Eight Years of Looking Back
A few thoughts on the tradition of making yearly creative recaps—and why you might want to try it too.
Every year since 2017, I’ve made a video recapping the work I did over the past 12 months.
What started as a way to organize my thoughts has become something else entirely—part documentary, part diary, part creative inventory.
It’s a tradition now. Not because I have to, but because something meaningful happens when I sit down and look at the year behind me.
I just released this year’s video.
These videos take a lot of time and they don’t reach a massive audience. So why do I keep making them?
Part of it is for me—to remember what I’ve made, to find the red thread between projects, to learn from what worked and what didn’t.
But part of it is for anyone else who might recognize themselves in the chaos of it all. Especially fellow creatives, trying to chart their own course through messy, multidirectional careers.
Making a yearly recap forces clarity. It asks: What did you spend your time on? What are you proud of?
We’re always being nudged to look forward. New goals. New projects. A constant pressure to stay ahead and chase the next idea.
But retrospectives pull in the other direction.
They ask you to slow down and look back—to acknowledge the work already done, the energy already spent. That kind of reflection isn’t just healthy, it’s grounding. It reminds you that progress doesn’t always look like acceleration. Sometimes it looks like depth, or consistency, or simply showing up again and again.
The Arc of Eight Years
With 8 of these videos done, I begin to see the outlines of a shape. A kind of arc. Not planned, not always smooth, but undeniably there:
• The early years were about exploration—taking on different kinds of work, starting Northplay, and chasing ideas because they felt fun or important.
• The middle years were full of momentum—shipping books, launching games, growing a studio, speaking at conferences, juggling everything.
• The recent years have been more reflective. I’ve gotten better at saying no. At noticing when things are out of balance. I’ve traded a bit of spontaneity for direction.
I’ve gone from being a person who said yes to everything to someone who tries to build a shape around my time. Not always successfully. But that tension—between freedom and focus—has been at the heart of a lot of this.
Why you should try it too
You don’t need to make a big fancy video. A written post works too. Or a voice memo. Or a sketchbook page.
But once a year, take stock. Revisit what you made, what you loved, what challenged you. It’s hard to see your own story while you’re inside of it—but retrospectives help pull the camera back.
And you might be surprised by what emerges.
What felt scattered might start to connect. What felt small might turn out to be the beginning of something important.
I’ll admit it: I’m probably just sentimental about all of this.
But with every passing year, I feel time speeding up.
These videos are part of how I slow it down—how I hold on to something before it slips away.
Just like the photo books I make every year for my family, or the personal video journals I keep, or the vacation movies I put together—these recaps are another piece of the puzzle. Another way of saying: this happened.
If you’ve watched any of these over the years—thank you. I really mean that.
These videos aren’t milestones on some grand plan. They’re check-ins. Quiet markers along a winding path.
Maybe that’s all a recap is: a small act of generosity toward your past self. A way of saying: I see what you tried to do.
If you feel the same pull to remember, to reflect, to make sense of the past year—follow it. You don’t need an audience. Just a bit of time, and a willingness to look.
Sincerely,
Michael