It is Tuesday morning in Brugge. Rain taps gently against our apartment window, the way it has done every weekend since we moved here. My son is still asleep, his small body curled under a blanket printed with cartoon dinosaurs. My wife is reading something on her phone, a rare moment of stillness before the day demands its usual chaos.
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| A quiet Tuesday morning in Brugge. Finding clarity in the rain before the day begins. |
I am sitting at our small dining table, a cold cup of tea beside me, watching the rain and thinking about habits.
Not big habits. Not the kind that life coaches sell in expensive courses. Small habits. Invisible habits. The kind you don't even notice until one day you look back and realize they have quietly rebuilt your entire life.
1. Why Discipline at Home Matters
I grew up in a village where discipline was not something we discussed. It was simply there, woven into the fabric of every day, like the mist that settled over the hills each morning.
My grandfather woke at 4 AM every single day. Not because he had an alarm clock—we didn't have electricity for most of my childhood. He woke because that was simply what one did. He would sit on the veranda, cross-legged, and say his prayers while the world was still dark and silent. By the time I stumbled out of bed, rubbing my eyes, he had already finished his rituals, fed the buffalo, and was drinking his first cup of milk tea.
I never heard him complain about waking up early. I never heard him say he needed motivation. He just did it.
Now I live in a modern apartment in Belgium, with central heating and blackout curtains and a phone that offers a hundred different alarm sounds. And still, some mornings, I hit snooze three times before dragging myself out of bed.
But I am learning.
Last month, I decided to wake up just twenty minutes earlier than usual. Not for anything grand—just to sit with my tea before the day swallowed me. Just to write a few lines in a notebook. Just to exist, quietly, before the demands of parenting and working and adulting began.
Twenty minutes. That is all.
And you know what? Those twenty minutes have changed me more than any "big decision" I made last year. In that small pocket of silence, I am not a father, not a husband, not an immigrant, not an employee. I am simply a person, breathing, watching the rain, remembering my grandfather on his veranda.
Discipline is not about punishing yourself. It is about creating small rituals that remind you who you are.
2. Simple Living Creates Mental Clarity
When I first moved to Singapore, I was overwhelmed by everything. The malls. The lights. The endless choices. I remember standing in a supermarket, staring at thirty different kinds of bottled water, and feeling actual panic.
Thirty kinds of water?
In my village, we had one source of water. The well. Sometimes it was clean, sometimes it wasn't. We didn't have choices. We had water.
Now I live in a world of infinite choices, and I have learned something strange: too many choices do not free you. They exhaust you.
My son has more toys than I had in my entire childhood. His room looks like a small toy shop exploded. And yet, what does he play with most? An old cardboard box. A stick he found in the park. The wooden spoon I use for cooking dal.
Children understand simplicity instinctively. It is we adults who forget.
I am trying to learn from him. Trying to clear the noise. Trying to remember that happiness does not live in the next purchase, the next upgrade, the next thing.
Simple food. Simple routines. Simple thinking.
When I make dal now, I do not rush. I watch the lentils soften. I listen to the pressure cooker hiss. I remember my grandmother's hands, moving with such precision, knowing exactly when the dal was ready—not by timer, but by sound.
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I am trying to listen more. To need less. To understand that minimalism is not about having an empty house. It is about having a full heart.
3. The Power of Saying "I Care"
Last night, I was scrolling through my phone. Just checking emails, I told myself. Just a quick look at the news. Just a moment on social media.
My son climbed onto my lap. "Papa," he said. "Kijk naar mij."
Look at me.
I didn't look up. "Just one minute, beta."
He waited. One minute passed. Two minutes. Then he gently pushed the phone down and placed his small face directly in front of mine.
"Papa. Nu. Kijk naar mij."
Papa. Now. Look at me.
I put the phone down. I looked at him. Really looked. At his dark eyes, so like my mother's. At his small fingers, reaching for my face. At this entire universe of a person, asking for the only thing that truly matters: attention.
We live in a world that is busier than ever. Everyone is working, scrolling, chasing, achieving. But what are we achieving, really, if the people we love most have to compete with a screen for our attention?
My wife and I speak Nepali at home. It is our private language, our way of keeping a small piece of Nepal alive in this cold, beautiful country. But sometimes, in the rush of evenings, we forget to actually talk. We discuss logistics—who will pick up our son, what to cook for dinner, when to call his school. But we forget to say the small things.
I appreciate you.
Thank you for being here.
I notice what you do.
These are not grand gestures. They are habits. Small, daily habits. And they matter more than any anniversary gift, any vacation, any expensive dinner.
Last week, I made a conscious effort. I put my phone in another room during dinner. I asked my wife about her day—really asked, not just the automatic "how was your day" that expects an automatic "fine." I listened to her answer. I asked follow-up questions.
