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2025 Reflection

The first word that comes up when I think about this year is focus. Not the motivational kind where everything clicks into place, but the kind where you finally stop pretending you can water every seed at once.

But before I get into any of that, I’m just glad we all survived. 2025 was relentless. Fires, floods, earthquakes. Gaza genocide. ICE raids terrorizing immigrant communities, families torn apart, people held in conditions I can’t even reconcile as happening here. Political violence claiming lives. Scientists who carry the keys to a better future murdered. Disclosure hearings revealing how little we actually know about UAP's and life. Every week brought something that made you question how we keep going. As an immigrant, I spent the year worried, praying for families in my community, documenting moments with my people because the fear of losing time with them got louder. This year proved that fear isn’t irrational.

The chaos made everything feel more urgent. Not in a productive way, but in a way that forced me to figure out what actually matters versus what just feels loud.

I spent years thinking I could do it all. That’s what being creative feels like when you don’t feel limitations. Everything has potential, every idea could be the one, every project deserves your attention. This year forced me to cut things out. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to figure out what actually mattered versus what just felt urgent or exciting in the moment.

​L.I.V. took most of that attention. We spent the year solidifying the foundation so we could raise funds and grow in 2026. By the end of the year, it felt worth it. We proved to ourselves that we’re ready for the next phase. What feels best is being able to bring my friends on as full time employees after years of them helping develop this thing on faith and patience. They believed in the vision when it was still blurry. That means more than any metric.

But getting here meant my role had to shift. I became Vice President this year, which sounds like a title change but it was really about accepting that I couldn’t carry everything anymore. Last year (2024) I was disconnected from L.I.V., weighed down by it all, and my team stepped up to find direction while I struggled. This year was about learning to let go. To pass on responsibilities. To ask for help. To work on my communication and not take business personally when it’s just business.

That’s harder than it sounds when you wear so many hats. Founder, worker, teacher, caretaker. L.I.V. lets me play all those roles, and I’ve always felt like all of them at once. But this year I realized there was a team there willing to support me, not the other way around. That I could focus on what I’m best at and let others lead while I support. It took years to get here, but it finally feels like the right balance.

The hardest part was accepting I can’t always be at the bleeding edge of everything. I felt consumed by trying to keep up with the pace of the world. Always being in the know, keeping up with everything. It’s exhausting. And honestly, I could probably stop for a year and still be ahead by how bleeding edge I was always trying to be. That realization didn’t feel like a lesson. It felt like a reality I had to accept.

I’m also less interested in proving my worth than I’ve ever been. Those who see it will. Those who take the time to get to know me and dig deep will see what I bring. That’s all that matters. I just need to make sure I’m documenting and sharing more of the things that make me worthy, not looking for acceptance or validation from anyone. I never really have, but this year solidified why.

Social media taught me the same thing. I thought I needed to step up my presence, keep up with the pace of posting and engagement. But this year made it clear that it’s the real world actions, the relationships, and the documenting of those actions that actually matters. Not the algorithm. Not the likes. The moments and the exchange of energy.

My relationships feel more intentional because of that. Frequency is the key. How often we’re touching base, how often we’re hanging out, how often we’re creating together. Those moments matter more than surface level details. Community has always felt necessary to me, but this year we tightened that circle. I made myself less available to outsiders. Only to those who matter. I’ve developed a better balance between how much I give my community and how much I give myself.

Our Día de los Muertos practice means even more now. It’s a gentle reminder of those who we’ve lost and a healthy way of remembering and honoring them. Remembering the dead isn’t morbid. It’s necessary. It’s how we keep going when the world feels like it’s coming apart.

I’m more protective now of who I let into my life and my time. I’m more honest about my capacity. I can’t try to do everything and everything. I’m only human. It’s okay if I don’t get to certain project ideas I have. I have a good heart, I believe in my vision, and not everything needs to be super elaborate or impressive for it to be effective.

That fear of missing out never went away, though. I document through video constantly, capturing little moments with my friends and family. After a year like this, that fear feels more justified than ever. I want to keep making an effort to create special moments with the people I love. Because we don’t know how much time we have. We never did, but 2025 made that impossible to ignore.

This year my partner Christina (my fiancee) helped me reflect through everything. My mom kept me grounded. My L.I.V. team showed up and really supported me while I was down. That’s what genuine support looks like in practice. Not empty words, but people showing up when it matters.

Slowing down hasn’t cost me anything. I always purposefully slow down, especially at the end of each year to reflect. Slowing down is necessary. It’s not a sacrifice. At my own pace, no need to keep up with the fast pace the world forces on us.

As I enter next year, I’m focusing on making sure L.I.V. has a successful year and making moves on my wedding with Christina. We’ve looked at venues, started planning, but we really want to solidify all the details. That feels right. Not chasing some abstract goal, but orienting toward the things that actually matter.

I want Culture Mutt to be a reflection of my work and thoughts moving forward. I need to document my projects more, update more on what I’m building, and continue to share resources and perspectives that are valuable to my community. Not for reach or engagement, but because it’s the work that matters.

This year was about figuring out what seeds to water and having the courage to let the rest go. It was about accepting that I’m building the right things, even when the pace feels slow. It was about finding focus after years of searching for it. Not the neat kind of focus that fits on a vision board, but the messy kind where you’re still figuring it out as you go.

It was also about surviving. About showing up for the people who matter when the world felt like it was falling apart. About documenting the good moments because they’re what we have to hold onto. About being grateful that my people are still here, still breathing, still building, still believing in something worth creating.

The year tested us. But we kept going because that’s what you do. You tighten your circle, you protect your time, you document the moments that matter, you build the things you believe in, you show up for your community especially when it’s hard.

I'm sure I forgot a bunch but this is where I am. Still building, still creating, still learning, still documenting. Just more intentional about all of it. And deeply grateful that we all made it through. That we’re still here to try again.

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With love,

Pete Rango

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