Tag: Health

The Decision Was Already Made

Yesterday was a long day.

I’m on vacation next week, and I have a mountain of work to get through before I leave the office on Friday. I was tired by the time I got home, and even more so after we all went to the baseball fields to play before walking back home to get the kids to bed.

But then I got changed, I grabbed my headphones, I walked out to the garage, and I started my workout.

And I realized something.

I didn’t even have to think about it.

I just did it.

I have spent the last couple of months trying to convince myself every night that I should go work out. I have spent the last couple of months telling myself that the casual walk around the neighborhood with the boys or taking them to the fields so they could run around counted as a workout and that I didn’t need to go lift weights.

But then a few nights ago, I made the choice to go out there. I had some outside motivation because I am now working with a personal trainer, but I still had to walk out the door and lift the weights for the first time in months. I was sore. It was so much harder than I remembered. But I did it.

Then I did it again the next night.

And the next.

And then last night, I didn’t have to convince myself. There wasn’t a negotiation with my recliner or a debate with the television.

The decision had already been made.

I was heading out to the garage to work out.

I’d like to say the decision was easy.

I’d like to say that weeks or months ago I decided I needed to get in better shape and simply started.

But that’s not what happened.

I’ve known for a long time that I needed to invest in myself physically, and yet I didn’t.

I chose to watch television after the kids went to bed.

I chose to go back for seconds at dinner.

I chose to have snacks when I wasn’t hungry.

And I made a thousand excuses for those choices.

I’m tired.

I’m stressed.

I’ll do it tomorrow.

Then I would regret the decision after it was already too late to change it.

So what changed?

For me, it was committing to a personal training program.

I committed to someone else that I would put in the work.

That person wasn’t my wife.

It wasn’t my kids.

It was a stranger I met on the internet.

I don’t know why that was the thing that finally mattered.

But I do know this:

I went from struggling to make the right choice when it came to food and exercise…

…to having a few days in a row where I didn’t even see a choice.

The decision had already been made.

I don’t know how to turn that into a lesson everyone else can apply because I think we all have different triggers—different non-negotiable reasons for finally doing something we couldn’t bring ourselves to do before.

Mine happened to be accountability to someone I had just met.

Yours will probably be something completely different.

What I do know is that I never stopped believing there had to be something that would eventually make it click.

Even while I was breaking promises to myself almost every day, I never stopped hoping that one day I wouldn’t.

Does that mean I have changed forever?

I don’t know.

I’ve lost the weight before.

I’ve put it all back on before.

History says that’s possible.

I can’t promise that I won’t fall back into old habits because I don’t have the track record to make that promise believable.

What I can promise is that I won’t stop remaining open to whatever helps me become the person I want to be.

Because sometimes the breakthrough isn’t something you can force.

Sometimes it arrives because you kept trying long enough to recognize it when it did.

My hope for you is that you don’t stop looking for—or remaining open to—that catalyst in your own life.

Whether it’s exercise.

Writing.

Repairing a relationship.

Battling addiction.

Or finally beginning the thing you’ve been putting off.

I hope you find the thing that finally makes keeping the promise feel more natural than breaking it.

The point isn’t to become someone who never struggles.

It’s to slowly become someone who no longer has to negotiate with themselves every time.

Because eventually, the decision isn’t about who you could be.

It’s about who you are.

Continue the Journey

If this article resonated with you, here are a few more reflections that continue the conversation:

The First Line Doesn’t Tell The Whole Story

Yesterday morning I stepped on the scale and the number had climbed right back to where it was when I started this project fifty-four days ago.

Mentally, it was a crushing blow.

For a few moments, I thought I knew exactly what kind of day I was about to have.

It’s amazing how quickly we do that, isn’t it?

We come into work and find an email we weren’t expecting. The morning meeting doesn’t go as planned. You and your significant other have a disagreement. The day gets away from you and you miss your workout or binge through all your calories in one meal. Your toddler isn’t listening and now something is broken.

