Ephemeral Efforts

For reasons I’ve yet to understand, March always seems to bring pivotal changes to my life. Come March 15th, 2025, I will once again find myself unemployed. Strangely, this doesn’t feel like a setback — it’s an opportunity to reflect on what truly matters and decide where to direct my energy in the years ahead.

As I pondered this during a recent Joe Rogan Podcast episode, a curious question surfaced: "If I were ever invited on his show, what would we even talk about?"

Joe Rogan’s guests are often people with remarkable achievements, individuals who thrive on challenges and bring unique perspectives. I couldn’t help but wonder where I would fit in that mix. Would I have anything compelling to share? The thought leaves me uneasy but also sparks a deeper question: why do I feel this way?

Looking back on my career, I’ve worked hard, contributed to meaningful projects, and learned from incredible colleagues. Yet, as I reflect, a troubling pattern emerges: much of my work feels ephemeral. The systems I’ve built and the projects I’ve delivered served their purpose in the moment but faded into obscurity over time. They rarely extended their impact beyond the companies they were created for.

This isn’t a criticism of the work itself — it served its purpose well. But it highlights a growing desire within me: I want to create something lasting, something that transcends the boundaries of time and utility.

The challenge lies in defining what that could be. Most of the things I’m skilled at are inherently tied to fleeting moments or trends. Online contributions disappear into the vast noise of the internet almost as soon as they’re shared. If I hope to create something of enduring value, it must be untethered from temporal context or adaptable enough to evolve alongside humanity.

But what could that be? What could I build that would resonate with people decades from now? It’s a question I wrestle with daily, and while I don’t yet have an answer, I’m determined to keep searching. Because even if the efforts of the past feel ephemeral, the potential for something lasting remains — and that’s a future worth striving for.