The Myth of Consistency and the Gift of Chaos
How many times have you built the perfect routine—only to have life smash it to hell?
You wake up early. You’ve got your system dialed in. Sticky notes on the wall, timers set, inbox cleared, completely in the zone. For a while, it feels like everything’s working. Progress, predictability, control.
And then—boom—chaos.
It doesn’t even have to be bad chaos. Sometimes it’s the kind that comes disguised as opportunity. A new project. A big launch. A once-in-a-lifetime chance you can’t say no to.
That was me this past summer.
The Order Before the Storm
For months I’d been in a good rhythm. I woke at 5:30, spent an hour in quiet reflection and writing, and usually cranked out an article every week or two. My mornings were structured and calm. My systems—Pomodoro timers, sticky-note wall, color-coded priorities—gave me a sense of clarity and flow.
Work was equally organized. My inbox stayed under control, projects tracked, metrics clean. I felt productive, creative, and steady.
Order feels good because it gives you the illusion of mastery. You’re in control. You think you’ve finally cracked the code.
Then life checks to see if you actually learned anything.
The Chaos Arrives
In August, I got the wild idea to design and launch an introductory course on reading the Bible through its ancient cultural context. It wasn’t part of my schedule—it was an impulse born out of curiosity and momentum.
I set a 30-day deadline before my 43rd birthday, determined to go from idea to delivery in one month. I knew if I gave myself more time, perfectionism would bury the project. So I applied Parkinson’s Law to myself: shorter deadlines, higher focus.
And it worked—at first.
Four hundred people joined the waitlist. More than a hundred bought the course. It was the most successful launch I’d ever had.
But behind the scenes, I was drowning. Fourteen video lessons to record, edit, and release over four weeks. The deadlines started slipping. I was recording in the morning—the time I usually spend in reflection and writing, editing after work, running on fumes.
Then came the second punch. My team at the hospital went live with a major project we’d spent a year preparing for. The demands were relentless—issues, meetings, inbox explosions. My calm, ordered life evaporated overnight.
By late September, I was wrecked. I couldn’t focus. My pulse raced constantly. Some days it took effort just to breathe. I was short-tempered, anxious, and exhausted. My body was done, but my brain wouldn’t stop.
This wasn’t new stress—it was the kind I’d built myself.
Losing the System
I tried to force control back. I’d sit at my desk at 5:30 like always, determined to write, to keep my streak alive. But every attempt dissolved into distraction—checking messages, tinkering with to-dos, chasing fake productivity because I couldn’t bear to feel unproductive.
The harder I clung to my systems, the more powerless I felt.
That’s when I realized how much of my identity had been tied to being “the guy who always has it together.”
The truth?
Systems are supposed to serve you. When they start owning you, that’s not discipline—it’s slavery.
The Pivot
What finally shifted things wasn’t a productivity trick. It was a conversation with my wife and my two oldest sons. We’d started talking about order and chaos—the idea that life moves in cycles, and growth comes through disruption.
That idea hit me hard. I’d spent my career studying systems—nuclear engineering, critical-care nursing, process improvement—and yet here I was forgetting the most basic principle: every stable system eventually reaches a point where it has to break down to evolve.
It’s not failure. It’s transformation.
I started to see that my burnout wasn’t punishment; it was a signal. The chaos wasn’t the enemy—it was the invitation to upgrade.
Letting Go
So I did something radical for a high-performer. I stopped fighting it.
I let my routines go quiet. I stopped pretending I could do everything. I gave myself permission to rest, recover, and recalibrate.
And I stopped feeling guilty for not being “consistent.”
Because here’s the thing: consistency isn’t about never missing—it’s about always returning.
The “consistency is key” crowd loves streaks and checkboxes. But growth doesn’t work in straight lines. It’s cyclical. Think agriculture: there’s planting, harvest, and rest. Even the land takes a break. Yet we act like rest is rebellion.
New Order
When I finally came back to my systems, I came back different. I still use sticky notes and timers, but I don’t worship them. I’ve learned to bend with reality.
If I sleep terribly, I skip the gym. I don’t shame myself for it. If my inbox explodes, I let it sit. The people who really need me will follow up. Funny thing—ignoring my email for a month led to more creativity and sharper problem-solving.
Adaptability, not consistency, is the real discipline.
You can maintain habits and still be flexible. Systems are scaffolding for growth, not prisons for perfection.
The Heartbeat of Life
We like to imagine life as a smooth wave—ups and downs, neatly alternating. But it’s closer to an EKG readout: erratic spikes, sudden drops, moments of static followed by surges of life.
Those spikes—good and bad—mean you’re alive.
A flat line might look peaceful, but it’s death.
My chaos season was an arrhythmia that forced me to reset. Now the rhythm feels stronger, more real.
Takeaway
Order. Chaos. New order. That’s the cycle. Every time you think you’ve stabilized, the next disruption is already forming—and that’s okay.
When life wrecks your perfect routine, don’t panic. Don’t cling tighter.
Step back, breathe, and ask what this chaos is trying to teach you.
Break the streak. Miss the workout. Let the inbox pile up. You can always rebuild—smarter, stronger, and better aligned with who you’re becoming.
You don’t need a perfect system.
You need the resilience to rebuild when it breaks.
Thanks for taking the time to read!
If you enjoyed this article, please do me a huge favor. Share it with just one other person you know who would benefit from it.
If there was a specific part that really connected with you restack it so others can grow too!