Why Change Is Hard (Even When You Want It)


Here we go again. I told myself I wouldn't skip a week of posting and I already broke that promise one month into the new year. In this article I'm going to explain my personal experience with behavioral change, and why I've found it so difficult.

I don't think this situation is something that can be solved with traditional self-help. It feels like I'm waging an internal war with myself every day. It's as if the lens that I'm looking through isn't compatible with what I want to accomplish.

The ability to clearly state a problem is half of its solution — that is, according to Kidlin's Law. I happen to think this is true. When inverted, a poorly defined problem will almost certainly lead to a poorly designed solution. If you can't even recognize the problem, how will you recognize the solution?


This is where my problem begins: 

I have no idea what my problem is.


There's this vague sensation that's keeping my goals out of reach. Nothing seems to satisfy this feeling. It's as though what I want and what I do live in two different zip codes, no, dimensions — and every time I push myself to close this gap, it widens even larger than before.

It's like my thoughts and actions don't live in sync with one another. If writing consistently is what I want, my mind will provide reasons why this isn't possible yet. These reasons are extremely persuasive. In fact, they're so persuasive, they've successfully convinced me to postpone this project for an entire year.

It hurts so much to look back on this year. Despite the fact that I was able to accomplish other things like building a website, learning how to touch-type, and moving into my Mom's basement. Super proud of that last one, but I'm not going to beat myself up too bad — I really didn't have much of a choice.

So yeah, lots of winning. But I didn't do the thing I actually set out to do in 2026; I wanted to start writing. And while there's no time like the present, it's hard to let go of lost time. Not simply because it's gone, but because of what it represents: Missed opportunities. 

The past has a very unique talent for haunting you in ways you couldn't have ever imagined. Sometimes it can feel like a phantom limb resting its grip ever so gently around your neck. It can be suffocating. Regret truly is a useless emotion — but useless doesn't mean painless. I would argue it's the second strongest negative emotion next to shame. They're almost one in the same.

I tell myself, "If I had known better, I would have done better." But I did know better, so why wasn't I doing what I knew I needed to do?

In retrospect, I'm going to say it was a concoction of perfectionism, doubt, feelings of inadequacy, bad environment, and a bias for thought instead of action. Plus, this was further exacerbated by a very large knowledge gap in the thought leadership industry as a whole.

The funny thing is, most of that is still present. The only difference is that I'm fully aware of it now. I wouldn't have had the data to realize I needed major behavior changes had I not gone through that first. Life is sort of a paradox like that. We don't really know what we're dealing with until after we've dealt with it.

That's why it isn't enough to simply want to change. You have to get to a place where change is the only rational path. It becomes a necessity. If behavior A) is keeping you at level one, then behavior A) isn't going to get you to level two. That's when you need to try behavior B). Keyword — "need."

When you need to change, you stop looking for inspiration and start looking for logic. And yes, I know that's not as exciting as your standard motivational content you've come to know and love. There's a reason we like that so much by the way:


It speaks to the ego.


I'd love to get into that, but I'm going to save it for another day. Let's wrap this one up first.

I've realized that the more I become a translator of my past and less a dictator of my future, I sleep better at night. Regret appears to melt. The time I spent seemed necessary. And most importantly, I forgive myself.


Ciao,

Tony