This Year, I Refuse to Start Over Again | Books By Tony Mudd

I’Everyone keeps saying the same thing today, Happy new year, I need a Fresh start or I need get a Clean slate. But this year I am not starting over. I’m continuing my journey from 2016.



Because starting over assumes that what came before didn’t count. It assumes the effort was wasted, the lessons were lost, the pain was pointless. And I refuse to believe that. I’ve lived too much life, taken too many hits, and learned too many hard lessons to pretend the last chapter didn’t shape me. This year doesn’t begin with excitement for me. It begins with honesty. The truth is, I’m tired. Not the kind of tired sleep fixes. The kind of tired that comes from carrying responsibility, vision, disappointment, and hope all at the same time.

Last year stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. Business ideas that never caught traction. Products still in development. Rejection emails that showed up daily like clockwork. Doors I believed would open that stayed shut. Conversations that shook my confidence. A job where I was told my work ethic was too much. A home buying process that suddenly felt fragile. Financial pressure that never fully let up.

At times, it felt like I had no power over anything. And that’s hard to admit especially as a man, a husband, a builder, and someone who has always believed in showing strength through perseverance. But pretending I wasn’t affected would be a lie. There were moments when I questioned everything my timing, my decisions, my worth, even my calling.

Still, I showed up. And that’s why I’m not starting over. Continuing means I acknowledge the nights I stayed up wondering if I was failing quietly while everyone else moved forward. It means I honor the mornings I got up anyway and went to work, even when my spirit felt heavy. It means I recognize that discipline didn’t leave me just because momentum did. Continuing means I accept that growth doesn’t always look like progress. Sometimes it looks like patience. Sometimes it looks like restraint. Sometimes it looks like surviving a season you never asked for.

I didn’t lose last year. I trained. I trained in humility. I trained in restraint. I trained in endurance. I trained in faith without evidence. Those are not small things. I have say it many times that we live in a culture obsessed with visible wins. Announcements. Launches. Milestones. But no one talks about the quiet years the years where nothing seems to move, yet everything inside you is being rearranged.

That’s where I’ve been. And if I’m honest, I don’t enter this year with grand resolutions. I don’t have a flashy word or a perfectly mapped plan. What I have is something deeper, resolve. Resolve to keep going even when clarity lags behind effort. Resolve to keep building even when no one is clapping. Resolve to protect my values when environments ask me to shrink. Resolve to trust that unseen work still counts.

This year, I’m no longer chasing motivation. Motivation is unreliable. It fades. It lies. It disappears when things get hard. I’m choosing commitment instead. Commitment doesn’t ask how I feel. It asks who I am. And I know who I am. I’m someone who doesn’t quit just because things take longer than expected. I’m someone who believes that purpose often reveals itself after persistence, not before. I’m someone who has learned that rejection doesn’t always mean no sometimes it means not yet or not this way.

Continuing means I stop measuring my life by outcomes alone. It means I give myself credit for consistency. For integrity. For still believing in something bigger than immediate comfort. It also means letting go of a few things. I’m letting go of the need to explain my pace to people who don’t understand my path. I’m letting go of the belief that every season must produce visible results. I’m letting go of the pressure to look successful instead of becoming successful. That pressure is exhausting.

There’s something powerful about entering a new year without pretending everything is fixed. There’s clarity in saying, I’m still in the middle. Because the middle is where character is formed. The middle is where shortcuts are tempting. The middle is where people quietly quit not because they can’t continue, but because they’re tired of waiting. I’ve been tempted too. But I didn’t quit. And that matters more to me now than any external validation ever could. This year, I’m not asking for ease. I’m asking for alignment. Alignment between my values and my actions. Alignment between my work and my purpose. Alignment between who I am at home, at work, and in my dreams.

I don’t need a new me. I need a more honest one. One who understands that slow progress is still progress. One who accepts that some breakthroughs arrive disguised as delays. One who knows that power isn’t always control sometimes it’s endurance.

If you’re reading this and you feel behind, I want you to hear this clearly: being in motion matters more than being celebrated. And continuing, especially when it’s hard is a discipline.

Starting over is easy to romanticize. Continuing is harder. Continuing requires memory. It requires humility. It requires believing that yesterday’s effort still has value even if today doesn’t show results. This year, I choose to continue. To continue showing up. To continue believing. To continue building with patience instead of panic. To continue trusting that what’s being shaped in me will eventually shape what’s built around me.

I don’t know exactly how this year will unfold. I don’t know which doors will open or which ones will close again. But I do know this, I’m still here. I’m still trying. I’m still becoming. And that’s enough to keep going. So no I’m not starting over. I’m continuing. And for the first time in a long time, that feels like ME.

Thank you for reading, and remember you have the power to be your own hero. For more information be sure to check out the podcast, From Zero To Hero. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qhG4zy7Rrf8

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