I’m writing this at 7:42 PM on a Monday in Bangalore, still figuring out why some days I nail my routine and other days I can barely get out of bed. This isn’t a success story. This is me, mid-experiment, sharing what I’m learning about consistency while still very much in the thick of figuring it out.
Last week I managed to run three times, wrote two decent pieces, and made actual progress on my design hiring platform. This week I’ve run once, written nothing coherent until now, and spent more time reorganizing my business strategy than executing it. The roller coaster never stops, and I’m finally done pretending I’ve got this figured out.
The breakthrough came during a particularly brutal conversation with myself last month. I was spiraling after another inconsistent week when something clicked—I am incredibly consistent. Just at completely useless things. Every single morning, I check my phone within thirty seconds of waking up. I overthink my approach for hours instead of just doing the work. I craft elaborate workout schedules that collect digital dust after three days.
That realization stung because it meant the problem wasn’t capability. The wiring was already there, just pointed in the wrong direction.
The Future Me Who Lives in My Head
Something shifted when I stopped setting goals and started inhabiting an identity instead. Rather than fixating on losing weight or hitting revenue targets, I’ve been spending time with the version of myself who’s already living that reality. Not just the outcomes, but the daily experience of being her.
This future me doesn’t spend an hour second-guessing every business decision. She has systems that turn choices into automaticity rather than energy drains. When she laces up her running shoes, there’s no internal negotiation about weather or motivation levels—movement is simply what Tuesday mornings include.
The weird part is how this visualization seeps into random moments. I’ll catch myself choosing the stairs over the elevator because that’s what she would do, or opening my laptop to work instead of scrolling because that’s her natural response to creative energy. Some days I embody her completely. Other days I revert to old patterns and feel the dissonance immediately. The image is getting clearer with each passing week, and that clarity guides my choices more than fluctuating motivation levels ever could.
I’m not trying to fix myself anymore. I’m trying to become someone for whom these habits feel natural—eventually.
Three Lists That Are Currently Running My Life
Three weeks ago, frustrated with another cycle of inconsistency, I taped three lists to my laptop screen. They’re still there, getting more worn and coffee-stained by the day.
The “stop” list was the most uncomfortable to write. Admitting that checking LinkedIn first thing in the morning leads to two hours of research disguised as productivity felt like confessing to a crime. Acknowledging that my elaborate meal prep fantasies never translate to actual execution required swallowing some pride. Recognizing that I spend entire afternoons researching the perfect productivity system instead of just using any system consistently was perhaps the hardest truth.
The “start” list feels more hopeful but requires constant recommitment. Laying out running clothes the night before creates momentum I can feel the next morning. Working for focused stretches before opening any social media preserves mental energy I didn’t realize I was hemorrhaging. Batching similar tasks instead of ping-ponging between platform development and client work all day saves cognitive load in ways that surprise me.
What caught me off guard was the “continue” list. My evening walks around the neighborhood have somehow survived every other routine collapse. The quiet ritual of experimenting with new recipes on weekends has become a small constant, a foundation I didn’t know I was building. These aren’t glamorous habits, but they’ve anchored me through multiple failed attempts at bigger changes.
These three lists aren’t revolutionary, but they’ve become my North Star when everything else feels chaotic.
Outsmarting Myself in My Own Space
Living in Bangalore has taught me how much environment shapes behavior without me realizing it. My running shoes sit in the shoe rack outside my door, which means I see them every time I leave or enter the house. That visual reminder has become a daily reckoning with my intentions, more effective than any alarm or calendar notification.
My phone charger lives in the hall rather than beside my bed, and my work room setup keeps devices at arm’s length rather than within easy reach. The friction of walking to another room to check my phone creates just enough pause for better choices to emerge. Small changes, but they work more consistently than any amount of willpower.
My desk arrangement remains a work in progress. Some days, keeping only one browser tab open while working feels revolutionary. Other days, I’m drowning in chaos with seventeen tabs, three notebooks, and a growing sense of overwhelm. The good days teach me what conditions make focus more likely. The scattered days remind me why systems matter more than self-discipline.
Environment design isn’t about perfection. It’s about making good choices slightly easier and bad choices slightly harder. Even in familiar spaces, small tweaks can create new patterns that feel effortless once they take hold.
