If you want a rich life, watch this before 2026

That blew me away and honestly made me cry; Jesse Ather’s got the wildest life resume, but what I admire most is how he lives, so I came to his place to learn the system he uses to plan an unforgettable year.

Most folks plan life around work, but I plan work around life; if we don’t take the wheel, our calendars drive us, so here in December I want to make sure next year is on offense, not defense.

My year had real highs—our Hoop Group event, a misogi I actually finished, coaching a high school team, and a new work project—but too many months blurred by, so I want to be the CEO and architect of my life with a real blueprint.

I built a system over two decades of trial and error, and step one is simple: get light by clearing clutter—apps, subscriptions, closet, desk, car, inbox—so you start the year with no baggage and real momentum.

I tried that here: cleaned the car’s cup holder, reset my desk and home gym, canceled a bunch of subscriptions, and stared down 815 unread texts; even small wins made me feel lighter and ready to move.

Momentum counts, so subtract what’s heavy—even stale commitments—and use an easy closet rule: if it’s a coin flip, someone else needs it more; the point is to feel lighter, which sets the tone for everything.

Step two is closing the books like a business: do a life audit by tossing every category into a mental blender and giving your overall happiness a score, then pinpoint the weak pillars that need attention.

I’m an eight; fitness didn’t move at the level I wanted, and on work I had a strong year but felt unsure where to pour my creativity as I started a book and second-guessed the direction.

A B-minus is fine, but let’s push for better by picking two or three themes to lean into, reviewing the year’s highlight reel from your calendar and photos, and sending handwritten thank-you notes to people who made a difference.

I’m writing one to Haley, my nutrition coach, to thank her for believing in me and showing up even when I went dark.

With the wrap-up done, we plan so next year doesn’t slip away: schedule your life first, then let work fit around it, and skip vague resolutions.

My backbone is three parts: one big misogi that defines the year, every-other-month mini adventures I call Kevin’s rule, and then the big rocks like family moments; those hit the calendar before meetings and calls.

When I choose to make time, I run into my own imagination—what do I even put on there and how do I get better at that?

Treat life planning with the same rigor as work, borrow ideas from friends and the world, stay grateful for what’s already good, add one winning habit each quarter, and look at balance across the year; I preview my week on Sunday and script tomorrow at night so I don’t wake up winging it.

What’s the classic trap when people try this?

Too many goals—more isn’t better, better is better; my 2026 misogi is an Everesting triathlon with a long swim, a brutal bike to Everest elevation gain, and a 29 or 29 climb staged back to back, because hard anchors create gravity for the whole year.

People say, easy for you to do all this, you’ve got resources—how do you answer that?

I started when I had nothing, sleeping on couches and stacking experiences like the Polar Plunge and a marathon, and what I learned is you need a system or other people will fill your calendar; I also keep an eight-boxes sheet across the big life buckets as a living list for my life resume.

So we collect ideas for a great life, pull one or two each year, and watch the momentum build.

Exactly—write ideas down, like my wife wanting to learn the Thriller dance, then check them off and keep adding new ones.

Name your goals and your reticular activating system kicks in, and suddenly you start spotting possibilities everywhere.

That mindset spreads, especially with a like-minded crew, and you can turn your own circle into an adventure group with one invite and some follow-through.

My creative bucket list includes a catchy song, a board game, maybe even a movie.

Creative work comes in waves, and I’m fine letting a song marinate until it’s truly ready.

How do you stay ambitious without living in rushed, anxious energy?

For one-way-door projects like a book, I finish, then push to make it ten percent better so I know it’s my best; if it sells little or a lot, I can live with it because I didn’t ship a half-baked version.

Jesse, this was awesome—thanks for doing it.

Thank you, man; I loved this.