08/13/2025
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For things to change for me, I have to change.
This statement rejects the subtle passivity of waiting. It redirects attention from circumstances—which we can influence but never fully control, to the one variable we can constantly reshape: our character, habits, and competence. In psychological terms, it moves us from an external to an internal locus of control. In relational terms, it shifts us from blame to responsibility. In spiritual terms, it echoes the ancient wisdom that transformation starts within, “guard your heart,” because the issues of life flow from it.
Change that sticks tends to follow a sequence:
Awareness. We name reality without defensiveness: the pattern, the cost, the contribution we’re making to the outcome.
Acceptance. We stop arguing with reality and own our agency: “I am the one who must go first.”
Alignment. We realign daily behavior with our deepest values. Calendars, budgets, and commitments change.
Action. We practice new behaviors in small, repeatable ways until they become reliable under pressure.
Accountability. We invite feedback, measurement, and course correction.
Please take a look at how identity anchors the process. We don’t merely “try harder”; we become a person for whom the desired behavior is expected. “I am a leader who keeps difficult promises,” not “I hope to be less avoidant.” Identity precedes habit; habit proves identity.
A brief example: a department head complains that meetings are chaotic and unproductive. After months of frustration, she decides to change herself first. She learns facilitation basics, designs agendas that clarify purpose and outcomes, sends pre-reads, and ends every meeting with owners, due dates, and a one-minute retrospective. Within six weeks, meetings feel different. The organization changed because she did.
Don’t wish life were easier, wish I were better.
Wishing for an easier life tempts us toward comfort as the measure of well-being. But a meaningful life isn’t a life without weight; it’s a life with strength proportionate to its weight. Muscles don’t grow by lighter loads; souls don’t mature by lighter days.
“Better” here does not mean harsher or perfectionistic. It means more capable, wise, and resilient, able to meet reality with proportionate skill and steady character. Psychologically, this is the growth mindset: setbacks are data; effort is productive; capacities can be built. Spiritually, trials are not random antagonists but tutors (James 1:2–4): perseverance produces maturity.
Becoming “better” has three dimensions:
Character (who I am when no one is watching): integrity, humility, respect, empathy, goodwill. These govern how power is used and how people are treated.
Competence (what I can reliably do): problem framing, analysis, communication, negotiation, planning, ex*****on under pressure.
Capacity (how much I can hold): emotional regulation, stress tolerance, energy management, and recovery.
The paradox is that a “tougher” me actually makes life feel lighter. The same challenges remain, but they meet a different person, a better-fitted instrument.
Don’t wish for less problems, wish for more skills
Problems are the tuition of mastery. They are not interruptions of the path; they are the path. The question is not whether we will have problems, but which problems we will choose and how skilled we’ll become at solving them.
Two shifts unlock this maxim:
1) Choose better problems. Every role, relationship, and mission comes with a set of problems. Healthy marriages still have conflicts; thriving teams still face tradeoffs; purpose-driven organizations still encounter constraints. The goal is not to eliminate problems but to select the right ones, those aligned with our values and calling, and then grow equal to them.
2) Build a stack of transferable skills. Skills compound like interest, especially when they are “meta-skills” usable across contexts:
Emotional self-regulation. Notice, name, and normalize emotion; respond instead of react.
Communication. Clarify purpose, audience, and message; listen to understand; make requests, not hints.
Problem definition. Spend half your time clarifying the problem and constraints before proposing solutions.
Prioritization and ex*****on. Decide what not to do; translate strategy into first steps; inspect outcomes.
Learning how to learn. Break complex abilities into drillable parts; practice with feedback; reflect and refine.
Relational intelligence. Humility, respect, empathy, and goodwill (HREG) convert knowledge into trust and coordinated action.
Consider a couple who argue about chores. Wishing for fewer arguments is wishing for fewer problems. Wishing for more skills means learning to map the issue (unclear expectations), schedule a ten-minute weekly alignment, make specific requests, and appreciate bids for help. The “problem” becomes practice.
How these maxims work together
Taken together, the three statements form a flywheel:
Agency: I go first, my change precedes systemic change.
Growth: I invest in becoming a sturdier person rather than negotiating for softer conditions.
Mastery: I treat problems as curriculum and skills as the graduation requirement.
This approach is not stoic detachment. It is profoundly relational and ethical. HREG, humility, respect, empathy, goodwill, ensures that as we become more capable, we also become more kind. Humility keeps us teachable. Respect honors boundaries and dignity. Empathy tunes us to the lived realities of others. Goodwill directs power toward shared flourishing. Without these, skill turns into manipulation; with them, skill becomes service.
A simple practice plan
Begin with a problem you care about. Describe it in one sentence that a stranger could understand. Name your contribution to it without excuse. Decide the skill most likely to change the outcome (listening, planning, conflict mapping, decision-making). Design a two-week micro-practice:
Day 1–3: Learn—one article or lesson a day, plus a five-minute summary in your own words.
Day 4–10: Do—practice the skill in a real context once a day; keep the reps small and specific.
Day 11–12: Get feedback from one trusted person; ask, “What did you see me do that worked? What should I change first?”
Day 13–14: Reflect and refine, write what changed, what didn’t, and your next tiny upgrade.
Repeat with the next skill. Track reps, not perfection. When the stakes are higher (a tough conversation, a big presentation), script the first minute, rehearse out loud, and preview it with a coach or colleague. Treat nerves as a sign that you’re lifting a heavier weight, and therefore growing.
Two brief case sketches
The overwhelmed manager. Emails pile up; priorities blur. She stops wishing for a lighter inbox and decides to become the kind of person who runs a simple, visible system. She time-blocks ninety minutes each morning for deep work, triages email to three folders (Today/This Week/Backlog), and ends each day by listing the next day’s top three commitments. After a month, the work hasn’t changed—she has.
The discouraged spouse. He wishes conflicts would disappear. Instead, he decides to become more skillful. He learns to identify “the story I’m telling myself,” asks for a ten-minute check-in after work, uses “When you…, I feel…, I need…” statements, and practices reflective listening (“What I heard is…”). The marriage becomes safer because he brings better skills and better goodwill to the same old moments.
Reflection prompts
Where am I waiting for circumstances to shift before I act? What would “I go first” look like this week?
If I stopped wishing for ease, what single capacity—character, competence, or emotional—would make the biggest difference?
What problem in my life or work is actually an invitation to acquire a durable skill? Which skill? What is the smallest, repeatable practice that would build it?
A closing word
Life will not stop sending weight. But we can become people strong enough, wise enough, and loving enough to carry it well—and to carry it with others. When things change in us, things change around us. When we grow better, life grows richer. And when we collect skills, we stop fearing problems and start shaping outcomes. That is the quiet, compounding power of choosing growth over wishes.
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