsibility.

It’s not just about how far I go anymore. It’s about how many people move forward because I showed up fully, honestly, consistently.

Redefining Success

Ten years ago, success lived on a results sheet.
Today, it lives in conversations.

It’s in the moments where someone tells me they stayed in the game because they felt seen.
That they took a chance because someone showed them it was possible.
That they looked at bowling differently, more seriously, more proudly, because of the example set in front of them.

Success now is measured by momentum I didn’t create for myself, but helped create for others.
By whether my actions help push bowling in a direction that honors its depth, its challenge, and its legitimacy as a sport.

The Values That Lead the Way

Every choice, on the lanes and off, runs through the same filters:

Will it have impact?
Is it kind?
Will it leave a lasting impression?

Those questions matter more than comfort.
More than ego.
More than short term gain.

They slow decisions down. They demand intention.
But they also make it easier to live with the outcomes.

If the Lanes Went Quiet

If I couldn’t bowl anymore, if the game ended tomorrow, I don’t think I’d miss the medals the most.

I’d hold onto the people.

The ones who felt inspired to reach for more.
The ones who gave themselves permission to try.
The ones who found their way into bowling and stayed because they finally saw what it could be.

Maybe I helped open a door.
Maybe I helped raise the standard.
Maybe I helped the sport earn the respect it deserves.

That would be enough.

Looking Ahead

The medals will always matter, but they are not the point anymore.
They are symbols, not destinations.

What matters is growth that lasts.
Values that hold.
Perspective that deepens with time.

And if, when the lights dim and the year turns over, I can say I left the game and the people in it better than I found them, that’s a season worth being proud of.