It began as a quiet rebellion against perfectionism.
I was sick of never getting anything done – of spending so much time overthinking, overengineering, overplanning, and overcommitting that even the simplest task collapsed under its own weight. There was always another angle, always one more way to optimize. Then one day I was staring down a problem that just needed solving. No time for the usual dithering.
There were a few plausible options on the table. I asked myself, maybe for the first time out loud:
Which one is better than the others?
Not perfect. Just better.
That question became a turning point.
It started small – a way to break logjams when choices were hard or time was tight. But it crept into everything. I caught myself applying it to moments that didn’t even feel like decisions.
I remember walking up the stone path to my house, slouched over, dragging my feet like I was auditioning for the part of tired old man in a low-budget drama. Without thinking I muttered:
Better to stand up straight and walk with purpose than drag myself like a dead animal.
And just like that, I was hooked.
Over the next few days I started applying it to everything. The mindset made me look for alternatives even when I wasn’t consciously choosing between them. It nudged me to notice what I was doing and ask if there might be a better way – even a slightly better one. Often there was. Bit by bit, things improved.
This is principle one with the volume turned down: start small and build a little at a time. You don’t need a revolution. You need a slightly better next move.
It couldn’t have come at a better time. We were deep into renovating my wife’s grandmother’s house – a seventy-year-old structure full of character and chaos, worn down by two decades of rotating relatives and deferred maintenance. We’d just moved in, juggling a new mortgage after nearly twenty years without one, double utility bills, two broadband accounts, and life throwing its usual wrench party: a root canal, a sick cat, a car breakdown. One three-hundred-dollar emergency after another. The budget didn’t feel tight. It felt predatory.
I could have panicked. Maybe I did for a second. Then I remembered the question.
Is there a better way to deal with this?
Turns out there was. I got precise. Tracked the budget to the penny. Negotiated payment plans, cut a few luxuries, made some hard calls. We got through it. Didn’t go broke. Didn’t lose the house. One persistent question carried us through.
I’ve never been a mindfulness guy. I tried some of the books. The language was nice. But it always felt like I was being told to tune in so hard to the present moment that the future became an afterthought – which is fine until reality kicks down the door.
The better-to mindset didn’t work that way. It kept me present not by insisting I savor every breath like a rare vintage, but by asking again and again: is this what I actually want to be doing right now? Is there a slightly better way to handle this moment? What will help not just now, but next?
That lens sharpened awareness without demanding I ignore the future. It helped me steer toward it with intention rather than fantasy.
This isn’t about always choosing the best option. It’s about moving from stuck to better. From default to deliberate. From dragging your feet to walking with purpose.
Perfection is paralyzing. Better is doable.
That’s a compass, not a map. And principle seventeen covers the rest: think ahead, but don’t worship your plans. Not all who wander are lost – they might just be looking for a slightly better route.