She looked at me strangely at first. Then she smiled. And that smile—that small, unexpected smile—was worth more than anything I could have bought.
Digital connections are temporary. Real connections are lasting.
A peaceful home creates a powerful mind. And peace begins with putting the phone down and actually seeing the people in front of you.
4. Small Steps Lead to Big Results
When I first started writing these blogs, I doubted myself every single time.
Who am I to write? I thought. I am not a writer. I am just a man from a village, living in Belgium, trying to make sense of things.
But I kept writing. Ten minutes here. Twenty minutes there. Not waiting for inspiration, not waiting for the perfect moment. Just writing.
And somehow, over months, those small minutes added up to something I never expected. Words became paragraphs. Paragraphs became stories. Stories became connections with readers like you, who write back and say, "I felt this in my heart."
That is the compound effect. Not in money. In meaning.
My son is learning to write his name. Each day, he traces the letters with his small, clumsy hand. Some days the letters are crooked. Some days he gets frustrated and throws the pencil. But he tries again the next day. And slowly, imperceptibly, the letters become straighter. His name becomes his.
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| Small, clumsy hands today become the steady strength of tomorrow. The compound effect in its purest form. |
He does not see the progress day by day. Neither do I. But if I look at his writing from three months ago and compare it to today, the difference is astonishing.
That is how life changes. Not in dramatic leaps. In tiny, almost invisible steps.
Reading ten minutes a day. Exercising fifteen minutes. Writing one page. Calling your mother. Putting the phone away at dinner. Waking up twenty minutes earlier.
None of these feel powerful in the moment. But repeated daily, they rebuild your entire existence.
5. Consistency Is More Powerful Than Motivation
I have lived in many countries. Singapore, South Korea, London, Portugal, Denmark, now Belgium. I have learned many things. But the most important thing I have learned is this:
Motivation is a liar.
Motivation promises you will feel inspired every day. Motivation tells you that success belongs to those who are passionate and excited and always ready.
But real life is not like that.
Some days I wake up and I do not want to write. I do not want to meditate. I do not want to be present. I want to hide under my blanket and let the world solve itself.
On those days, motivation is silent.
But habit speaks.
Habit says: You have done this before. You can do it again. Just start. Just do the smallest thing. Just show up.
On the days I feel least like writing, I write one sentence. Just one. And often, that one sentence becomes a paragraph, becomes a page, becomes something I am proud of.
On the days I feel least like being present with my family, I put my phone away for ten minutes. Just ten. And often, those ten minutes become an hour of real connection.
Do not wait for the perfect moment. Do not wait for confidence. Start with what you have. Start where you are. Start now.
Action builds confidence. Consistency builds success.
Final Thoughts
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| The discipline we practice in the dark creates the peace we feel when the sun rises. |
Last night, after I put my son to bed, I stood in the doorway of his room and watched him sleep. His chest rising and falling. His small hand clutching his favorite stuffed animal. His lips slightly parted, whispering dreams in a language that mixes Nepali and Dutch in ways only he understands.
I thought about my grandfather, who never learned to read or write. I thought about my mother, who can calculate complex sums in her head but cannot recognize numbers on a page. I thought about all the small habits that brought me here—from a village without electricity to this warm apartment in Belgium, from a boy who had never seen a mobile phone to a father whose son speaks three languages.
Big change does not require big actions. It requires small actions done daily.
Start with one habit today. Just one.
Wake up ten minutes earlier. Drink your tea without looking at your phone. Tell someone you love them. Write one sentence. Read one page. Take one deep breath.
Commit to it for thirty days. Protect it like it matters.
Because it does.
Your future life is being built inside your present home, one small habit at a time. The discipline you practice today becomes the peace you feel tomorrow. The attention you give your family becomes the love that holds you together. The small steps you take become the distance you have traveled.
My grandfather understood this, sitting on his veranda in the dark, praying while the world slept. He never wrote a book or gave a speech or achieved anything the world would call "success." But he raised children who raised children who are now scattered across the globe, carrying his habits, his stories, his quiet discipline in their hearts.
That is success. Not what you achieve. What you pass on.
So start today. Start small. Start now.
Your future self is watching.
I’d love to hear from you. What small habits have made a difference in your life, your home, or your family? Maybe it’s something as simple as waking up a little earlier, putting your phone down at dinner, or taking a few minutes to really notice the people around you.
Your experiences matter. Sharing them can inspire others and create a conversation we can all learn from. Please leave a comment below with your thoughts, stories, or even the challenges you’ve faced while building small habits. I read every comment, and I truly appreciate each one.
Thank you for taking a moment to be part of this journey.
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