Reflections on a year that started with smoke and ended with light.

Every December, I tell myself I’m going to sit down and write a proper year-in-review post — not a highlight reel, but an honest look at where I’ve been, what I’ve learned, and who I’ve become. But 2024 bled into 2025 faster than I could type, and the post never happened.

So this year, I strengthened my resolve. I took notes all year long.
Every headline.
Every personal shift.
Every spark that reminded me time doesn’t slow down — you just get better at noticing.

And because twelve months deserve more than one scroll-length piece, I’m splitting this into Part I and Part II. Let’s go.

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January — Fire & Fresh Starts

The year opened with renewal and fire — both literal and metaphorical.

I launched a brand-new website theme, a digital reflection of the internal reset I’d been craving. I tightened up my health data game with Nourish and Cronometer, guided by registered dietitian Amy Fair, who helped translate numbers into nourishment. I playfully nicknamed her the “Amy Farrah Fowler of Food” — ala The Big Bang Theory.

“Happy Hour — Season 2” kept rolling, the conversations still unscripted, unfiltered, and exactly what they needed to be since I was still living in Arizona.

Meanwhile, the world beyond my own orbit was anything but still: wildfires tore through Los Angeles County …

As visual reminder, here’s overlay maps of the fire area map.

The TikTok Ban officially took hold, and the nation watched the inauguration of President-elect Donald Trump.

Somewhere between all that noise, Jen and I had our own unexpected moment of chaos — a high-speed police chase on Hunt Highway, unfolding as we were just trying to get to the airport. Life has a way of reminding you it’s still unscripted, no matter how neatly you try to plan the year ahead.

February — Fort Scott and Firsts

February has always been a month of double meaning for me — birthdays and beginnings, both personal and shared.

This year’s joint birthday celebration in Fort Scott, Kansas was equal parts joy and sentiment. My godson, Gabe, lit up the weekend the way only kids can — unfiltered laughter, frosting on his cheeks, and zero concept of time. My friends Christine and John, who’ve long treated me like family, rolled out their usual Kansas hospitality. Probably the last time I’ll make that trip solo, and I think we all felt it. Still, the focus stayed right where it belonged — on the kid — with a little love saved for “Godfather Los” after the candles were out.

Back home, I accidentally set a new internet record for myself. Snake Charmer Men’s Waxing — Snakes, Sacs, and Wax became the most viewed blog post in Bayne history since I started tracking analytics in November 2018. Proof that a little humor, a little honesty, and a lot of bravery go a long way.

And then came the Be My Valentine Weekend with Jen — the kind of weekend you remember for how it felt, not just where you went. A couples massage at Tod Miller Spa & Wellness inside The Monarch, dinner at EVO, and a night at the Hilton Garden Inn Old Scottsdale. The kind of warmth that stays with you even after the desert cools.

March — Decisions and Departures

March was all about choices—some medical, some logistical, some emotional.

Early in the month, I kept a promise I’d made to myself years ago: if I reached fifty without a child or the prospect of one, I’d get a vasectomy. Technically, I’m forty-nine—but what’s a year ahead of schedule when life finally feels aligned? It wasn’t a decision made from loss, but from clarity. A forward-facing act of ownership, and a quiet acknowledgment that my best chapters with Jen don’t need to include parenthood to feel complete.

Mid-month brought my Pi Day Weekend Visit back to Washington. The mission: fix up a few things at the Bastion of Bayne and run my personal “press the flesh” tour across area Costcos to determine where I’d land once I returned north. After weighing culture, commute, and chemistry, I chose Aurora Village #106 as my home base—Woodinville #747 came in a respectable second. Third place? Didn’t even make the podium.

Then came saltwater and sunsets. I joined Marc E. Marx and the West Coast Country Heat crew for their Dance Cruise through the Western Caribbean. It was a return to rhythm, camaraderie, and the joy of moving in sync with a tribe I still have a little street cred with. Like 2023, it was a blast—but this time, I knew it would be my last in that capacity. Some stages deserve a final bow.

