The Small Habit That Actually Stuck

I have started and dropped more routines than I can list. A cold shower. A gratitude jar. A language app with an owl who grew more reproachful by the week. A schedule that began each day at five and ended each one in guilt.

The habit that stayed is almost embarrassingly small.

Before I go to bed, I open my notebook and write the first line of tomorrow's page.

What it looks like

That's it. One line. Sometimes it's a sentence I'd like to finish. Sometimes it's a question: "What would I do today if nobody were watching?" Sometimes it's a plain note: "Rain forecast, take the green umbrella."

Then I close the notebook, turn off the lamp and sleep.

In the morning, the page isn't blank. The first line is already there, in last night's handwriting, which is usually a little tired and a little loose. I start from it, and I'm moving before I've had time to dread the empty space.

Why it works for me

I've thought about this a good deal. I think there are three reasons.

First, it's tiny. It takes about thirty seconds. There's no version of me, however worn out, who can't manage thirty seconds, and that means I don't skip it. The routines I dropped all asked for more than I had on a bad day.

Second, it's tied to something I already do. I go to bed every night. I don't have to remember a new time or find a new place. The habit hangs on an old hook.

Third, it's kind to tomorrow's me. There's something generous in leaving a note for someone you haven't met yet. I do it the way I'd leave a light on in the hall.

What I got wrong first

My first attempt was ambitious. I wrote tomorrow's whole list, with times. By Thursday I was ignoring it, and by Sunday I'd stopped. A list is a demand. A single line is an invitation.

My second attempt was too vague. I wrote "be present", which is a terrible thing to put at the top of a page. You can't begin from it. It's a slogan, not a sentence.

The version that stuck is plain and a little odd. It reads like a sentence I might say to a friend.

A few examples

Some of my recent lines:

• The grey cat has taken over the armchair again

• I want to remember the sound the rain makes on the shed

• What did I leave unfinished on Tuesday?

• Start with the window

• It is quiet, and I should say so

None of them is profound. That's all right. They aren't meant to be quoted. They're there to open the door.

What I'd suggest

If you want a habit that lasts, I'd shrink it until it's nearly silly. Then attach it to something you already do. Then do it for a month before you decide whether it's any good.

I'm sure a better method exists. But I have a notebook by the bed, a pen that works, and a line to write. That's more than enough for tonight.