Somehow and some way, we experience a disappointment, a failure, or an unexpected event early in the day, and what do we do?

We immediately start writing the ending to the story.

We begin forecasting what’s going to happen next, and it’s rarely in the classic Disney happy-ending kind of way. Instead, we imagine the worst. We convince ourselves the day is ruined, the relationship is in trouble, the goal is slipping away, or that we’re somehow back at the beginning.

One sentence…

…and suddenly we’ve decided how the whole book ends.

But then something interesting happens.

Later that evening, we look back on the day and realize it wasn’t the disaster we imagined.

The unexpected email became an opportunity.

The meeting ended early and gave us time we didn’t expect.

The disagreement turned into a conversation that brought us closer.

The workout happened later that night instead of first thing in the morning.

The broken toy was fixed, and maybe the lesson learned was worth more than the thing itself.

The dark ending we had already written somehow gave way to brighter skies.

Not because life always goes our way.

But because we aren’t nearly as good at predicting the ending as we think we are.

Too often, we decide the day is going to be bad before it has even had the chance to become good.

We let one conversation become a roadblock in a relationship.

We let one mistake define our ability.

We let one setback convince us we’ve lost all our progress.

We presume to let one chapter—or sometimes even one sentence—dictate the ending of the entire book.

But one event isn’t enough to determine the outcome.

Life keeps unfolding after that first disappointment.

The story keeps moving after that first setback.

And too often…

…we stop reading while life is still writing.

Yesterday morning, the scale gave me one sentence.

By the end of the day, I had visited with extended family, spent unexpected time with Jillian over coffee, published another article, kept my commitment to work out, tucked my boys into bed, and ended the evening with some quiet reflective time.

That first number wasn’t wrong.

It just wasn’t the whole story.

Neither is the unexpected email.

Neither is the difficult conversation.

Neither is the missed workout.

Neither is the bad meeting.

The first thing that happens to you today isn’t qualified to tell you how the story ends.

Because tomorrow’s chapter hasn’t been written yet.

And today’s story is still being told.

Continue the Journey

If this article resonated with you, here are a few more reflections that explore how the stories we tell ourselves shape the lives we live:

  • The Story Behind Tomorrow — Every visible beginning is built on invisible preparation long before anyone else notices.
  • Winning the Wrong Argument — The internal conversations that keep us from taking the first step.
  • The Reset Never Came — Why waiting for the perfect moment often keeps us from making progress at all.
  • Day One — Every meaningful journey begins with the decision to start, even before you’re ready.

The Story Behind Tomorrow

Do you have something that starts tomorrow?

Something you’ve been looking forward to. Something that fills you with the same nervous excitement you used to feel on Christmas Eve, the night before your birthday, or the day before leaving on a family vacation.

Whatever begins tomorrow has the potential to change your life.

Months from now, if you stay committed, people might notice the weight you’ve lost. They might see a stronger physique, a finished book, a thriving business, or a website that didn’t exist before. Maybe those are just the things I hope to see in my own life, but whatever your “tomorrow” is, people may one day look at it and say, “That’s where it all began.”

But they’ll be wrong.

Tomorrow isn’t really the beginning.

When does change actually begin?

It’s not with the first workout or the first pound lost on the scale. It’s not when you finish the first chapter or publish your first article online.

Those might be the first signs of change.

But change starts in the invisible moments.

Think back to the first time you admitted something needed to change. When you wondered whether you really had the strength to commit to something new. When you looked at your schedule, counted the cost, said goodbye to certain habits, quietly hoped this time would be different, or finally found the courage to ask for help.

No one thinks of these as the moments where change began.

But they’re the reason tomorrow exists.

We all make the same mistake.

We celebrate the first visible milestone as the start of something new, when those milestones are really just evidence of work that has already been happening in the shadows. The mental work. The preparation. The research. The internal struggle between the anxiety of trying something new and the comfort of remaining the same.