April — Motion and Meaning

April was a month of green lights.

My third transfer request was approved in record time—an odd flex, I know. The first one, from Costco Travel to Woodinville #747 after thirteen years, took months to grind through. The second, from Woodinville #747 to Gilbert #481, cleared in just four days. This time? Aurora Village #106 said yes to a Night Merch position—forklift driver, twenty-plus years of experience—in one business day flat. No one lines up for the night shift in Washington, so to specifically request it borders on lunacy. But for me, it was strategic solitude: fewer distractions, cleaner focus, a different kind of quiet.

While HR systems blinked approved, Jen and I booked the airline tickets to the Philippines, the keystone to any international trip. The plan: visit my dad and extended family, joined by my sister Charrina (WCP) and the ever-adventurous Marc E. Marx. One purchase turned a long-held idea into an imminent reality.

And then came the biggest move of all—literally. “I Said Yes to the Address.” I flew WCP down to Arizona, and together we drove the Millennium Subaru 1,516 miles north from my Tempe address to JW Bayne in Edmonds—named, of course, for Jennifer Welch. One era packed into boxes, another unpacked with intention.

May — Roots, Routines, and Red Brakes

May felt like home.

After years away, I finally resumed attending Seattle Sounders matches—a ritual that’s as much family as fandom. My sister and I have held those two seats for fifteen seasons now: Section 120, Row NN, Seats 7 and 8. Same view, same chants, same pregame buzz. When the team takes the field, the years compress; it’s still our shared space, our sibling soundtrack.

Back at work, my managers at the unnamed big box store granted me a schedule that felt like a gift: Monday through Friday. My first five-day week in ten years. A simple shift that made weekends feel like weekends again.

Even before my formal priority realignment, my time outdoors skyrocketed. Geocaching—my old habit of blending travel, problem-solving, and wanderlust—picked up frequency like muscle memory returning.

To channel that rediscovered focus, I leaned into the Pomodoro Technique—those 25-minute bursts of effort punctuated by five-minute resets. It’s simple, structured, and surprisingly satisfying. A way to stay sharp without burning out, to work smarter instead of endlessly longer.

And then came the scare that turned into a story: The Luckiest Man Alive. After replacing the front brakes on the Millennium Subaru with Jen’s brother, Michael, we missed wrenching down two critical bolts. By all rights, the outcome could’ve been catastrophic—but it wasn’t. The car stopped, the lesson landed, and the blog post practically wrote itself. Sometimes the universe gives you a warning instead of a tragedy.

June — Coasting Through the Checkers

June came in calm, which wasn’t what I expected.

In my mind, it was supposed to be a balls-to-the-walls race to the finish line—the month where everything hit redline speed. Instead, that chaos belonged to May. By comparison, June felt like the final few counter-clockwise turns before the flag drops. If it were NASCAR, I’d be the driver on the radio muttering, “I’m not lifting until I see the checkers—or God.”

This was my first June standing side-by-side with Principal Jen, watching up close what “the end of the school year” looks like in her world. My workdays rarely change much from one month to the next; hers swing like a pendulum between calm and calamity. Seeing it firsthand was an education in its own right—a different kind of finish line altogether.

My own misaligned priorities during the month? A mixed bag of progress and play:

• Lower Bricktopia complete and Upper Bricktopia about ninety percent finished.
• Sounders matches continued—attendance in full force, energy high.
• And, perhaps most memorably, the Garden Shed Demolition.

My sister, WCP, has loathed that shed at the Bastion of Bayne for years—swearing it was less a structure and more a multi-species Airbnb for insects, snakes, and rats. So, as a birthday gift and a localized rage room, I assembled friends, family, and tools. On June 22, we reduced the shed to memory. Dust, laughter, and relief all mixed in the air.

June didn’t roar; it exhaled. And honestly, after the first half of 2025, that felt just right.

TO BE CONTINUED …