Learn From My Mistakes

Short story of how I break life chaos into small, solvable problems - 3 min read.

True story: my last work week of the year.

I tried to fix my life the way every stressed adult does.

I made a plan so clean it deserved its own skincare routine.

I deleted apps.

I blocked websites.

I rearranged my desk.

I even opened a fresh notebook like I was starting a new life chapter.

I wrote a to-do list with confident verbs like “Finalize” and “Resolve,” which is hilarious because I can’t even decide what to watch on Netflix without scrolling for 40 minutes and then rewatching something I’ve already seen. (Breaking Bad is so good, btw.)

And for about 34 minutes, I was unstoppable.

Then real life showed up.

One email that started with “Quick question.”

A calendar reminder that felt like a personal attack.

And the Yorkie did that tiny cough that means, “I ate something illegal again, and I’d like you to panic on my behalf.”

My brain looked at my perfect plan and said: “Cute”.

Then it did what my brain always does when things get messy.

It went looking for a label. A metaphor. A way to explain why I can brush my teeth during an earthquake but can’t write for ten minutes on a normal Tuesday.

That’s when I remembered an old Swedish expression:

Most kids are dandelions, but a few are orchids.

Dandelions are resilient.

They’re not glamorous, but they are unkillable.

They grow in sidewalk cracks.

They thrive in chaos.

Nobody sits down and says, “You know what this garden needs? Dandelions.” You don’t need to.

They show up anyway, like your wife’s opinions. (Metaphor, honey. A METAPHOR. Put the rolling pin down).

Orchids are different.

If you don’t care for them properly, they wilt.

They are high-maintenance in a way that feels personal.

But if you care for them, they bloom like crazy. The kind of pretty that makes your wife request orchids for her birthday every year. (Honey, are we good again?)

Here’s the problem nobody tells us:

This isn’t just about kids.

It’s about our habits.

And, unfortunately, our personality.

Some habits are dandelions.

• Brushing your teeth.

• Making coffee.

• Checking your phone before your eyes are fully open (mmm, a quick sip of chaos).

Those survive anything. You could do them half-asleep, sick, during a Wi-Fi outage. These habits run on autopilot.

But some habits are orchids.

• Writing.

• Working out.

• Eating like you have tomorrow plans, not just today problems.

• Having the hard conversation.

• Starting the thing you keep “planning.”

They’re high-upside but picky. They don’t do well in “I’ll do it later” time slots.

And what do we do with orchid habits?

We treat them like dandelions.

We act like they should survive:

• bad sleep

• a calendar with back-to-back blocks and zero oxygen

• two cups of coffee and zero actual breakfast

• a to-do list so long it requires scrolling

Then we’re shocked when the habit dies.

Again.

And then we do the adult equivalent of yelling at a plant.

“Why can’t you just be more disciplined?”

Meanwhile the plant is stuck in a dark closet like, “Sir, I’m an orchid!”

That’s the sneakier truth: we didn’t fail.

We put an orchid in the shade and yelled “Grow!”

So I tried an experiment.

Instead of demanding “discipline,” I gave the orchid habit actual care.

Not fancy care. No candles. No “morning pages” in a sunlit loft.

I picked one orchid habit: writing.

I gave it one minute.

Just one minute.

Not “write for an hour.” Not “finish the draft.”

One minute. Open the doc. Type literally anything. Even if it’s garbage.

Garbage counts. Garbage is compost. Compost becomes flowers.

I’m basically a poet now. (Or a philosopher, but I’m too young to die dramatically.)

I set a timer. I made it slightly easier to start than to avoid.

And something annoying happened.

It worked.

Not perfectly. Not magically. But it started.

I lowered the bar until it was basically underground.

My brain didn’t notice until we were already doing it.

Because orchid habits don’t need me to become a tougher person.

They need a better environment.

Till next time.

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If Self-Discipline Feels Difficult, Then You’re Doing It Wrong - 7 min read.

You don’t need more willpower, you need fewer self-inflicted mental wedgies. This article unhooks “I messed up” from “I am a mess”. Read it before you try to become an Uberman and accidentally become a couchman.

The Socratic Journal Method: A Simple Journaling Method That Actually Works - 11 min read.

This is journaling for people who quit journaling. The trick is structure first (good questions), then freedom (messy answers). One honest question, one honest answer, done.

Ease productivity overload with “niksen,” the Dutch art of doing nothing - 9 min read.

Doing nothing sounds easy until you try it. It’s a quick, practical guide to niksen without turning it into another self-improvement side hustle.

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A Workspace I Envy

A handpicked desk setup that caught my eye this week

Chaotic in a good way: sunlight, a garden view, and just enough paper clutter to prove real work happened.

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A deep dive into the quirks, habits, and backstories that shape icons

Cool Facts About Bernie Marcus

Inverted Pyramid Org Chart: Marcus ran Home Depot like an upside-down hierarchy - customers first, stores next, and leadership at the bottom. Even the Atlanta office branding was “Store Support Center,” not “World Headquarters.”

Drop Everything for the Store: If a store called anyone at HQ (from chairman to janitor), the instruction was simple: stop what you’re doing and take the call. It’s a built-in anti-bureaucracy alarm.

Daily Paranoia Prompt: His morning question was basically: who will destroy me today if I don’t keep my eyes open?

Six-Item Customer Checklist: He used a simple “Customer Bill of Rights” as a decision filter - right assortment, quantities, price, helpful floor associates, trained product knowledge, and being there when customers need help.

3-to-6-Week Store Boot Camp: Even corporate roles like lawyers, accountants, HR, and marketing had to work in stores for three to six weeks to understand reality before making rules. They also required board members to visit 12 stores each quarter to stay grounded in reality.

Complaints as Free Research: He’d work the floor in an orange apron, and when customers complained, he wanted to hear it (even after they realized who he was). Complaints were treated like usable data, not disrespect.

Trades-First Hiring System: They hired for real expertise - carpenters in lumber, master gardeners in garden, and they tried to have at least one licensed electrician and plumber per store. He even pushed a hiring program for workers over 60 (“Bernie’s Boys”) to stack experience on the floor.

Return Policy as Trust Default: He backed an extremely liberal return policy (yes, even used tools) because the decision filter was “trust first,” not “catch every abuser.”

Make Everyone Rich Enough to Care: Stock incentives created 1,000-plus employee millionaires, which is a pretty aggressive way to align effort with outcomes.

Watch-worthy clips

One video that got us thinking, and we think you'll like it too

If you’ve ever worried that tech might make life easier and somehow worse at the same time, this is your people. It’s short, sharp, and weirdly modern for something filmed in 1966.

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