We celebrate the harvest.

We rarely celebrate the planting.

That’s because people don’t see the author before they see the book. They don’t see the business before the doors open. They don’t see the graduate before the diploma or the marathon runner before mile one. Every visible achievement is the product of invisible work.

So tomorrow you may be starting something new. It may be Day One for you.

People may think that’s where your journey begins.

But they’re only seeing the first visible page…

…of a book you’ve already been writing.

The moments that change our lives are rarely the ones everyone notices. They’re the quiet decisions made in solitude and silence. The commitment you made to yourself while sitting alone. The preparations you made when no one was watching. The choice you made before you even knew whether you could change.

Tomorrow may be the first thing people see.

But it isn’t where your story started.

Continue the Journey

If this idea resonated with you, here are a few more articles that continue the conversation:

  • Day One — Every meaningful journey begins with the decision to start, even when the path ahead is uncertain.
  • The Reset Never Came — Why waiting for the perfect time to begin often becomes the biggest obstacle to making progress.
  • Winning the Wrong Argument — The internal conversations that convince us to delay the very life we’re trying to build.
  • I Finally Stopped Waiting to Feel Motivated — Lasting change doesn’t begin when motivation arrives; it begins when we choose to act anyway.

The Coach Can’t Do The Work

I am going to be starting a personal training program in the next week or so, and yesterday I had my first call with my trainer. Being honest, I was nervous. I had never worked with a personal trainer before, but the conversation was great and also a little unexpected. Instead of just talking about exercises and nutrition, we talked about my goals, the habits I want to build, the mental aspect of getting healthier, my history with weight, and what I hope to achieve in the future.

As exciting as the call was, and as motivated as I am to work with this trainer, I’m still the one who has to put in the work. That’s something I’ve struggled with my whole life when it comes to my health.

The trainer can write my workouts, answer my questions, help keep me accountable, and encourage me when I’m frustrated. But he can’t lift the weights for me. He can’t choose what I eat every day. He can’t walk the steps I need to walk. He can’t say no to the junk food or turn off the TV so I can go work out. He can be a guide, but I still have to choose to follow.

I’ve done it before. In what feels like a past life, I lost 170 pounds. I was determined. I was resilient. Then I wasn’t. Some of the weight came back, and with it came frustration and disappointment.

Since then, I’ve read books about motivation and discipline. I’ve listened to podcasts. I’ve watched countless videos. I know what it takes to get back to where I want to be.

Information has never been the problem.

Turning that information into action has.

Often we think success comes from the tools we use along the way. The right pen or computer will help us write more. The right planner will keep us organized. The right app will keep us on task. Maybe the right coach will finally help us reach our goals.

Those things absolutely help.

They make the path clearer.

But they can’t walk it for us.

This project has never been about finally discovering the secret that erased years of failure. There isn’t one.

The progress I’ve made has come from doing the work day after day. From refusing to quit when things got hard. From not accepting defeat when I fell behind. From allowing the process to evolve instead of abandoning it because I was too stubborn to change.

The tools I’ve chosen have helped me get this far, but they aren’t the reason I’m here.

This trainer will be no different.

He gets to be on my team. He gets to challenge me, encourage me, and help me decide what I need to do to reach my goals.

But I still have to do the work.

The tools you use can help you write. They can help you stay organized. They can help you stay on task.

But if you don’t do the work, the tools can’t do it for you.

A coach, a trainer, or an accountability partner can all cheer you on. They can believe in you, even on the days you don’t believe in yourself.

But when it’s time to do the work…

You’re the one who has to do it.

And when you do, you’ll have something no one can ever take away from you:

The satisfaction of knowing you earned it.

