Sunday, September 27, 2026

Small, Boring Habits and the Art of Paying Attention

What a monk-turned-MIT-grad taught me about attention, energy, and happiness, and what the book of Proverbs taught me first.

I've become a regular listener of Sandeep Swadia, better known on YouTube as the MIT Monk. His videos feel genuine in a way much of the self-improvement world doesn't. He brings together science, strategy, spirituality, and his own hard-won story, and he never loses sight of what matters most to him: a real love for people and a desire to help them think differently about their lives. His latest video argues that the path to getting your life together runs through small, almost boring habits rather than bigger dreams or more motivation. What follows is my summary of his framework, my attempt to wrap my head around its three pillars, and the takeaways I'm claiming for myself.

Why this one hit close to home

I've had to learn attention the hard way. If I'm honest, for the first half of my life I was an average listener at best. I had read a lot of books, traveled widely, and collected more experiences and ideas than I knew what to do with. So in conversations, I heard people, but I didn't really listen. I was usually waiting for my turn, eager to share the next idea or story.

Leadership makes that habit easy to justify. The people you lead often want to hear from you. They want your direction, your vision, your answer. It's tempting to believe that speaking is the job. But the longer I lead, the more I'm learning that listening is the harder and more important skill, and like any skill, it needs practice. Listening well in the mundane moments, the exciting ones, the complex and complicated ones, and especially in the chaos, is an art.

And this isn't just a workplace problem. My wife would tell you it's a very real one at home. She has often told me, and not without reason, that I don't listen. I've come to see that some of this may be rooted in deeper things: our upbringing, the culture we come from, old wounds, and survival mechanisms we learned long ago that once protected us and now just get in the way. None of those are excuses. They are simply part of the honest work of understanding why I do what I do, so I can do better.

The book of Proverbs saw this long before any leadership book did. "If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame" (Proverbs 18:13, ESV). That verse describes the younger me with uncomfortable accuracy. Elsewhere it warns, "When words are many, transgression is not lacking, but whoever restrains his lips is prudent" (Proverbs 10:19, ESV), and it observes that a fool takes no pleasure in understanding, only in airing his own opinions (Proverbs 18:2).

One tool that has helped me recently came from a course I took with Bruce Muzik called The Conflict Cure, and I'm sure similar tools exist with the same roots. It's called reflective listening, and it deserves its own post. The short version goes like this. First, mirror back what you heard, in your own words, to the person speaking. Then ask them whether you got it right, and whether there's more. Only when they feel fully heard do you move on to validating them, which means acknowledging that their perspective makes sense from where they stand, even if you don't agree. Finally, put yourself in their shoes and empathize with how they feel. It sounds simple. In practice, especially when emotions run high, it is anything but. More on that in a future post.

Ancient wisdom and a modern monk land in the same place: fewer words, more attention. Which is exactly why Sandeep's framework caught my attention, since his very first pillar is attention itself.

Don't look up

Sandeep opens with a story I haven't been able to shake. A friend of his who has summited Everest twice told him the secret to the final stretch: don't look up. Above 8,000 meters, in what climbers call the death zone, every step costs you, and staring at the summit can break you. So you keep your eyes down, take a step, pause, gather yourself, and decide on the next one.

Here's the thing: every big goal works that way. The book, the marathon, the business, the finances, the transformation project. From a distance, they all look like Everest. Small habits are what keep our brains from pretending we can climb the whole mountain in one go. Sandeep claims the right small habits don't just help you progress; they change the architecture of your life. He organizes nine of them under three pillars: attention, energy, and happiness.

Pillar 1: Attention

Correct after the click. An airplane on autopilot is almost never exactly on course. It flies as a series of small recoveries and still lands where it should. Most of us try to stop a bad reflex before it fires, and we fail because it's a reflex. Sandeep's approach: the moment you notice you've slipped (opened the app, reached for the ice cream), immediately attach one small good action, like standing up for a glass of water or a few deep breaths. He calls it interrupting the interruption.

