There’s a word I come back to every year right around now.

Not “resolution.” Not “reinvention.” Not even “goal setting.”

Winnowing.

I learned it from my executive coach, David Oldfield, and once it found its way into my brain, it stuck there like a hymn from childhood.

Winnowing is an old farming practice: separating the wheat from the chaff. Keeping what will feed you. Letting the rest blow away.

It’s practical. It’s physical. It’s unsentimental.

And it feels especially right for those of us with Midwestern roots—those of us raised in places where people respected the land, told the truth plainly, and knew the difference between what looks good and what actually sustains you.

Because if there’s one thing modern life does well, it’s this:

It produces an endless supply of chaff.

In the agrarian version, chaff was the husk. The dry covering. The lightweight stuff that looks like part of the harvest… but isn’t.

Today, chaff has better branding.

It shows up as:

Chaff is what steals your energy while pretending to be necessary.

And here’s the part most people don’t want to admit:

Chaff is addictive.

It gives you motion without meaning. It gives you urgency without progress. It gives you the illusion of control—especially when the world feels chaotic.

Which is why winnowing isn’t just a pretty metaphor.

It’s a discipline.

This year my winnowing started with a simple question:

What is draining my batteries and stealing my energy… and why am I still tolerating it?

Because I know myself. When my energy gets siphoned away, I don’t become a better leader or a better human.

I become a smaller version of myself.

Less patient. Less creative. Less courageous. More reactive. More “fine” on the outside and fried on the inside.

And that is not the road I want to travel.

So my personal winnowing isn’t just about my calendar.

It’s about my life force.

It’s about removing the things that keep me from my authentic path—even if those things look productive, respectable, or “successful” from the outside.

Some of my chaff was obvious: the activities that leave me depleted, the interactions that feel like emotional quicksand, the commitments that used to fit but don’t anymore.

Some of it was sneakier.

It was what I did in the margins of my day.

Which brings me to my funniest-and-most-true chaff confession:

doom scrolling.

If doom scrolling were a food, it would be cotton candy wrapped around a fire alarm.

It’s all flavor and adrenaline—no nourishment.

And I say this as someone who pays attention. Someone who cares deeply about what’s happening in the world. Someone who believes informed citizenship matters.

But let’s tell the truth: doom scrolling doesn’t actually inform most of the time.

It floods.

It hijacks your nervous system and convinces you that you’re “staying on top of things,” when what you’re really doing is feeding anxiety in bite-sized chunks all day long.

And then you look up and realize:

So this is one of my winnowing moves for the new year:

I’m replacing doom scrolling with reading books.

Yes, it’s wildly old-fashioned. That’s the point.

Books don’t yell. Books don’t chase you. Books don’t try to monetize your outrage.

Books require presence. They reward depth.

And frankly, depth is feeling like a rebellious act right now.

Here’s the part that matters: winnowing is not just removing.

It’s protecting.

Because wheat is quieter than chaff. Wheat doesn’t beg for attention.

Wheat is the work that gives you energy back.
Wheat is the relationship that steadies you.
Wheat is the practice that makes you feel like yourself again.

Wheat is your authentic path—the one that gets buried when your life is full of noise, obligations, and cheap dopamine.

And this is where I’ll be direct:

If you don’t winnow your life, your life will be winnowed for you.

By exhaustion. By resentment. By distraction. By other people’s priorities.

Winnowing is how you stay in the driver’s seat.

If you want to do this right now, open a note and write three lists.

What fed me this year?
What gave me energy, momentum, meaning, or joy?

What drained me?
What distracted me?
What kept me busy instead of brave?

What mattered—but wasn’t strong enough yet?
(A practice you want. A relationship you miss. A skill you need. A dream you keep postponing.)

Then answer one question:

If I removed the chaff, what would become obvious?

And choose one small action for January:

Reduce one chaff item by 30%.
Not forever. Not dramatically. Just enough to feel the difference.

Because big change doesn’t usually start with a grand gesture.

It starts with one honest subtraction.

I want to go deeper in Conversation and Community with all of you this year.

Please take a moment to complete this Subscriber Survey, so I get to know each of you better and can connect with you on your favorite social platforms.

To complete the survey, please use your subscription email in the first question.

If you are already logged in, it should populate automatically.

We appreciate your presence and voice in our Community, and I look forward to sharing many exciting new projects and opportunities with you in 2026 and beyond.

In addition, please share this newsletter with your friends and colleagues.

I would love to see more interesting and diverse viewpoints shared this year as we grow and learn together

As we step into the new year, I hope you don’t just chase “more.”

More output. More hustle. More approval. More noise.

I hope you winnow.

I hope you protect the wheat in your life.

And I hope you have the courage—real courage—to let the chaff blow away, even if it means disappointing someone, changing a pattern, or finally admitting that “fine” isn’t the life you want.

Here’s the question I’ll leave you with:

What are you keeping—and what are you releasing?