Continue the Journey:

If you enjoyed this article, you may also like:

  • I Finally Stopped Waiting to Feel Motivated
    Motivation may get you started, but lasting change comes from taking action even when you don’t feel like it.
  • Stay in the Game
    Progress belongs to those who refuse to quit. Once you’ve committed to the journey, the work still has to be done one day at a time.
  • Every Opportunity Begins With Risk
    Hiring a coach, starting a new program, or chasing a goal all begin with uncertainty. The next step is doing the work that turns opportunity into progress.

Your Body Of Work Is Bigger Than One Bad Day

Yesterday I left work a little early, went home, changed clothes, and planted myself in front of the television to watch the United States take on Belgium in the World Cup.

People are always surprised to find out how much I love soccer. They know about my passion for baseball, but soccer usually catches them off guard. I didn’t really fall in love with the sport until my twenties. I played a little as a kid, but it never stuck. Years later I joined an indoor team with some friends, started following the U.S. Men’s National Team, traveled to matches around the country, and eventually became a season ticket holder for the San Diego Loyal.

Needless to say, I had been looking forward to this game for weeks.

Unfortunately, it unraveled almost as quickly as it began.

The United States fell behind early, briefly gave me hope when they equalized, and then watched that hope disappear almost immediately. Before I knew it, the final whistle had blown and the tournament was over.

As a fan, my mind immediately went where it always does.

What changes need to be made?

Will the coach stay?

Which players will still be around four years from now?

Who should have played differently?

It was disappointment.

It was frustration.

It was judgment.

When in reality…

It was one bad game.

While reflecting on that feeling, I came across an article in TIME titled “What to Say When Someone’s Team Loses, According to Sports Fans.” It reminded me that disappointment is part of caring. When we invest ourselves in something—a team, a goal, a project, or a dream—losses are going to hurt. The challenge isn’t avoiding that feeling. It’s refusing to let one disappointing result become the entire story.

A couple of hours later I found myself standing on a softball field with a group of friends I’ve been playing with for years.

We won 20–6.

I went 3-for-4 with an RBI.

It felt great.

But if I’m being honest…

It was just one good game.

Over the last decade we’ve probably played close to thirty different seasons together. We’ve had great teams, terrible teams, winning streaks, losing streaks, and only one championship.

Nobody on our team walked off the field last night believing we’d suddenly become champions because of one good game.

Sports understand something we often forget about life.

One game doesn’t define a season.

Championship teams lose games.

Hall of Fame baseball players fail seven out of every ten times they step into the batter’s box.

The greatest basketball players in history still miss thousands of shots.

One result is simply one result.

A few days ago I wrote The Scale Isn’t the Scoreboard, realizing that one number on a scale doesn’t define my progress. Yesterday reminded me that one result doesn’t define my journey either.

Somewhere along the way, though, we stop giving ourselves that same grace.

One bad weigh-in and we convince ourselves we’re failing.

One difficult day with our kids and we question whether we’re good parents.

One rough chapter and we wonder if we’re really writers.

One poor financial decision and we tell ourselves we’ll never get ahead.

One awkward conversation at work and suddenly we think our entire career is falling apart.

That’s the same lesson I learned in I Finally Stopped Waiting to Feel Motivated. Progress doesn’t come from never having bad days—it comes from refusing to let those bad days convince you to quit.

One mistake begins to outweigh years of faithful effort.

That’s not how we judge sports.

And it shouldn’t be how we judge ourselves.

A few weeks ago I promised myself that The Reset Never Came. Looking back, I realize that’s only possible when you stop letting one disappointing day erase everything you’ve already built.

A pristine professional career shouldn’t be defined by one mistake.

A great speech shouldn’t be remembered only for one misplaced word.

A loving marriage shouldn’t be measured by one difficult conversation.

A life spent intentionally shouldn’t be reduced to one disappointing day.

Our body of work matters more than our latest result.

As I reflected on that idea, I also read an article from The Let Go titled “Failure Won’t Define Us, How We Respond to It Will.” That message stayed with me because it shifts the focus away from the setback itself. Every season includes losses. Every meaningful goal includes mistakes. The defining moment isn’t the failure—it’s the decision to get back up and continue building your body of work.