Rewards That Actually Work Most of the Time
I’ve been experimenting with rewarding the behavior instead of waiting for outcomes. Completed my planned run, regardless of pace or how terrible I felt along the way, and I get to try that new coffee shop I bookmarked. Stuck to my work schedule for the week, and Saturday morning becomes guilt-free documentary time.
Last month’s reward system was too elaborate—I spent more energy managing the rewards than enjoying them. This month I’m keeping it simple: good choices unlock small pleasures immediately. The timing matters more than the magnitude. Delayed rewards feel too theoretical when I’m negotiating with myself at 6 AM about whether to get out of bed.
The trickiest part is calibrating rewards that motivate without becoming another source of pressure. When rewards feel like obligations, they lose their power entirely. The sweet spot seems to be treats that feel genuinely enjoyable rather than virtuous, connected to the specific behavior rather than some larger life improvement project.
Weekly Patterns Over Daily Drama
I’ve learned to zoom out from daily metrics because they make me slightly insane. One sluggish run or one unproductive work session used to trigger a complete identity crisis. Now I track patterns over seven-day stretches. Did I move my body more often than not during the week, did I make tangible progress on my platform rather than just thinking about it endlessly, did I maintain the basics that keep me functional.
The monthly view reveals even more. September felt chaotic day-to-day but was remarkably productive overall. I made real progress on my hiring platform, maintained better fitness habits than any previous month this year, and felt more grounded in my work rhythm. The daily turbulence obscured the underlying trajectory, like judging a movie by a single frame.
This shift in measurement timeframe has been liberating. Bad days don’t define me anymore, and good days don’t create unrealistic expectations for tomorrow. Trends matter more than individual data points, and trends take time to reveal themselves.
I’m discovering that consistency isn’t about perfect days. It’s about imperfect days that still move me forward.
What My Body Knows That My Brain Doesn’t
My body started learning the rhythms before my mind caught up. When I first returned to running three months ago, my brain was convinced this was temporary insanity. Why would someone who spends most of her day recruiting designers suddenly decide to train for a half-marathon when there are a thousand other priorities demanding attention.
But my energy levels started improving before I expected them to. My sleep got better without me trying to fix it. My thinking became clearer during long work sessions in ways I couldn’t have predicted. My body learned the rhythm of regular movement before my brain fully bought into the plan. Now when I skip runs for more than a few days, I feel the difference immediately—not as guilt, but as genuine physical longing for movement.
The same pattern is emerging with my work habits. The days when I follow my structured approach to client outreach and platform development, I feel more grounded and purposeful. The scattered days leave me feeling frantic and unproductive, like I’m running on fumes. My body is learning to crave the structure that my mind sometimes resists.
This disconnect between what my brain thinks it wants and what my body actually thrives on continues to surprise me. Trusting the physical feedback over the mental chatter has become a small revolution in how I make decisions about my day.
The Comeback Speed I’m Still Perfecting
The most liberating realization so far has been redefining what consistency actually means. I used to think missing one day meant I’d failed and might as well give up for the week. Now I’m measuring success by how quickly I get back on track after life inevitably interrupts.
Last week I got completely derailed by a family emergency. Old me would have used that as an excuse to abandon my routines entirely, spiraling into days of self-defeat. Current me got back to my morning work practice the day after things settled, even though it wasn’t perfect. That felt like a bigger win than any streak I’d maintained before.
I’m still working on this comeback muscle. Some disruptions still throw me off for longer than they should. A bad night’s sleep can still derail my entire week if I let it. But I’m getting faster at recognizing when I’m off track and more compassionate about getting back on. The gap between falling off and climbing back on is shrinking with each iteration.
Recovery has become a skill worth developing, maybe more important than the original habit itself. The ability to restart without drama or self-flagellation turns out to be the real superpower.
I’m learning that consistency isn’t about never falling off track. It’s about getting really good at climbing back on.
This is my real-time report from the consistency experiment. Some days I feel like I’m cracking the code. Other days I feel like I’m starting from scratch with amnesia about everything I’ve learned. But something fundamental is shifting. The gap between my intentions and my actions is slowly closing, not through force but through better systems and more realistic expectations.
I don’t have this figured out yet. I’m still learning what works for my specific combination of entrepreneurial chaos, fitness goals, and the messy reality of building something meaningful while maintaining basic human functions. But I’m finally approaching consistency as a skill to develop rather than a personality trait I either have or don’t have.
The work continues tomorrow—one imperfect, intentional day at a time. And that feels like enough for now.
Leave a Reply