How Tiny Choices Prevent Giant Regrets

When I was in my 20s, I decided I would learn to play the piano. It wasn’t out of some deep love for Chopin or an ambition to play at Carnegie Hall—no, it was because I thought it would look cool at parties. I imagined myself casually leaning over a piano, surrounded by wide-eyed onlookers, playing something soulful and making witty, offhand comments like, “Oh, this? Just a little thing I picked up.”

So, I bought myself a keyboard. It had more buttons than an airplane cockpit, most of which I never pressed. I sat down that first day, eager to channel my inner virtuoso, only to discover that pianos don’t come pre-installed with talent. Shocking, I know. My fingers fumbled, the notes clashed, and after about 30 minutes of relentless, painful noise, I decided to take a “short break.”

That short break lasted… forever.

It’s amazing how quickly we can convince ourselves that something just isn’t worth it. That maybe piano playing isn’t for us, or writing a book is too big a dream, or keeping up with daily flossing is a fool’s errand (I stand by that last one, by the way).

But, the thing about giving up is that, in the moment, it feels like you’ve lightened your load. What a relief to not have to struggle through those scales, right? But then, fast forward a decade or two, and that decision to skip the discipline weighs on you like an elephant in a tutu doing pirouettes on your chest. And let me tell you, elephants have no business in tutus.

This isn’t about the piano, by the way. Well, not just about the piano. It’s about the gradual accumulation of all the things we tell ourselves we’ll get to later. You know, when we’re older, wiser, and somehow magically better equipped to handle life’s responsibilities, like learning to cook something other than cereal.

But later never really comes, does it?

Instead, what comes is regret. And it’s not the elegant, cinematic kind of regret where you dramatically stare out of a rain-soaked window. No, it’s the kind that nags at you when you’re brushing your teeth or trying to fall asleep at 2 a.m., wondering why you didn’t just stick with it when you had the chance.

Here’s the thing about discipline: it’s annoying. No one wakes up and thinks, “You know what I’d love to do today? Endure mild suffering for the greater good of future me.” Future you feels so distant, and present you is right here, wanting snacks and TV and maybe just a little more sleep.

But future you will eventually become present you, and then, well, you’re stuck with all the decisions you made in the past—or didn’t make. And that’s the crux of it. The discomfort of discipline is like wearing tight jeans on a full stomach—it’s mildly unpleasant, but manageable. Regret, on the other hand, is like finding out you’ve been wearing your pants backwards for 20 years.

I’ve had my fair share of those backward-pants moments. Every time I thought, “Oh, I’ll just do that tomorrow,” I might as well have been handing future me a boulder to carry up a hill. Eventually, you find yourself surrounded by these giant rocks, each representing some goal you abandoned, and you realize you’ve turned into your own personal Sherpa of could-have-beens. It’s exhausting. And hilarious. Mostly because it’s entirely avoidable, yet we all do it.

The good news is, no one’s asking you to become a monk or a Navy SEAL of personal discipline. You don’t have to wake up at 4 a.m. and plunge into an ice bath to make progress. It’s really about small, daily choices. Like setting your alarm 10 minutes earlier or not letting Netflix autoplay the next episode of that show you’ve seen six times already.

You’ll hate it in the moment, but future you will thank you. And maybe even write you a nice thank-you note on that piano you finally learned to play.

So, here’s my unsolicited advice: go ahead and take that 30 minutes today. Do the thing. And if you need to take a break, take it—but maybe don’t let it last… forever.