That realization has changed the way I look at this project.

As I write this, I’ve published a blog post every day since launching The Young Napoleon Project.

If I failed to publish tomorrow, I’d probably feel like I’d failed.

But that wouldn’t be true.

It would simply mean I published thirty-four consecutive articles before missing one.

That’s still a body of work I can be proud of.

The same is true of my health.

One bad weigh-in doesn’t erase the walks I’ve taken.

One cheat meal doesn’t erase the healthier choices I’ve made.

One missed workout doesn’t erase the habits I’m building.

None of those moments define the season.

It’s no different than the lesson I learned in The Belt Isn’t Earned on Test Day. Success isn’t determined by one performance—it’s earned through the work you continue to put in long before anyone is keeping score.

Tomorrow the United States will begin preparing for the next World Cup.

Our softball team will eventually lose another game.

I’ll step on the scale again.

I’ll go to work.

I’ll write another article.

I’ll keep building this project.

Because one loss doesn’t erase everything that came before it.

One bad day doesn’t erase the person you’re becoming.

Your body of work is always bigger than one bad day.

The season isn’t over.

It’s just time to play the next game.

Continue the Journey:

If today’s article resonated with you, you might also enjoy:

Further Reading:

TIME – “What to Say When Someone’s Team Loses, According to Sports Fans”

https://time.com/article/2026/06/18/what-to-say-when-someones-team-loses-sports-fans/

The Let Go – “Failure Won’t Define Us, How We Respond to It Will”

https://www.theletgo.com/failure-wont-define-us-how-we-respond-to-it-will/

I Finally Stopped Waiting To Feel Motivated

If I’m being honest with you, I go to bed most nights feeling like I should give up.

That I haven’t done enough.

That things aren’t progressing as quickly as I dreamed they would.

That I could somehow be more perfect in my approach to this project.

By the time I close my eyes each night, the motivation that carried me through the morning has usually disappeared, and I’m left wondering what tomorrow will bring.

Yesterday was the perfect example.

I woke up and the scale had jumped five pounds overnight.

Brooks and I went to the baseball fields for a hitting session, but after staying up late to watch fireworks the night before, he just wasn’t in the mood.

While we were gone, Joseph somehow managed to lock himself and Jillian inside the playroom.

Instead of working on this project during the afternoon, I accidentally fell asleep in my chair and lost nearly two hours of the day.

By the time I finally sat down to write, it was already late in the evening and I found myself rushing just to accomplish the bare minimum.

By bedtime…

The motivation was gone.

I found myself wondering if I could really keep doing this tomorrow.

The problem is, I used to think motivation was supposed to last.

Whenever it disappeared, I assumed something was wrong.

I thought I had lost momentum.

I thought I had failed.

So I started over.

Again.

And again.

And again.

When I first started trying to lose weight years ago…

When I first dreamed about becoming an author…

When I first imagined building a better life…

I relied almost entirely on motivation.

I watched inspirational videos.

Read motivational quotes.

Waited for the perfect Monday.

The perfect month.

The perfect opportunity.

Eventually the excitement faded.

Life got busy.

I had a bad day.

And I convinced myself it was time to start over.

Looking back, I realize the problem was never my lack of motivation.

It was my belief that motivation was supposed to carry me forever.

Discipline doesn’t feel exciting.

It isn’t supposed to.

Discipline packs my breakfast and lunch the night before, even when I’d rather grab something from the cafeteria.

It gets me out walking during my breaks instead of sitting at my desk.

It opens a blank page after the boys have gone to bed.

It keeps me writing even when nobody is waiting for another blog post.

It doesn’t promise that I’ll enjoy every minute.

It simply reminds me to keep going.

