Why consistent, mindful effort transforms your life over time

There’s a strange comfort in believing that success hinges on one big moment.

We’re drawn to the drama of it—a single decision, a sudden opportunity, a turning point that changes everything. It makes for a great story. But in reality, as I’ve come to understand through both psychology and Buddhist practice, transformation is quieter than that.

I’m Lachlan Brown—a psychology graduate and author of Hidden Secrets of Buddhism—and over the past decade, I’ve seen firsthand how small, deliberate habits quietly eclipse headline-grabbing “breakthroughs.”

Because the truth is, lasting change rarely comes with a drumroll. It arrives slowly, disguised as discipline. It begins with actions so small, so unglamorous, they almost feel like they don’t count.

But they do.

In fact, they’re the only things that do.

Behavioral science backs this up. A longitudinal study at University College London found that it takes an average of 66 days for a modest daily habit—like eating a piece of fruit with lunch—to become automatic. And for some people, it can take up to 254 days. (Lally et al., 2009). It’s not about willpower or dramatic effort. It’s about tiny, consistent cues that, over time, rewire the brain.

Over five years, those unremarkable efforts compound into something significant. Not because you forced a breakthrough—but because you practiced right effort. That’s the Buddhist principle of showing up with intention, without clinging to results or slipping into extremes.

This isn’t about hustling harder than everyone else. It’s about doing what aligns with who you want to become—and staying with it long enough to watch it bloom.

Let me show you how this unfolded in my own life.

Before: when effort felt like pressure

Five years ago, I was burning out in the most socially acceptable way possible. I was productive. Responsive. Reliable. And also—chronically anxious, slightly bitter, and constantly comparing myself to people who seemed to be advancing faster.

I read every self-help blog I could find. Tried every morning routine. Bought a fancy planner. Downloaded meditation apps. It all helped… briefly.

But something was missing.

I was taking a lot of action — but none of it felt anchored. I was reacting, not choosing. And my efforts, though constant, weren’t intentional.

Psychologist Angela Duckworth would say I was busy, but I lacked “grit”—the sustained passion and perseverance her research shows predict long‑term achievement more strongly than IQ or social aptitude.

It was around this time that I revisited the concept of right effort — not as a motivational slogan, but as a mindfulness practice. In Buddhism, right effort isn’t about striving toward success. It’s about nurturing wholesome habits, avoiding harmful ones, and doing so with balance — not ambition or avoidance.

When I stopped asking, “What will get me ahead?” and started asking, “What feels like a meaningful investment in who I want to be?”—everything shifted.

The slow transformation of doing small things well

Progress began in subtle, almost invisible ways.

I didn’t launch a massive new project. I started journaling every morning—not to achieve clarity, but to build a relationship with my mind.

I didn’t cut out social media. I just began logging off before I felt drained.

I didn’t double my workload. I stopped saying yes to everything.

There was no big leap. But there was movement. A deeper alignment with effort that felt nourishing instead of depleting.

Harvard Business School professor Teresa Amabile calls this the progress principle: even “tiny wins” on meaningful tasks are the single most powerful driver of motivation and creativity in a workday.

And over time, it added up.

My anxiety has reduced. My energy stabilized. My work deepened. Not because I did more — but because I finally learned to act with purpose.

If you’re wondering where to start, here’s what I’ve found most powerful—not the things that make headlines, but the ones that quietly transform your trajectory.

Small things that will move you forward—gently but powerfully

These are the practices that don’t look dramatic. But done consistently, they change how you think, create, connect, and lead—quietly putting you ahead of those chasing quick wins.

1. Write a single paragraph every day – Not for an audience. For yourself. To clarify thoughts. To process. To think better by writing more simply.

2. Learn one idea well instead of collecting 10 quickly – Dive deep into a book or a concept. Revisit it. Make it part of your thinking. It’ll stay with you far longer than a scrolling binge.

3. Ask better questions in conversations – Shift from “What do you do?” to “What’s something that’s been meaningful to you lately?” Relationships built on curiosity outlast those built on convenience.

4. Block 30 minutes of “no input” time daily – No phone, no music, no content. Just stillness. That’s where original thoughts often arise.

5. Move your body deliberately, not aggressively – Stretch. Walk. Dance. The goal isn’t fitness—it’s reconnecting with the body as a source of intuition.

6. Send one honest message per week – A thank-you. A reconnection. A note of support. You’ll become the kind of person people remember—and trust.

7. Create before you consume – Even five minutes of creativity in the morning shifts your identity from consumer to contributor.

8. Let one belief go each month – About yourself, others, or how life should be. Journal on it. Reflect. Create mental spaciousness for new insights.

9. Track your attention, not just your time – Ask: Where does my energy go? Reclaim it. Attention is your most valuable currency.

10. Choose a guiding question each season – For example: “What would it mean to live with more softness?” Let this question guide decisions, not goals.

These aren’t life hacks. They’re investments in your inner infrastructure. They don’t offer quick returns—but they grow something durable and real.

After: what five years of right effort gave me

Looking back, I can honestly say I didn’t see the transformation happening day to day.

But it happened.

I became someone who finishes what he starts. Not perfectly, but consistently. Someone who can sit with discomfort without rushing to numb it. Someone whose definition of success now includes how peaceful my mornings feel.

I’ve written more than I ever thought I would. Launched projects I once felt too insecure to begin. Built relationships that nourish instead of drain.

And here’s what I’ve realized: none of it happened by force. It came from shifting the center of gravity—from outcome to effort.

The person I was five years ago wanted change. The person I am now knows that change is just what happens when you keep showing up—with care.

Why effort matters more than outcome

Western culture loves to measure success in milestones. But Buddhism reminds us that what matters most is intention.

Presence. Integrity in action.

Right effort isn’t about chasing the extraordinary. It’s about showing up for the ordinary with mindfulness and devotion.

It’s sweeping the floor with awareness. Speaking kindly when you could withdraw. Saying no when it would be easier to say yes. Returning to your values, again and again, even when no one’s watching.

Or, in the words often (mis)attributed to Aristotle but distilled perfectly by historian Will Durant: “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.”

That’s the kind of effort that compounds.

And five years from now, you won’t just have different results.

You’ll have a different relationship with effort. One rooted in respect, not pressure. In clarity, not competition. In inner alignment, not outer comparison.

The real reward: becoming someone you trust

You may not control what happens around you in five years. Markets shift. People leave. Circumstances evolve.

But you can become someone steady within it all.

Someone who trusts their own process. Who doesn’t abandon themselves in pursuit of approval. Who grows—not because they grind harder—but because they move with intention.

Start now.

Not with a grand declaration, but with a single choice.

One effort, made with care.

And another.

And another.

Because when you show up for the little things, you quietly become someone others look at in five years and think, How did they get so far ahead?

The answer?

You didn’t sprint.

You just stayed.