Every December, I find myself staring at a map. Sometimes it’s the literal kind. Tracing a route home for the holidays, checking traffic, wondering if that scenic detour will really be worth it. But this year, it’s also a metaphorical one. The kind that makes you think about where you’ve been, where you’re headed, and how many unexpected turns it took to get here.
I’ve always loved looking at maps. That love may have come from my grandpa, an accountant who probably should have been a historian. He always emphasized the importance of geography and knowing where you were.
Growing up in Ohio in a family of six, we’d drive down to Florida for summer vacations. Every year, my grandma would pick up a new AAA TripTik from the counter days before our trip. As the navigator for the long drive, she’d mark up the folded pages with yellow highlighter to map out the bathrooms along the route.
I also remember lying flat on my stomach as a child, playing with a Little Tikes toy. It was a map of the United States. Each state had a hole punched out where the capital would be. When you turned the dial, the holes switched between showing a star for the capital, the state flower, and the state bird. I learned so much from that toy, but one thing puzzled me: why was Washington State’s capital (being Washington, D.C., obviously) so far apart? That was a mystery I’d solve later.
Now, as a business owner, I use maps in the metaphorical sense. Every September, I map out my North Start Strategy to set a course for the year ahead. I also work with clients to chart their course.
Maps a perfect symbol of pragmatic optimism. That steady middle ground between seeing the landscape for what it is and believing that forward motion is still possible. I’m honored that the work at Aducate Digital helps overwhelmed business owners face what’s real. And I’m even more honored when they still choose to keep going.
The Map as Pragmatic Optimism
A map is the most underrated example of pragmatic optimism I can think of. A map doesn’t lie to you. It doesn’t pretend the mountain isn’t there, or that the shortcut through downtown won’t be a headache at 5 p.m. It acknowledges the reality of the terrain. Every twist, elevation change, and obstacle along the way.
And yet… it’s also quietly optimistic. It assumes that wherever you are, you can get somewhere from here. While it doesn’t give you a guarantee, it does give you a direction to head. It reminds you that while the terrain may be fixed, movement is still possible.
The balance between seeing things clearly and believing progress is pragmatic optimism in action. It’s not blind positivity; it’s hope that’s anchored to structure. The map doesn’t promise an easy trip. It simply offers orientation and choice. A starting point and a way forward.
That’s the same kind of clarity I’ve seen my clients create this year.
2025: The Year of Reading Their Own Maps
If I had to sum up what I witnessed in 2025, it’s this: people learning to read their own maps.
This year, I worked with founders, creatives, and teams who were standing at crossroads. Some looking for their next growth step. Others deciding whether they even wanted to keep walking the same road. And across all those stories, a pattern emerged.
When people slow down long enough to look at the landscape, they start to see possibility again.
Together, we mapped out:
- The Terrain. What was actually happening in their business, not just what they hope is happening?
- The Landmarks. What values, strengths, and patterns keep them oriented when everything else shifts?
- The Routes. What different ways exist to move forward that don’t require burning out or abandoning what matters most?
I’ve realized that my role isn’t to hand anyone a perfect route. It’s to sit beside them with the map, point out what’s already there, and remind them they have choices.
Lessons from the Road
Here’s what this year’s travelers taught me:
- Clarity isn’t about certainty.
Most of the people I work with don’t need all the answers. They just need a better view of the terrain. Once they can see where they are, the next step almost always becomes obvious. - Detours build wisdom.
Every “wrong turn” gives context for what really matters. I’ve seen clients completely rewrite their business models after realizing the scenic route was actually the main road all along. - Hope is a skill.
Optimism isn’t something you either have or don’t. It’s something you practice by gathering information, learning how to interpret it, and making decisions that align with what you value. That’s how structure turns into confidence.
Looking Ahead
As we all scatter for the holidays, many of us will glance at a map and try to make sense of the route ahead.
So maybe take a moment before you hit “Start” of your GPS app. Notice how the map doesn’t tell you which road to take. It simply shows you where you are and what’s possible from here.
That’s the same gift I see my clients give themselves each time they pause long enough to reflect. That’s grounded hope. The kind that doesn’t deny the detours but trusts there’s still a way through them.
And maybe that’s what we all need going into a new year. Not a brand-new destination, just a refreshed sense of direction.
Here’s to 2026:
To updated maps, better legends, and the steady kind of optimism that helps you keep moving, one intentional mile at a time.