While writing this article, I reread an essay by James Clear titled “Plan for Failure: Being Consistent Is Not the Same as Being Perfect.” One idea especially resonated with me: consistency isn’t about never having bad days—it’s about expecting them and continuing anyway. Looking back, I realize I spent years believing every imperfect day meant I needed to start over. This project has taught me the opposite. Progress isn’t built by perfection. It’s built by refusing to quit.

I also came across a thoughtful post from The Love Sophia Project about choosing consistency over motivation. One idea stood out to me: motivation is wonderful when it’s there, but it isn’t reliable enough to build a life around. Reading it reminded me that the people who make lasting progress aren’t the ones who always feel inspired—they’re the ones who keep showing up after the inspiration fades.

That’s exactly what this project has become for me.

The reason I haven’t hit the reset button this time isn’t because I’m more motivated than I was before.

It’s because I finally stopped expecting motivation to save me.

A few weeks ago I wrote The Reset Never Came, promising myself that this would be different. Since then I’ve learned that The Scale Isn’t the Scoreboard, that Some Days Ask More of Us Than We Expected, and that The Belt Isn’t Earned on Test Day.

Every one of those lessons points to the same truth.

You don’t become a different person because of one great day.

You become a different person because you keep showing up after the hard ones.

Tonight I’ll watch a World Cup match.

I’ll spend time with my family.

Play softball.

Do some work around the house.

Get ready for tomorrow.

And by the time I climb into bed, I’ll probably wonder if I did enough.

I’ll probably think about the things I could have done better.

I’ll probably still wish I had accomplished more.

But tomorrow morning I’ll get out of bed.

I’ll step on the scale.

I’ll do my stretches.

I’ll make breakfast.

And I’ll begin again.

Not because I’ll necessarily feel motivated.

But because somewhere between going to sleep tonight and waking up tomorrow, I’ve already made the decision to continue.

I’ve spent years believing that starting over was the answer.

Now I’m beginning to believe that simply continuing is.

Because motivation may get you started.

But discipline is what keeps you moving long after motivation has quietly slipped away.

Continue the Journey

If today’s article resonated with you, you might also enjoy:

Further Reading:

James Clear – “Plan for Failure: Being Consistent Is Not the Same as Being Perfect”

https://jamesclear.com/plan-failure

The Love Sophia Project – “Consistency Over Motivation”

https://www.lovesophiaproject.com/blog/blog-post-title-one-2gp9t-p99a3-wfbsh-9jh7p

Some Days Ask More Of Us Than Expected

Yesterday started like almost every other day.

I didn’t want to get out of bed, but eventually I pulled myself up. I stepped on the scale, did my stretches, push-ups, sit-ups, and squats, got ready for work, dropped Brooks off at my sister-in-law’s house, and headed to the office for my usual protein shake and matcha.

There was nothing to suggest the day would be any different.

But when I got to work something just felt off.

I didn’t feel like myself.

I was anxious and restless. I tried to convince myself it was just nerves about USA’s World Cup match later that evening, so I walked down to the cafeteria for some scrambled eggs in an effort to get my mind off things.

That didn’t work.

Throughout the morning, even while walking during my breaks, I couldn’t shake the feeling.

I know this feeling well. I’ve dealt with anxiety since I was a kid. Over the years I’ve gone to therapy and I take medication to help manage it, and thankfully it’s something I’ve had under control for quite a while.

After my lunchtime walk I came back inside, ate my yogurt and string cheese, and cleaned up my desk.

Then I felt it coming.

A panic attack.

My chest tightened.

My arms tingled.

It felt like a fog had settled over my brain.

This wasn’t my first panic attack. I had several in succession a couple of years ago, but I hadn’t experienced one in over a year.

My mind immediately raced to thoughts of going to the emergency room.

Instead, I stayed where I was.

I kept breathing.

I picked one spot on the wall and focused on it.

Slowly the symptoms began to fade, but when they did I was left feeling anything but normal.

When I woke up yesterday morning, I thought I knew exactly what kind of day I was going to have.

