Start Small, Win Big

I used to believe that success had to be loud.

I thought that if I wanted to change my life, I needed a cinematic montage. You know the kind I’m talking about? The movie scene where the protagonist wakes up at 4:00 AM, drinks raw eggs, runs ten miles in the rain, and suddenly transforms from a mess into a masterpiece.

So, naturally, I tried to replicate that. Every New Year’s, or every random Tuesday when I felt particularly bad about myself, I would overhaul my entire existence. I’d buy the expensive journals, the organic kale, and the gym membership. I would announce to the world (or at least my bathroom mirror) that this was it. The new me had arrived.

And every single time, without fail, I would crash and burn by day three. The "new me" was exhausted, sore, and craving pizza.

I spent my twenties stuck in this loop of "All or Nothing." And because I couldn't do "All," I consistently chose "Nothing." I had big dreams—writing a novel, getting out of debt, getting fit—but the gap between where I was and where I wanted to be felt like a canyon I couldn't jump.

It wasn't until I hit rock bottom—not a dramatic rock bottom, just a quiet, gray Tuesday where I realized I hadn't moved forward in years—that I stumbled upon the secret.

I didn't need to jump the canyon. I just needed to build a bridge. One pebble at a time.

The Two-Minute Rule

The turning point came in the form of a sink full of dirty dishes.

It sounds ridiculous, but that pile of dishes represented everything wrong with my life. It was cluttered, overwhelming, and easy to ignore. I had been depressed for months, and the idea of spending thirty minutes scrubbing grease felt impossible.

I remembered reading somewhere about the concept of "starting small." Really small. So, I made a deal with myself. I didn't have to wash the dishes. I just had to wash one fork.

That was the rule. Wash one fork, and then I was allowed to walk away guilt-free.

So, I walked over, picked up a fork, scrubbed it, rinsed it, and put it in the drying rack. It took fifteen seconds. And then, a funny thing happened. Since my hands were already wet, and the sponge was already soapy, I thought, I might as well wash this plate.

Ten minutes later, the sink was empty.

I stood in my kitchen, stunned. I hadn't summoned a massive burst of willpower. I hadn't watched a motivational speech. I had just tricked my brain by lowering the barrier to entry. I started so small that I couldn't say no.

The Ripple Effect

I decided to apply this "One Fork" philosophy to everything.

I wanted to get back into running, but the idea of a 5K terrified me. So, I set a goal: Put on my running shoes. That was it. I didn't have to run. I just had to lace up the sneakers. Some days, I put them on, walked to the mailbox, and went back inside. But most days, once the shoes were on, I figured I might as well jog around the block.

I wanted to write a book, but 80,000 words felt like a mountain. So, I committed to writing one sentence a day. Just one. Before I knew it, one sentence turned into a paragraph, which turned into a chapter.

This is what people don't tell you about "Winning Big." We obsess over the finish line—the published book, the marathon medal, the zero-balance credit card. But the win doesn't happen at the finish line. The win happens in the quiet, unglamorous moments when you choose to do something rather than nothing.

Trusting Yourself Again

The biggest victory wasn't the physical results, though those eventually came. The real "Big Win" was psychological.

When you constantly set giant goals and fail, you stop trusting yourself. You become a person who breaks promises to themselves. Your self-esteem erodes because your subconscious knows you won't follow through.

But when you start small, you start keeping promises.

• "I said I would do one push-up, and I did it."

• "I said I would save one dollar today, and I did it."

• "I said I would read one page, and I did it."

Slowly, you rebuild your reputation with yourself. You start to realize that you are the kind of person who shows up. That confidence is worth more than any trophy. It’s a quiet, steady fire that burns much longer than the explosive spark of motivation.

The Compound Interest of Life

Three years after that day in the kitchen with the fork, my life looks completely different.

I didn't win the lottery. I didn't become a famous celebrity overnight. But I finished that novel. I ran a half-marathon. I paid off my credit card.

None of these things happened because of a heroic, sleepless week of grinding. They happened because of hundreds of boring, imperfect days where I just did a little bit.

If you are standing at the bottom of a mountain today, looking up and feeling paralyzed by how far you have to go, please stop looking up. Look down at your feet.

Don't worry about the mile. Just take the step. Don't worry about the book. Just write the word. Don't worry about the lifestyle overhaul. Just drink a glass of water.

Start small. Start painfully, laughably small. Because small isn't insignificant. Small is the seed. And if you water it every day, even just a little bit, you won't believe how big it can grow.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi