Habit Pack

Three lines, before the phone. An intention for the day, one thing to look forward to, and the one thing you'll do even if you don't feel like it. A week on a page, so you can see Thursday from Monday.

The brain keeps looping on open tasks unless it believes they're handled. Three lines before bed: what you're setting down, tomorrow's first move, and one good thing — so the loop has somewhere to land.

New habits don't need willpower. They need an anchor — something you already do, every day, without deciding. Map your real routine first, then bolt each new habit onto an anchor with one sentence.

Habits die on bad days, not good ones. So give every habit three sizes — a bare minimum you could do with the flu, a normal day, and a great day — and make the rule that the smallest version still counts.

You don't rise to your intentions; you fall to your surroundings. Walk each space you actually use and change three things: something to add, something to remove, something to move. Make the good habit the path of least resistance.

You can't fix a distraction you haven't counted. For one day, make a tally mark every time your attention leaves the task — sorted by where it went — and write the response for each type before it happens again.

Habits stick when they serve something you care about — and fall apart when they serve someone else's idea of a good life. Sort forty values, keep five, and give each one a behavior this week.

You don't have the same brain at 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. — so stop scheduling as if you do. Rate your energy every waking hour for a week, then put the hard work where the peaks are and the admin where the slumps are.