The 25th Hour
Mastering itinerary layering, a lesson in strategic stacking
Friends ask how I get so much done; projects, workouts, road trips, family, music. I grin and say I found the 25th hour. Some think it’s mystical. Some assume I’ve hacked time.
The truth is simpler. The 25th hour isn’t deep inside me. It is me. It's not magic. It’s built from frictionless movement and stacked intent. It’s never doing one thing in isolation. If I’m driving across town, I’m not going for just one errand—I’m logging trailhead markers, grabbing hardware I’ll need two weeks from now, syncing up on a call while my coffee’s being made. Every motion serves a compound purpose.
I don’t romanticize time. I optimize it. Every minute is RAM. I don’t waste it running bloated apps I didn’t ask for. I keep the essentials loaded: strategy, movement, momentum, and creativity. That’s the 25th hour. It feels supernatural to people stuck in linear time, but for me, it’s muscle memory. It’s Viking endurance. Dragon fire. Motion for its own sake doesn’t interest me. I move with purpose, relentlessly.
But not every day hits.
Yesterday, Alex and I both felt it. The drag. The dullness. That strange floating sense where nothing satisfies and everything feels muffled. Music didn’t land. Ideas stalled. We were surrounded by the world but not in it. I said I felt like I was drifting in space. He said the same.
And that’s where the idea for "25th Hour" resurfaced, not as a time hack or a motivational slogan, but as a moment of truth. Because the spark doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it just whispers. And that has to be enough.
Even with all of that systems, discipline, structure, yesterday hit differently. And that’s important. Because the 25th hour isn’t just a statement of strength. It’s a reminder of vulnerability. The days we don’t feel like ourselves. The moments when focus disappears and even the terrain under our feet feels unfamiliar.
The song I wrote was about that quiet shift. From disengagement to ignition. From floating to forward. It’s a reminder that the spark isn’t always loud, and it doesn’t have to be. Sometimes it’s just a single moment of clarity. A breath. A step.
But here’s the how, because resilience isn’t a mood, it’s a method.
When the 25th hour doesn’t show up, I don’t wait around hoping it will. I take the following steps:
1. Stack tasks, not stress.
I build days like I build systems. One output feeds the next. If I’m hitting the trail, I’m also capturing content, beta-testing gear, or resetting mentally for the next week. No action stands alone unless it’s rest—and even rest has a reason.
2. Don’t travel for one thing.
Every drive, meeting, or errand has a secondary or tertiary layer. I don’t go to a hardware store for a bolt. I go for the bolt, to scan new tools, and to call someone I’ve been meaning to reconnect with on the drive. Efficient time isn’t rushed—it’s layered.
3. Cut decisions in advance.
I don’t waste time comparing breakfast options or organizing my workspace for the 9th time. I automate where I can. I eliminate where I must. Energy spent on low-leverage decisions is time I’ll never get back.
4. Know when the system is offline.
Yesterday, everything felt off. And instead of forcing output, I honored that. Alex and I didn’t fake the spark. We went out and moved. We talked. We laughed at how weirdly flat the day felt. And then, somewhere out there, something clicked again.
5. Re-engage with motion, not motivation.
I don't believe in waiting for the mood to strike. I start. Small if needed. A short ride. A sketch of a lyric. A list. The act of moving usually creates the motivation, not the other way around.
That’s the core of the 25th hour. It’s not about adding time. It’s about removing the drag. It’s about alignment. It’s about building your hours so tightly that when the spark does return, you don’t have to find your rhythm—you’re already in motion.
And that’s what this song really became. A reflection of the person I am when everything goes silent. A reminder to keep pushing through the static. To refuse the mundane. To cheer when my kids fall so they learn to get back up stronger. To build hours that bend toward momentum. To live a life designed for resilience.
The 25th hour isn’t found. It’s built. And it’s waiting—if you’re willing to move.
🎵 25th Hour Verse 1 Floating in space, disconnected and cold Watching the world, but losing my hold All this talk about comfort, and finding my place I’m built to push limits, not settle in space Pre-Chorus Reaching down deep, where the strength comes alive Feeding the force that keeps me in stride Chorus There’s a 25th hour, buried deep inside An endless strength, too strong to hide The force that drives me, steady and clear In this boundless pursuit, I’ve nothing to fear Verse 2 Yesterday, lost, surrounded by space Drifting in silence, feeling displaced But today I begin, the spark breaking through Out of the shadows, ready and true Pre-Chorus Taking control, pulling strength from within Rising through struggle, ready to begin Chorus There’s a 25th hour, buried deep inside An endless strength, too strong to hide The force that drives me, steady and clear In this boundless pursuit, I’ve nothing to fear Bridge Drifting no more, I’m back in line Through the silence, I’ve found my sign Rising up strong, breaking the mold Defying the limits, the story unfolds Final Chorus A 25th hour, deep in my chest Driving the force that won’t let me rest No slowing down, I’m ready to soar In this wild pursuit, I’m reaching for more Outro There’s a 25th hour, buried deep inside An endless strength, too strong to hide The force that drives me, steady and clear In this boundless pursuit, I’ve nothing to fear In this boundless pursuit, I’ve nothing to fear I’ve nothing to fear