Control your input. Psychologist Bluma Zeigarnik noticed that waiters remembered complex unpaid orders perfectly, then forgot them the moment the bill was settled. Unfinished things stay open in the background of your brain, draining resources like apps you forgot to close. His fix has two parts: batch your email and messages into two or three fixed windows a day, and touch each item only once using his 4D framework. Do it, delegate it, date it, or delete it.

Write to think. Amazon famously opened senior meetings with silent reading of a written memo rather than a slide deck, on the theory that slides can hide sloppy thinking while paragraphs force one idea to connect to the next. Research also suggests handwritten notes beat typed ones for conceptual understanding. Before a hard conversation or a foggy decision, write down three things: What do I know? What am I assuming? What is the next honest action?

Pillar 2: Energy

Quantize the action. Max Planck discovered that energy moves in small, discrete packets. Sandeep applies that to habits: shrink them to the smallest unit so starting takes almost no force. One line of writing. Half a push-up. A one-minute walk. The hardest part of any habit is the start, so make the start tiny.

Set a caffeine cutoff. Caffeine lingers for hours, and research shows it can disrupt deep sleep even when taken six hours before bed. You wake up groggy, reach for more coffee, and the loop feeds itself. The habit: stop caffeine at least six hours before bedtime, because protecting sleep may be the most productive thing you can do.

Ride the waves. Sleep researcher Nathaniel Kleitman found that our brains cycle through roughly 80- to 120-minute waves of high and low alertness all day long. The 3:30 p.m. crash isn't a discipline failure; it's biology. Work in a focused block of 60 to 90 minutes, then take a real recovery break of 10 to 20 minutes with no feeds, no inbox, and no new input. Then ride the next wave.

Pillar 3: Happiness

Look up. When life gets heavy, Sandeep steps outside at night and looks at the stars. Much of that light left its source long ago, and some of those stars may no longer exist. Whether you see it through faith or science, the mystery of our existence puts our troubles in perspective. The psalmist got there first: "When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him?" (Psalm 8:3–4, ESV).

Look in the mirror. The same elements that formed the stars formed you, and there is only one version of you: your story, your scars, your voice. Looking up reminds you you're surrounded by miracles. Looking in the mirror reminds you that you're one of them. I'd call that being "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139:14).

Forgive yourself. Your habits will break. Your systems will break. In hard seasons, when every day is a firefight, none of these small habits will survive, and that's okay. You don't have to be your best self on your worst day. Self-prosecution drains you far more than a missed habit ever will.

My Takeaways

Here's where I landed, as a leader still learning to listen.

On attention, I'm applying "correct after the click" to conversations. When I catch myself jumping in with the next idea, I'm going to stop mid-reflex and ask a question instead. That's interrupting my own interruption. The 4D framework is going straight into my inbox routine, and "write to think" confirms something this blog has taught me for years: I often don't know what I think until I write it down.

On energy, quantizing is exactly how I need to approach the book I'm writing. Not "write a chapter." Write one paragraph. And I'm going to stop treating my afternoon dip as a character flaw and start scheduling around it.

On happiness, the three habits of awe, gratitude, and self-forgiveness sound soft, but I've come to believe they are what make every other habit sustainable. Grace isn't the opposite of discipline. It's what lets you get back up. "His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning" (Lamentations 3:22–23, ESV).

The Takeaway

None of these habits are about pretending our problems are small. As Sandeep puts it, they're about remembering that our lives are large. Keep your eyes on the next step. Listen more than you speak. Protect your attention, your energy, and your joy. And when the habits break, and they will, forgive yourself and take the next step anyway.

Good habits won't keep you from ever getting lost. They'll help you find your way home.

Dr. Sam Kurien

The HAT Tool for a Leader Paying Attention

 The HAT Tool for a Leader Paying Attention

The most underrated leadership tool I know costs nothing, needs no license, and a strict Spanish nun modeled it for me decades ago.

When I was a young primary school student at a convent school, I avoided one person whenever I could: the principal. She was a Spanish nun, and she also taught me English, art, and physical education. She loved sports; she was strict, and her standards were impossibly high. Art was the subject I hated most. I did not like her, and I'm fairly sure she knew it. I can still hear her calling me "Samuel" whenever I was out of line or falling short of one of those impossible standards.

