Stop, Start, Continue
Every January for as long as I can remember, I’d make a list.
Not just goals. A complete overhaul of how I’d live life. I was going to wake up at 5am. Do yoga. Make a green smoothie. Write down 24 things I’m grateful for while I drink the smoothie and swallow a fistful of fish oil, vitamin D, and whatever the hell else the optimization bros were recommending that week.
Do six miles of walking meditation then sprint the seventh mile to hit my VO2 max. Then I’d jump into an ice bath, pick a mantra for the day, and fill out my bullet journal with the recipe for a perfectly productive day.
The idea was that if I just executed perfectly, if I just controlled every variable, I’d finally become the person I was supposed to be.
It never worked.
Not once. Usually I’d make it about three days before I’d end up scrolling on Instagram, looking at these other people who had clearly figured this whole thing out, while I was feeling like a loser who couldn’t even stick to a basic morning routine.
And here’s the thing I’m realizing: the problem wasn’t the goals. The problem was that the whole system was built on the belief that if I just want to change badly enough, and if I beat the crap out of myself enough, then I’ll finally be good enough.
Like if I just gave the inner drill sergeant a megaphone, if I amplified that voice listing all the ways I’m falling short, then I’d become this idealized version of myself and win the game of life.
But that’s not how it works.
As it turns out, you can’t hate yourself into a version of yourself you love.
After enough years of this not working, the temptation was to swing the opposite direction. To say screw resolutions, they don’t work anyway. I’ll just love myself and kumbaya my way to inner peace.
But that’s not quite right either.
Because things do change. I’ve changed more in the last few years without either making resolutions or rejecting them.
Weird.
I heard this idea recently that I can’t change anything about myself until I accept myself exactly as I am. Which sounds like one of those phrases printed on a towel that doesn’t mean much.
But I think there’s something to it.
When I look back at the changes that actually stuck, they didn’t come from willpower or self-flagellation. They came from acceptance first, then movement.
I didn’t get sober by hating myself enough. I got sober by admitting I needed help and letting other people hold me up.
I didn’t become a better parent, partner, or business owner by criticizing myself into perfection. I got better by accepting that I’m going to screw up sometimes and showing up anyway to learn.
The changes that lasted weren’t about control. They were about releasing it.
So this year, I’m not making resolutions. I’m not building systems to optimize my way into being someone I’m not.
I’m trying something gentler: Stop. Start. Continue.
Stop
I’m going to stop carrying my phone everywhere by default. Not because I’m disciplined, but because I accidentally left it at my mom’s house on Christmas and spent the whole day reaching for my pocket and finding nothing.
What I realized was that my hand wasn’t looking for something important. It was just looking for something to fill the discomfort of an unoccupied mind.
So my goal is to simply have it with me less, and see what happens.
Start
I’m going to start using an actual camera when I photograph my kids at home instead of my phone. One tool. One purpose. No feed attached.
I even bought a course on documenting family life, which is the first photography education I’ve paid for in a long time. Not so much to take better pictures, but to learn how to see my family and the ordinary moments differently.
Continue
I’m going to keep writing. Marketing used to feel like something I should do better. More posts. More convincing.
This feels different. Like offering something instead of extracting something. It’s become a cornerstone of my business, but also something that would feel worthwhile even if no one ever booked me because of it.
None of this is about becoming someone new. It’s about designing a life that fits who I already am.
Less resistance. More elasticity.
Less fixing. More accepting.
I don’t know if I’ll stick to any of this perfectly. Probably not. But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe the goal isn’t to control every variable. Maybe it’s just to notice when I’m trying to, and gently come back to what’s actually here.
That pull toward control, toward optimization, toward being enough isn’t going away. But maybe I don’t need it to.
This is the same approach I bring to my work. If you’re interested in creating something intentional and honest together, you’re always welcome to reach out.