Work.

Family dinner.

Watch the soccer game.

Get ready for tomorrow.

Work on things here while watching television with Jillian before bed.

We make plans.

Sometimes life has other ideas.

We wake up assuming we know what’s waiting for us.

More often than not, we’re wrong.

Some days bring unexpected celebrations.

Others bring heartbreaking news.

Some become stories we’ll tell for years, while others become days we simply try to survive. Earlier this month I wrote Some Days You Just Survive, and yesterday reminded me that those days don’t disappear just because we wish they would.

Yesterday I had my first panic attack in over a year.

But the day wasn’t over.

I still had work to finish.

I still had to meet with the contractor working on our bathroom.

I still had to celebrate my nephew’s birthday.

I still wanted to cheer on the United States during the World Cup match.

I still had two little boys who needed to get ready for bed.

Life rarely pauses while we’re trying to catch our breath.

As much as the panic attack disrupted my day, it couldn’t stop the rest of life from happening around it.

And maybe that’s the lesson.

We don’t get to dictate what happens to us throughout the day. Unexpected phone calls, bad news, injuries, panic attacks—life has a way of reminding us that we’re not in control of every chapter.

As much as we may start the day feeling fearless, motivated, strong, and confident, there’s no guarantee we’ll end the day feeling that way.

And that’s okay.

We should expect that life will occasionally ask more of us than we planned to give.

What we should expect from ourselves is that we keep showing up.

Not because we feel okay.

Not because we don’t need time to process what happened—because we absolutely should take that time when we need it.

But because there are people depending on us.

Our kids need us.

Our partners need us.

And ultimately, we need ourselves to keep showing up so we can work through whatever life has placed in front of us.

While writing this article, I came across a piece from Her View From Home titled “Here’s to the Dads Who Show Up.” It celebrates the who quietly continue showing up for their families day after day, often without recognition. Reading it reminded me that fatherhood isn’t about having perfect days. It’s about continuing to be present, especially when the day has been anything but perfect.

I also found an article from Mindful called “How to Be a Resilient Parent.” One of the things I appreciated most was that it wasn’t about pretending difficult emotions don’t exist. It was about acknowledging them, taking care of yourself, and continuing to move forward with intention. That’s a philosophy I hope to keep learning throughout this project.

Yesterday I wrote Why Ordinary Days Matter More Than Big Moments, and I still believe that.

Yesterday was an ordinary day.

It just happened to go sideways.

I wasn’t the best version of myself for the rest of that day.

But I was the best version of myself that I could be given the circumstances.

Sometimes that’s enough.

Earlier in this project I wrote The Scale Isn’t the Scoreboard, reminding myself that one number doesn’t define success. Before that, I wrote The Reset Never Came, a promise that one difficult day wouldn’t erase all the progress that came before it.

Yesterday tested both of those lessons.

Ordinary days matter.

That doesn’t mean they’re always easy.

Today I woke up again.

Jillian laid with me for a few minutes before I got up.

I stepped on the scale.

Did my stretches.

My push-ups.

My sit-ups.

Ate breakfast.

Dropped Brooks off at my mom’s house.

And headed back to work for another ordinary day.

Not because yesterday was easy.

Not because I wasn’t nervous another panic attack could happen.

But because every day is worth the effort, even when you don’t know what’s coming.

Every day has the potential to ask something unexpected of you.

Yesterday certainly did.

Tomorrow will have the chance to as well.

So take a moment to dust yourself off.

Ask for help if you need it.

Take care of yourself.

Then get up and show up again.

Because some days ask more of us than we expected.

And tomorrow might ask again.

Continue the Journey

If this story resonated with you, you might also enjoy:

Further Reading

The Scale Isn’t The Scoreboard

Yesterday I stepped on the scale and it had gone up again.

I launched The Young Napoleon Project twenty-eight days ago and had only managed to lose one pound.

