Return, Don’t Restart

Sunday night. I’ve succeeded in fighting off the dreaded “Sunday scaries.” Having dodged that malice, I stare down the barrel of another loaded weapon: my major plans for starting fresh Monday morning.

And I already know the outcome.

I will fail.

Again.

Because I have made it a massive deal. I have built up both the import and the magnitude of the changes I am about to embark on. The new plan has taken on Brobdingnagian proportions. It now encompasses every aspect of my life. The largeness is only surpassed by the likelihood that the plan will collapse.

Like Sisyphus, I am destined to restart my ponderous task. Over and over again.

When I should, instead, simply be returning.

The temptation to start fresh is tremendous. The previous plan was a failure; I must need a new one. But it was the plan’s fault, of course. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t perfect. It was too much, or the wrong direction for where I was in life.

Or something.

So, the solution is apparent. Make a new plan. A better plan. A plan that will be more sustainable. More realistic. More motivating.

Yet, as the foretold starting day approaches, the plan has grown from its humble beginnings. That doesn’t matter. This time will be different. This time I am more motivated. This time, the plan is better. This plan—this magical, perfected plan—won’t fail.

Yeah…

Truth is, the problem wasn’t the plan. But the problem also wasn’t some deep-seated defect within me.

The problem was the number of reps.

Often, the plan is fine. Yes, we probably make it too large, too colossal. But at the heart of it, the plan was solid.

We just didn’t give it enough reps.

As Arnold says:

"Reps, reps, reps. You might think you only do reps in the gym, but repetitions are the key to life. Whether you want to improve at speaking in public or reading books or just eating better, you will need to do reps. Whatever you work at, it becomes easier and less uncomfortable with every rep you do."

And therein lies the problem: not enough reps.

That is also the beauty of it.

We don’t need to start all over again. We don’t need to rewrite the plan. We just need to return to our plan and do more reps.

A new start is heavy. It is monumental. It carries with it so much baggage. In the back of our minds, we remember every time we started anew. And with every start, we remember every time we failed.

It is more than that, though:

"But the problem with constantly starting over is that you never learn how to continue through imperfection.

You become good at beginnings.

Not at staying.

You begin to believe that progress only counts when it looks organized, and the moment life becomes messy, you feel as though you have lost everything." (Modern Wisdoms, The Skill of Starting Again Without Starting Over)

So, return rather than restart. That is something different. It is gentle. It doesn’t require fanfare. It is mundane in all the ways that good things often are. It is putting in more of those reps.

And it teaches us to stick with it.

The first day one starts a new job, it is a big deal. There is meaning. Weight. Expectations. Pressure.

But coming to work tomorrow morning? When you have done it time and again? Easy. Light. Usual. Gentle.

Normal.

Are there expectations? Of course. But the same expectations there were yesterday, today, and the day after. No one is celebrating your return to work the next day. And they shouldn’t.

Nor should we.

Returning to our plan is similar. There is less pressure. Our expectations are simple: do what we have already done. Just do it again. And maybe a little better some days.

That’s it.

No reinvention. No fanfare. Repetition. Was there a break since the last time you followed the plan? Maybe. Just like coming back from vacation.

Hopefully, people are glad you came back to work. But it isn’t accompanied by expectations or adulation. It is more of the same. More reps done.

But again.

So, return. Return to a plan. Don’t waste your time or energy making a new one. Just go back.

Quietly. Without fanfare.

Do the thing. Again. Put in the reps. Maybe a little better, maybe a little worse. Doesn’t matter. Because we did the thing. Again.

We returned. And then we repeated, imperfections and all.

That is where we find actual change.

Not in the fanfare. But in the mundane of doing again.

In returning and repeating.