Every Christmas, I create a photo book for my parents to capture the images and narrative of our year. It's a labor I love, but it takes time, particularly scrolling through and making selections from the thousands of photos I take in a year. The ones chosen are mostly of the kids, of our vacations, and of time spent with the extended family. The majority of the unselected photos are from my job. And this year, as I moved past reams of work-related content, I was a little stunned to see just how much I traveled this year. Sure, I knew the numbers. I almost reached 1K status on United. I put 18,000 miles on my car. I have more Marriott points than ever. But seeing the images made an impression.
In 2024, I went to Nashville and Napa, Denver and Breckenridge, Charleston SC and Charleston WV, Vegas once and Dallas twice, Chicago about 10 times, Barcelona through New York, Boston and the Vineyard, Montreal, Columbus, Cincinatti, Cleveland, Dayton, Louisville, Lexington, and Knoxville. Those were the major cities. But across my region of 7 states and 1,200 restaurants, I also went to dozens of towns barely on the map. In 2024, I was a collector of unique smalltown experiences, becoming an explorer of them and advocate for what they represent.
I showed off the growing community of Elizabethtown, Kentucky to our CEO at the start of our year.
I toured two of my highest volume stores in Lancaster, Ohio and Circleville, Ohio - restaurants where my brand is nearly the community focal point.
I met an up-and-coming people director in Hurricane, West Virginia.
I assured that an acquisition was going well in Winchester, Kentucky.
I toured a food bank supported by my franchisee in Washington Courthouse, Ohio, and met the local press writing a story on his contributions to the community.
I cheered for the football team in Wheelersburg, Ohio.
I opened a new restaurant in Meyersdale, Pennsylvania. And I saw a much-needed rebuilt restaurant in Toronto, Ohio.
I met an award-winning general manager in Hazard, Kentucky.
I ate the best cinnamon roll ever in Bristol, Virginia.
I drove from Greenbrier County, West Virginia through snowy mountains, stopping for French Fries in Flatwoods, West Virginia.
I slept under a giant cross in Richmond, Indiana.
And on Sunday, I prayed in Bedford, Pennsylvania.
After living in Chicago and Pittsburgh and working in other major cities, it's easy to forget about small towns. To dismiss them as quaint and irrelevant. But after spending time in many of them, they are speaking to me. It was the simplicity, the possibility of silence, and the chance to slow down that did just that in Bedford over the weekend.
Bedford is lovely. It's filled with history, and geographically, it's nestled in the mountains east of Pittsburgh. As you travel the Pennsylvania turnpike, there are several billboards luring you to stop by, to see a pinnacle of smalltown America. And with a series of covered bridges, a fort, an old-time tavern, and a luxury resort, the marketing delivers. Bedford has figured out how to churn the economy despite its petite stature.
On Sunday morning, I sat amongst the congregation of St. Thomas the Apostle Catholic Church in the center of town. Built in 1868, the Church boasts ornate woodwork imported from Europe: altar carvings, angels flying from the buttresses, Chapels to Mary and Joseph, even the pews seem handed down from antiquity. The people there were prayerful and carried a natural peace. A stark and embarrassing contrast to my twins chatting and pretending they were cats throughout the service.
As if on cue, knowing how hard I was listening and trying to discern what I wanted out of 2025, Bedford through the words of Father Rich spoke to me. It was the Feast of the Holy Family and in his sermon, the priest talked about ways to follow better: prayer, family life, and hard work.
The homily was long, and I was caught between listening intently and telling Caroline over and over again that she couldn't talk in church as she fought with her twin over rights to my lap. I captured the themes though.
First, he defined prayer as practicing holy silence. To put the word holy on top of silence wowed me. It made the art of sitting still with your thoughts not just time well spent, but revered. And I thought to myself, I need to do more of it. Add it to the resolutions.
Second, he talked about dedication to family life. My mind went straight to how much I was away in 2024. Questioning if I had the balance of the holy family in check. Father pulled me in a slightly different direction though, asking if the family life I practiced nurtured the church at home. I thought about my CCD post, being more intentional with prayers at mealtime and bedtime, and in general bringing our shared faith into ordinary conversation. I nodded, okay, maybe I'm not so far off ... but then he specifically called out saying the rosary as a family. Noted, also a resolution.
And finally, after settling the debate of which twin would get to rest on which leg, my ears perked up when Father mentioned the dignity of work. For as much as I've been grappling with the balance of family life, I've been questioning the role of work more. Dignity was the word that rang in my ears though - it seemed brilliant. Work ... in and of itself as dignified. Now he cautioned, don't be a workaholic, and don't do sinful work, he joked like prostitutes or some politicians. (While I chuckled about a quarter of the right leaning congregation smiled at that one.) But work with intention and with care - that's our calling.
Toward the end of a very challenging 2024, where as an executive of the company, I fought economic headwinds, politicization of my brand, a food safety incident, system alignment, crisis after crisis at the restaurant level, and too many tough conversations to count, I've been reflecting a lot, challenging my definition of the work I do and the dignity in it. I can't discount how much I've learned and grown in this chapter of my career. I also continue to impress that people are the brand's key currency, and the impact I've made on those that work directly for me and those that I touch as I travel to small town after small town, celebrating the people on the front lines, is very real. However, I'm sensing 2025 will be a year of what comes next. And that what comes next for me and my family needs to be a little more holy.
The Bedford homily gave me added dimension to the discernment I'm seeking. And with it, some gentle resolutions to start the year ... clay that I will mold in the coming days before sharing with my team.
1. First, I'm doing dry January. If I put it in writing, it might actually happen.
2. I will put talent first - if Father Rick described work as co-creating God's kingdom - taking care of my people, guiding them in their careers, showing my care will be my number one priority.
3. I will step back this year and let the team lead - I will champion them so they can be the leaders of tomorrow.
4. I will find time to pause and reflect every week and encourage my team to do the same, building reflection time it into team meetings.
5. I will aim for a career path and eventual title that keeps balance and holiness in check.
6. Finally, I will fully appreciate and celebrate the dignity of everyone's work at the company. From the big jobs in the big city to the smaller ones in our smallest towns.
I have a couple days left of my time off - time well spent with my family. On the 5th, my travels will begin again. And no surprise, the first trip of the year will take me to the smalltown of Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Let's go.
Lo.
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