“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”
— Annie Dillard

It has been a full year since I started writing these Sunday notes. I began last November with a simple commitment: stay with it for twelve months. Not because a year is symbolic, but because I wanted to see what consistency could do.

Many of you joined along the way, so this may be the first time you’re hearing that it has been a year. It felt like the right moment to pause and look at what this has become.

When I started, a lot in my life was moving at once. I had just left McKinsey. I was planning a wedding on a ninety-day timeline. On the surface, the transition looked clean. Underneath, I was trying to understand what the next chapter required. Because of that, I reached out widely — reconnecting with mentors, peers, classmates, and friends to get perspective.

What stood out in those conversations was how quickly they shifted from surface-level updates to what was actually going on. Almost everyone was carrying something. Not a crisis. Not unraveling. Just the quiet weight that builds when you’re responsible for a lot and rarely have space to talk or think it through. That stayed with me.

Around the same time, I found myself reading more about men’s health. Some of the numbers were rough, and a few felt uncomfortably familiar. I’d started therapy at HBS, and even that took longer than it should have. At first, I assumed I was writing mainly for men because that was the vantage point I knew.

But it didn’t take long to see how much broader the themes were. These questions show up for anyone trying to build a real life while holding real responsibility. I experience them through my lens, but the replies you sent made it clear they cut across every identity.

I didn’t start this with a strategy. I just wanted one honest moment each week to think — without rushing, performing, or trying to land on a perfect takeaway. A slight pause before Monday pulled me back into motion. And I hoped that if I needed that, maybe someone else did too.

Some Sundays, I almost skipped the note. Some weeks, I stared at the screen longer than I’d like to admit. And there were many moments when an annoying, quiet voice showed up telling me, ‘People are going to laugh at you.’

Every time I hesitated, I came back to something simple: if even one person found something useful that week, that was enough. That became my North Star, and on that measure, the year delivered.

Your replies were the part I didn’t anticipate. Some of you shared challenges you don’t talk about publicly. Some told me where you felt stretched or uneasy. A few shared small wins or reflections that meant something to you. Those messages shifted this from writing into a conversation — just happening in an unusual format.

Before anything else, thank you.

Thank you to everyone who has read, reflected, replied, or carried a line into your week. You didn’t have to. The fact that you did shaped this more than I expected. This only works because you’re here.

This past year also reminded me what a strong community can do. Through these notes, I’ve been able to connect people who should know each other, watch conversations turn into real opportunities, and meet individuals I never would have crossed paths with otherwise. That wasn’t something I planned, but it became one of the most meaningful parts of this.

A lot of people don’t know where the name Infinite Momentum came from. It’s straightforward. One good choice changes how you show up. The people around you feel it. They influence the next circle out. The effect compounds quietly.

The same is true in the opposite direction, which is why I try to pay attention to both.

I began this thinking I was doing something for others, but I’ve realized I’ve gotten just as much from it. These Sundays grounded me. They slowed me down. They kept me honest with myself. They reminded me that who we become is shaped by what we do regularly, not occasionally.

I committed to a year so that doubt wouldn’t decide for me on the weeks I wanted to quit. Now that we’re here, I do want to keep going. Not because this is perfect — it isn’t — but because it’s real. And because there is something here worth continuing.

As we shape year two together, I’d love to know: Did any part of this year matter to you? A line, a moment, a week that landed when you needed it.

And separately: What would you like to see more of next year? I’d value your perspective.

Write me back if you have time. I’ll read it.

Here’s to another year.
Clearer. Intentional. Elevated.

— Eric

P.S. If you know someone who’d appreciate a quieter space each week, feel free to share this with one person you trust.