I often think about the intersection of one's personal and professional lives – a reverberation of experiences that reinforce each other as we grow and learn – and how certain concepts persist across both. In my line of work, I spend a lot of time assembling and reviewing equations that predict certain outcomes, and lately I've been thinking a lot about the equations of life.

Equations typically consist of two parts: First are variables, quantitative values that constantly change depending on the situation; Second are constants, similar to variables in their quantitative nature, but with values that never change. These constants are often the most critical piece of the equation, and the subsequent outcome is meaningless without them. Numbers such as The Golden Ratio, the speed of light, Euler's Number, and PI have fundamentally enhanced the progress of our species and provided the means for you to read this very sentence within milliseconds of me posting it. Even though you can't see them, their influence is ubiquitous; their age eternal. Certainly mind-bending when you think about it, but the notion of using and interpreting constants doesn't have to be limited to mathematicians.

We each have constants in our life, those immutable resilient anchors that persist and serve as a great source of influence and stability in every choice we make and every problem we face. For the last 15 years, my constant was Dyson, a yellow Labrador Retriever with a heart of gold and abundant supply of energy.

Dyson was my persistent companion when I was broke and saddled with six figures of student loan debt; when my ex and I divorced after moving to Nashville to find better job opportunities for me and better graduate school opportunities for her; when I met the love of my life Anne and her sassy pug Izzie several years later and soon added them to the family; when my career hit a steady stride and my finances finally stabilized; and when my daughter was born three months early and spent 97 days fighting for her life in the NICU. He was the antidote to my stress, and the time I spent with him transformed into a daily routine of clarity and motivation, often leading to decisions on how to approach a particular problem in life or work as we embarked on one of our customary jogs around the city.

As the years progressed, my runs with Dyson became shorter, eventually turning into long walks, but the source of motivation never faded. He was my form of meditation – a silent instructor pulling me forward (literally) all hours of the day, in any weather, every day of the year. As the walks slowed to once or twice a day and rarely more than half-a-mile in length, I could tell the end was approaching with my best friend. His hips were weakening, his joints aching, and his energy fading after each stroll, but he never relented on the desire to get outside. Laying in the front yard wasn't enough – he always wanted to be on the move.

On June 11th, 2021 at 1:23 PM, Dyson gave his final breath. He was home with me and my wife by his side, wrapped in our arms on his bed at the bottom of our stairs, his favorite place to rest. He wasn't in pain, but he could barely move, and the vet we asked to euthanize him confirmed we had made the right decision. In Dyson's final moments, I didn't feel unbearable sadness, but rather thankfulness on how lucky I was to have spent so much time with him over his final months while being locked down in a pandemic. His life had come to an end, but it was a great life lived and one full of memories.

When I reflect on my 15-year journey from a naive young adult to a responsible father with a loving family and amazing career, I feel a sense of overwhelming gratitude for Dyson, the constant that remained by my side the entire time as everything else around me went through profound change. Always loyal and ever loving, he pulled me through some of the most difficult moments in my life, and was there to equally celebrate my victories while enjoying the love from a family that showed him endless affection. I miss my best friend, and I'll never forget his influence on me.