As this year comes to a close, I find myself not looking for dramatic conclusions or big declarations. What I feel instead is something quieter and more rare: completion.
For me, 2025 was the year when I finally realized that I am complete because of my family, my friends, and the foundations that hold me steady. Not because everything was easy, or predictable, or perfectly aligned, but because what truly matters remained intact.
Work, Change, and Forward Motion
Changing work this year felt like uncertainty at first. There were moments when the ground shifted and the future looked unclear. But I approached it the only way I know how: methodically, carefully, step by step.
What I learned is that uncertainty does not have to be paralyzing. With structure, intention, and patience, it can become a strong move forward in life.
I was reminded that I am strong. That I am methodical. That I can be strict and set in my ways, not out of stubbornness, but because I believe deeply in a bottom line that matters to me: humanity, growth, and succeeding as a human being in life, not just professionally.
Writing About Faith Without Belonging to It
Much of my writing this year touched on faith, even though we are not people of faith ourselves. What I came to understand more clearly is that belief systems do not automatically make people safe, kind, or trustworthy to keep close in your life.
What matters more are love, commitment to one another, care, and support.
Writing about these topics did not pull me toward belief. It made me more confident in what I was taught growing up and in how I see the world today. It strengthened my moral footing, not through doctrine, but through clarity.
Closure, Memory, and My Mother
This year also brought something I did not fully expect: closure.
By writing, completing, and publishing my mother’s book, I finally feel that I have created something worthy of her memory. Not just a tribute, but a finished act of love. Something that allows her story to exist in the world without me having to carry it silently inside myself.
For the first time in a long while, I feel complete in that relationship. Her memory feels lighter now. Settled. Honored.
Family and the Quiet Moments That Stay
As a parent, I am most proud of the person my son is becoming. He is sensitive, gentle, a defender of truth, and a young man with a strong spirit. We still have much to work on together, but he is, at his core, a gentle soul.
I’ve learned something small but meaningful this year: the soft toys he loves, the plushies I sometimes underestimate, are not just toys. He keeps them as memories. Markers of moments when we did something that made him happy. Tiny emotional archives of joy.
He is not drawn to faith or church, and that’s okay. What matters is who he is and how he treats the world.
The Ongoing Struggle
Not everything is resolved. I know my strong opinions can be difficult. My family often hears them first. I demand structure, sometimes more than is comfortable, while also believing deeply that happiness comes through achievement, success, growth, and development.
Living with that balance is still a work in progress, for all of us.
Looking Toward 2026
As I step into 2026, I don’t want more noise or more urgency.
I want to live more life.
To take clearer control of our finances.
To take better care of our health.
To protect what we’ve built.
To grow without losing gentleness.
I say goodbye to 2025 with gratitude, not relief. It was a year of work, honesty, closure, and grounding.
And I welcome 2026 not as a reset, but as a continuation.
A steadier chapter.
A lived one.
Mikhail Oparin 