After forty weeks of writing a weekly blog for you, I broke the streak.

It wasn’t intentional. I took a trip to Vietnam and didn’t bring my laptop. Part of me wanted that clean, full year of consistency. But life doesn’t always care about our neat stories. Which fits well with todays theme.

When a streak breaks, you don’t preserve it by looking back. You start again. You come back to what matters. You reconnect with the part of you that wanted to write in the first place.

So here we go. The first blog of a new streak. And an insight that hit me harder than anything has in a while, something that changed how I see the entire inner game.

Life Is One Big Story

This week, on a quiet morning walk, something clicked.

It wasn’t a dramatic moment. It was more like an inner nod, a gentle “oh… of course,” the way real insights often arrive. I’d been thinking about the different areas of my life. The goals that energise me. The frustrations that still pull at me. The parts of my experience that feel a bit heavy.

And this simple truth landed:

I’m not living in reality. I’m living in a story about reality.

A version of events stitched together over years. A narrative shaped by old identities, inherited beliefs, assumptions about what’s possible for me. Roles I’ve played without noticing how tightly I’ve been holding them.

Most days, we move through life on autopilot. We slip into the character we’ve always been — the responsible one, the ambitious one, the overwhelmed one, the one who feels behind, the one forever trying to fix something inside themselves. It all feels so familiar, so unquestioned, so convincingly that you don’t even realise you’re acting inside a script.

But when I slowed down enough to look with fresh eyes, I saw it clearly. I wasn’t reacting to life, I was reacting to the story I’d been telling myself about life.

And when you see that — really see it — something loosens. You stop treating your life as a fixed thing you must adapt to. You begin to recognise it as a story you’re participating in. A story you’re allowed to question. A story you’re allowed to change.

Which brings us to the first step in transforming any part of your life.

Step 1: See the Story You’re Living In

Once you realise you’re inside a story, the next honest question is:

Which story?

Not the story you wish you were living. Not the version you present to others. But the real, unfiltered narrative that shapes how you feel when you wake up. The story that drives your decisions, your doubts, your reactions. The story that quietly determines what you believe is available to you.

We often skip this part. We jump straight to changing our habits, routines, goals. But nothing truly shifts if the internal script — the identity behind all of it — remains untouched. You can’t build a new life on top of an old story. It will pull you back every time.

So this step invites you into gentle self-awareness.

What is the story you tell yourself about your career?

About money?

About your body, your health, your relationships, your potential?

Every area of your life has its own storyline running beneath the surface. Some empowering. Some outdated. Some inherited from your upbringing. Some created in moments of pain or failure that you never revisited.

And the strange thing is that most stories feel true not because they are true, but because they’re familiar.

“I’m behind.”

“I’m bad with money.”

“I can’t stay consistent.”

“Things are harder for me.”

“I don’t change easily.”

These aren’t facts. They’re narratives you internalised years ago, stories you’ve lived in for so long they now feel like identity.

So the work here is to slow down and listen.

Where does the story feel heavy? Where does it feel outdated or untrue? Where does it feel like a version of you that you no longer want to carry forward?

That heaviness is the signal. It's the tension between who you were and who you’re becoming. It's the quiet truth that the old script doesn’t fit anymore.

And the moment you see the story for what it is, something shifts. You're not trapped inside it anymore. You have a little space. A little freedom. A little room to breathe.

From that space, a new possibility opens.

Step 2: Change the Way You See the Story

Once you’ve identified the story you’re living in, the next shift is subtle yet transformative.

You change the way you see it.

Not through forced positivity or denying reality, but by recognising a simple truth: Most of what hurts us isn’t the situation itself, it’s the meaning we attach to it.

There’s the objective reality. The facts. And then there’s the story about those facts — the interpretation your mind creates.

We blur the two together, but they’re worlds apart.

Your bank balance is a fact. “I’m terrible with money” is a story.

Your partner not replying for two hours is a fact.“ They don’t care about me” is a story.

Your business plateauing is a fact.“ I’m falling behind” is a story.

When you don’t slow down, these interpretations solidify. They feel unshakeable, as if they’re simply “the way things are.” But the moment you question them — even slightly — a new pathway opens.

What else could be true here?

What would a more accurate interpretation look like?

What perspective gives me the most freedom?

Take money as an example. Maybe you’ve been living inside the story, “I’ve always been bad with money.” But look closely and you’ll find exceptions. Times where you were responsible, intentional, even wise. The story isn’t the whole truth, it’s just the most rehearsed one.

A more accurate, more empowering perspective might be:

“I’m learning to take care of my financial life. I’m improving. I’m moving toward financial freedom.”

Same external situation. Completely different inner story.

This isn’t delusion. It's honesty with compassion. It's choosing the narrative that reflects growth, possibility, and agency.

I see the same thing in my own life. I catch myself slipping into stories like:

“I have so much to do.”

“I’m behind.”

“I need to get everything perfect.”

And when I slow down enough to look through a wider lens, I see a clearer truth:

“I get to do this. I chose this path. I’m building something meaningful.”

Same situation, yet a completely different story and different experience.

But reframing isn’t the final step. It's the bridge to something deeper. Because some situations won’t change simply because you see them differently. Some patterns require a new version of you, a new identity to carry the new story forward.

Which brings us to the final step.

Step 3: Alter the Script

Reframing can ease the weight of an old story. It can loosen its grip. It can open a new door. But at some point, you reach the edge of what perspective can do. You can reinterpret the story endlessly, but the reality won’t change unless you change alongside it.

