Grand reading plans die in busy seasons. Mine used to: a stack of ambitious books, a calendar with no mercy, and a streak that ended by Wednesday.
The fix was lowering the bar until it was almost embarrassing. Ten pages a day, every day, counts. Ten pages is fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes exists in every day I have ever had, including the bad ones.
The streak is now older than some of my projects. Small minimums, kept daily, beat heroic weekends every single time.
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