What’s one habit that has improved your life the most?
All habits—barring the truly harmful ones—can improve life. But what is the one that improves your life most?
Charles Dickens once observed that man is a creature of habit, for he creates them himself. In other words, whether good or bad, a habit is self-made. As Aristotle (via Will Durant) put it: We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.
Conventional wisdom champions moderation—yet wisdom herself knows that moderation is not a fixed measure but a living discernment. One glass of wine may serve one man; three may harm another. The question is not how much, but what befits. Wisdom, not arithmetic, holds the final vote.
Consider a few examples: Waking early to work is a good habit; waking early to play video games, less so. Daily exercise maintains health; overexertion strains muscles. Encouraging children to study diligently is commendable; bribing them with gifts may breed entitlement. If habits form character—and character shapes destiny—then we would do well to watch our habits closely.
I believe that self-control, perseverance, resilience, and even the capacity to delay gratification are first learned, then tested, and finally internalised. For me, the foundational habit is self-discipline—without it, no virtuous act can sustain itself. And so I align my daily rhythms with my biological clock, heeding nature’s cadence: for everything there is a season. Yet as time advances, the body frays, and even good habits can grow stale.
Remarkably, God Himself keeps a habit—He who watches over His people “will neither slumber nor sleep” (Psalm 121:4). In that unwavering vigilance, I find my anchor. I cling not to my own fragile routines, but to God’s eternal constancy—the one Habit that truly improves my life.
For habit is a sovereign force, capable of ruling or redeeming. May this poem guide you towards a habit of the ever-changing heart.
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✨ Habit—Bane or Boon? ✨
“What’s long been done” becomes the thread of days—
Teach the young child the road he ought to tread,
And when his locks are white, he’ll keep those ways.
Sweet habits sown in youth sustain the aged head;
But if the heart leans crooked, trained to ill,
Then ruin follows—as night follows noon.
The sun ascends, descends; the tides fulfill
Their ancient turn beneath the changeful moon.
The sky knows no old age, yet man must wane;
The sky stands still, yet man must turn his soul—
Renew his mind, break every brittle chain.
To make a habit of that making whole—
This is the pulse of life, the inward art:
To grow accustomed to a changing heart.
en yan hua fang 