This is where the deeper transformation happens.

You alter the script by becoming the person who can live the new story.

Not through forcing yourself to be someone you’re not. But through small, honest actions that align with the identity you’re stepping into.

Because every story lives through its main character. And that character — the one you’ve been playing — was shaped by a different chapter of your life. A different season. A different set of needs and fears and ambitions.

You don’t have to keep acting from that version of yourself.

So the real question isn’t, “How do I fix myself?” It’s:

“Who am I becoming — and what would that version of me choose today?”

Make it simple.

If your old story is, “I’m bad with money,” and your new story is, “I’m someone who takes care of my financial life,” then the new script might look like:

• setting up an investment account

• making one small automatic payment a month

• checking your finances once a week

These aren’t overwhelming tasks, they’re identity cues. Each one whispers, “This is who I am now.”

Same with health. If your old script was, “I’m not consistent,” and your new story is that you’re someone who values their health, then the new script isn’t a perfect training program, it could simple be:

• two gym sessions a week

• 10,000 steps a day

• drinking enough water

You don’t prove the story all at once. You live into it slowly, through repetition, until it becomes who you are.

I’ve lived this process many times. I was a runner for more than a decade, not because I called myself one, but because I ran almost every day. When I moved to Thailand and discovered the gym, the “runner” identity dissolved and something new formed. It wasn’t even intentional. It just happened through showing up, repeating the same small choices, trying on a different version of myself long enough to realise it fit.

That’s really what altering the script is: living the new story until it becomes you.

Not through force. Through alignment. You don’t need to overhaul your life. You only need the next small step that honours the person you’re becoming.

And if you repeat that enough times, life stops feeling like something that happens to you — and starts feeling like something you’re actively creating.

Working With Resistance

Once you begin altering the script, something interesting happens. You’d think stepping into a new story would feel exciting, liberating, full of possibility. And it does, but not at first. At first, it feels uncomfortable. Awkward. Like wearing clothes that don’t quite fit yet.

This is where most people give up, not because the new story is wrong for them, but because the old story is fighting to survive. The mind has a deep attachment to whatever is familiar, even if that familiarity has been suffocating you for years. There’s a strange safety in the patterns we know. A predictability, a sense of “this is just who I am,” that the mind clings to because change, even positive change, disrupts its sense of control.

You’ll hear the old identity speak up.

Change is hard for me.

This is just the way I am.

I’m not the kind of person who does that.

None of these thoughts are objective truths. They’re the voice of the old narrative trying to pull you back into its orbit. And the moment you see them for what they are, just echoes of the past, they lose some of their power. You realise the resistance isn’t a sign that you’re on the wrong path. It’s a sign that you’re leaving the old one behind.

And this is why starting small matters. We love the idea of big transformation. The dramatic overhaul. The “new me” who changes everything overnight. But the nervous system doesn’t work like that. Identity doesn’t work like that. Trying to reinvent your life in one leap is like going from zero training to four heavy gym sessions a week. It’s too much load. Too much shock. The body pushes back. The mind rebels. The old identity tightens its grip.

Progress, in reality, is much quieter. It looks like 10,000 steps a day before you even think about joining a running club. It looks like writing for ten minutes a day before you tell yourself you’re going to publish a book. These small actions don’t feel heroic, but they are foundational. They begin to shift your internal sense of who you are, which is the entire game.

When I think about “progressive overload,” I don’t just think of weights in the gym. I think of identity. You slowly increase the demands you place on the story you are choosing to live. Not enough to overwhelm it, but enough to strengthen it. Every time you show up, you place another tiny stone on the new foundation. And over time—weeks, months, sometimes years—those stones become fixed. The new story becomes familiar. The new identity doesn’t feel forced anymore. It feels natural. It feels like you.

Identity grows through repetition, not inspiration.

Life As a Game of Stories

When I zoom out and look at my life through the lens of story, not from the perspective of achievements or milestones, it becomes simple in a way that almost feels childlike. Not naive, but playful. Free. I can see the different stories I’ve lived inside over the years, how each one shaped me for a time and then loosened its grip when I was ready to move on. There was the story of being a student, curious and hungry and unsure. The story of being a runner, training for races and measuring my life in times and achievements. The story of becoming a poker player, learning discipline and risk and resilience through a game most people misunderstand. Then the story of becoming a coach, learning how to help others navigate their inner worlds while still trying to make sense of my own.

And now there are newer stories I’m trying on—author, creator, powerlifter, padel player. I don’t know which of these identities will stay with me for a long time and which will be temporary. That’s the beauty of it. Life isn’t asking for certainty. It’s asking for participation. It’s asking for the courage to keep rewriting when something no longer feels true, and the humility to recognise when a story has ended so a new one can begin.

The more I see life this way, the more pressure falls away. I don’t need to get everything right. I don’t need to cling to an old identity just because it once served me. I don’t need to force a new story to fit perfectly on the first try. Stories evolve. We evolve. That’s the point. It’s okay to try something and realise it isn’t you. It’s okay to grow out of old roles. It’s okay to step into a new version of yourself before you feel fully ready. This isn’t a test. It’s self-discovery in motion. It’s taking a bet on who you might want to be and trying it on to see if it fits.

So if something in your life feels tight, or stagnant, maybe it’s not a failure. Maybe it’s simply a story that’s reached its end. And maybe the most honest thing you can do is acknowledge that and begin again. Not with force. But with curiosity.

So, which story are you ready to rewrite?

And what is one small action that would align with the next chapter you want to live?

The rest will unfold from there.

Adam