Years later, life came full circle. I went back to that same school to teach, and there she was. Same nun. Same standards, possibly higher. Only this time I wasn't at a desk in her classroom. I was working beside her.

And somewhere along the way, I came to love her.

Maya Angelou, the poet and Presidential Medal of Freedom recipient, is often credited with saying, "People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." I can't recall every lesson she taught me or every project we finished. But I have never forgotten how she made me feel: seen, believed in, and worth the effort.

She became my mentor, and far more than that. She gave me her friendship, the affection of a grandmother, her teaching, her prayers, and a steady push. The project I remember most is the school magazine. My desktop publishing skills were thin, and my writing wasn't much better. She didn't lower the bar. She stood beside me, gently pressing me to work harder, work smarter, and look again. Without my noticing, she was building something in me I didn't know was there: a sense of design.

That attention paid off. I still draw on what she planted, every time I design a system, a strategy, or a slide.

The idea that brought her back to mind

I recently came across a video and newsletter from a former monk, CEO who went on to MIT, and one line stuck with me: you can't be half-present and fully connected.

He wasn't talking about attention to detail in your work. He meant attention to the person in front of you. Anyone who has worked in technology knows what context switching does to a processor. It does the same thing to a conversation. Half our attention on the screen means half a connection with the human.

To practice this, he offers a simple framework he calls the HAT principle. In every interaction, offer at least one of three things.

H is for Help


Listen for what the person actually needs, not what you assume. Watch for what isn't said. My mentor never simply told me a magazine page was wrong. She sat down, showed me why, and told me what to try next. Her help met me where I really was.

A is for Appreciation

Be specific. I think of it as three levels, each going deeper than the last:

  1. Say it: "Thanks, that looks great."
  2. Name what they did: "Thanks, that looks great. Aligning the photos with the headlines makes the page easy to read."
  3. Explain why it mattered: "…Parents will actually stop and read this instead of flipping past it. You have a real eye for this."

Level three is the one people carry for years. I know, because I still remember the times she told me something I'd done was good and why.

A few examples:

  • To a staff member: "Thanks for catching that error in the budget report before it went to the board. You saved us a lot of headaches and protected our credibility. I really value how carefully you check your work."
  • To a team: "You all stayed late to get the system back online Friday night. Because of that, students could register on Monday without a single hiccup. That's what ownership looks like."
  • To a peer: "Thanks for looping me in early on that vendor decision. It kept my team from building something we'd have had to throw away."
  • To another leader: "The way you handled that tough conversation in the meeting kept everyone at the table. I learned something watching you do it."
  • To your child: "You finished your homework before I even asked. That meant we had time to go to the park together. I'm proud of how responsible you're becoming."
  • To your spouse: "Babe, you found that billing mistake on the insurance statement. That saved us a lot of money, and honestly, I'd never have caught it. Thank you for looking out for us."

T is for Time

Give someone a few minutes without competing with your screen. Close the laptop. Turn the phone face down. Ask the question you've been meaning to ask. My mentor was running an entire school, and she still made time for me, again and again. I didn't understand then what that cost her. As a leader today, I do.

Why this matters for leaders, and for everyone

People rarely remember the memo or the meeting agenda. They remember whether the person in charge actually saw them. A leader who helps with real needs, names good work specifically, and gives undivided time builds a kind of trust no title can buy. My mentor held the highest position in that school, but her real authority in my life came from her attention.

You don't need a leadership role for this to matter. The HAT is really a daily workout for emotional intelligence and empathy. Looking for ways to help trains you to read what others need. Specific appreciation trains you to see the good in people, not just the gaps. Giving time trains you to put someone ahead of your distractions. Practice it long enough and it stops being a technique. It becomes who you are.

And it's small. A sentence of encouragement. Five minutes without a phone. One practical offer of help. Small things, given consistently and generously, compound.

The Takeaway

Even when you feel overlooked yourself, and most of us have, you can still help someone else feel seen. Take care of yourself, but when you have a little attention to spare, spend it. You are holding something valuable.

A strict old nun did that for a young teacher who once couldn't stand her. It changed the course of my life.

So this week, put on the HAT. Pick one person and offer at least one of the three. You may never see how far it goes.

Dr. Sam Kurien