But instead of getting frustrated, I got honest with myself about what had actually been happening over the last four weeks.

When I think about it, my diet really hasn’t been all that great.

There have been family barbecues, birthday parties, Papa Pandas events, Father’s Day, ice cream date with the family, milkshakes after a rough day, and takeout when making dinner just wasn’t going to happen. If I’m being completely honest, I’m not surprised that I’ve only lost a pound.

What does surprise me is everything else that has happened over those same twenty-eight days.

I’ve written and published twenty-eight blog posts.

I’ve averaged more than 11,000 steps a day, reaching my 10,000-step goal on all but four days.

I’ve completed more than 400 push-ups, sit-ups, and squats simply by adding one repetition every day.

I’ve read nearly 800 pages by committing to just twenty-five pages a day.

I’ve built systems that help hold me accountable instead of relying on motivation alone.

I’ve taken the boys on walks, to the baseball fields, to the zoo, on family hikes, and on coffee shop dates.

I’ve built habits that I’m consistently tracking, and maybe the biggest accomplishment of all is that this project has now lasted longer than any previous attempt because The Reset Never Came.

The scale can only measure one aspect of my life.

That’s why it isn’t the scoreboard for this project—or for the man I’m trying to become.

Imagine if I had lost forty pounds this month…

…but I hadn’t done any writing.

I hadn’t read a single page.

I hadn’t built this project.

I hadn’t played catch with Brooks, gone swimming with Joseph, or spent evenings walking with my family because I was consumed with calories, macronutrients, workouts, and the next number on the scale.

Would that really have been a successful month?

I don’t think so.

Because I’ve lived that version of success before.

Years ago, I lost the weight.

I reached my goal.

But I did it in a way that wasn’t healthy for me physically or mentally. I restricted myself so much that life stopped being enjoyable. I exercised so intensely that I hurt almost every hour of every day.

The number on the scale went down.

But so did the quality of my life.

When I restarted this journey, I promised myself it would be different.

This time I wasn’t just trying to lose weight.

I was trying to build a sustainable life.

A way of eating that allows me to enjoy birthdays and family dinners without giving up on my goals.

An exercise routine that gives me the energy to coach my boys’ baseball teams instead of leaving me too exhausted to play catch in the backyard, something I wrote about recently in Playing Catch.

A lifestyle that lets me write every morning, read every day, be present with Jillian and the boys, and still become healthier over time.

That’s what victory looks like now.

Not just the number on the scale.

I’m not saying losing weight isn’t important.

It is.

I need to lose the weight.

I’m not saying I don’t need to be more accountable with my diet.

I do.

And I’m certainly not saying the scale doesn’t matter.

Because it does.

It just isn’t the only thing that matters.

If you think about sports, baseball has a scoreboard.

But the scoreboard doesn’t tell you everything.

The best hitters in baseball fail seven out of every ten at-bats.

Teams that make the playoffs still lose dozens of games every season.

Yet those players still step into the batter’s box.

They still show up after losses.

They still give maximum effort.

The scoreboard doesn’t measure hustle.

It doesn’t measure the extra work that happens before anyone ever walks onto the field.

It simply records one part of a much bigger story.

The bathroom scale is exactly the same.

It measures my weight.

It doesn’t measure whether I’m becoming the husband I want to be.

It doesn’t measure whether I’m becoming the father I want to be.

It doesn’t measure whether I’m keeping promises to myself.

It doesn’t measure whether I’m building habits that my boys are watching every morning, something I reflected on in Little Eyes Are Always Watching.

It doesn’t measure whether I’m building a life I’m proud of.

So I’m going to keep stepping on the scale every morning.

I’ll celebrate when the number goes down.

I’ll honestly evaluate why it went up.

Then I’ll put it back under the bathroom sink and go live my life.

Because the scale isn’t the scoreboard I’m using anymore.

When this project is over, success won’t be determined by one number.

It will be determined by the life I built along the way.

Continue the Journey

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