"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards." – Søren Kierkegaard

As my wife and I sit on the beach near the iconic Haystack Rock, celebrating our 18th wedding anniversary, I cannot help but think about how much the coast means to us. It is our happy place, a refuge that rejuvenates both the mind and soul. There is an irony to how the unrelenting waves, the massive rocks, the sheer power of the ocean itself—forces that should inspire chaos—somehow bring us peace.

But that peace isn’t something simply given; it’s something earned. It is not found in still waters or quiet shores, but in learning how to embrace the rhythm of the tides. Just as the ocean wears down even the hardest stone over time, the moments that test us, that push us to the edge, are often the same ones that shape us into something stronger.

Our journey to this moment has not been smooth. When you blend families, when you take four boys between six and fifteen and try to build something steady, something enduring, there will be obstacles. There will be waves that come out of nowhere, knocking you off balance. There will be moments where the current seems too strong, where it feels easier to let go than to keep swimming. Raising a family, making it all work, requires persistence. It requires trust—both in each other and in the belief that, no matter how rough the waters get, there is something steady waiting beyond them.

I think that is how I also feel about Oregon’s quest for a national title. It is not a straight path, not a smooth journey where everything falls neatly into place. There are seasons of promise followed by seasons of heartbreak. Moments when it feels within reach, only for an unexpected wave—a missed tackle, a coaching change, an injury—to pull the dream back out to sea. It can be frustrating, watching a team get so close, only to see it slip away.

And yet, much like standing on the shore, watching the waves roll in, there is something deeply beautiful in the process. There is something to be said for resilience. Some teams, some programs, never even get the chance to be in the conversation. But Oregon? Oregon keeps coming. They build, they adapt, they fight through the setbacks, and they press forward, knowing that their moment will come.

Championships are not won in a single moment. They are forged through years of persistence, of learning from past failures, of taking every setback as fuel for the next run. Programs that reach the mountaintop don’t do it because they were given an easy path—they do it because they refused to be washed away by the tides of adversity.

The same can be said for life. There is no clear, predictable road to where we want to be. There are no guarantees. But if there is one thing the ocean has taught me, it’s that peace is not found in calm waters—it is found in learning how to navigate the storms. It is found in understanding that the struggle, the uncertainty, the setbacks, are all part of the process.

For Oregon, the national championship remains the distant horizon. Sometimes it looks close, within reach. Other times, it disappears behind the fog, leaving only questions. But much like life itself, the journey forward is the only way through. And when they finally reach that moment—when the program crests the final wave and stands at the mountaintop—it will be all the more meaningful because of the path it took to get there.

Because, in the end, the reward is not just the title itself—it’s the journey that made it possible.