Scaling Out by Minutes

How to Measure Practice as Progress

I was a “serial restarter” once. A mouthful, I know — but precise. Always eager to start, spooked at the first sign of trouble.

Here’s the thing: I still am, at times. But I’m also getting more disciplined each time.

Finally, some of those new things are sticking.

Novel vs Noise

I said some are sticking. Started out a bit random.

Running a mile each morning; winter froze my will — still thawing.

Handwritten journal; wrist fatigue and illegibility — plus no idea where I last put it.

Hit the wall, fell flat.

Still eager. Still spooked.

Why didn’t these stick? They’re classic, over-the-pulpit favorites. They work for millions — just not me.

For me, the problem isn’t their stickiness; it’s my wall. What’s novel to some — running, handwritten journal — hits my wall as noise. Clings for minutes… then drops. Flat.

The Kid-to-Adult Time Inversion Principle

Yep, another mouthful — I’ll call it the KTATI (looks a little Russian-Italian, ha). Okay sorry, just geeking out for a sec.

In fact, that’s the type of behavior I see in my kids today. During a car ride this week, my oldest suggested that kids have plenty of time and energy to keep throwing things at their wall and seeing what sticks. Their wall hasn’t fully formed yet, so new stuff can stick in surprisingly durable ways. They have time to “geek out” for hours. Of course, their wall is also susceptible to bad “stickers” too — double-edged cognitive swords.

Adults like me, on the other hand, have very little time for stuff throwing. I balance responsibilities that weigh heavily all day. My wall is built and nearing the end of its settlement period. I specialize in what pays the bills, helps the family mature, and keeps the peace. But that leaves minimal time for myself, and I’m on constant guard to keep my wall clean and mess-free. No throwing sticky stuff randomly, for the time being. Am I right?

Am I? “Kid” — MAX(throwing) MIN(sticking) — “to Adult” — MIN(throwing) MAX(sticking) — “Time Inversion” principle. KTATI. I wasn’t born in Russia or Italy. Why does that feel so natural to write?

A minute ago I was geeking out — me, an adult, throwing a ludicrous-sounding acronym like KTATI to see if it would stick. To another wall. Still forming.

My wall may be built and settling — but I can make more walls. New walls. Each can go through the whole cycle again. My mental block was thinking I could only practice on one wall.

Four New Walls: Additions to the First

Piano, Mandarin, Cooking, Writing. No sticky acronym, sadly, yet new walls I’m building. Each reinforces a part of me that still wants to geek out — to channel my inner kid’s throwing instinct. The newness is relative, spanning less than a quarter of my life. Plenty of minutes so far; progress slow, unfanfared.

These new walls aren’t load bearing, they’re extra. If crisis hit today, I could bench them. They’d gather dust, not collapse. There would be enough foundation left to rebuild them.

I mentioned a “double-edged cognitive sword” for kids. For me, it’s not the bad “stickers” that cut. It’s the bad “walls” themselves. Chasing too many side projects at once. Feeling progress, yet losing track of where the minutes go. Sliced into the Void — unlogged, unrecoverable. Wasted.

So why build them at all? The first wall’s sufficient, right? Well, each started as an experiment. But when the weather turned, they became structural — helped me through. Minutes as mortar, reinforcing in advance.

Storming Life

An hommage — oh-MAHZH — to Brandon Sanderson. Read his brilliant Stormlight Archive for context.

(Short double-geek out.)

If you haven’t experienced life storms, you will. It’s inevitable. If not, congrats! You won the lottery — but you might be in the eye of a bigger one.

Living in Belgium and France for two years: intense language and cultural overload, shyness to boldness quantum leap.

Three little kids while teaching a 6 a.m. religion class in person on school days: late nights burping babies, early mornings feeding sheep.

More recently, a work project in sudden flux: hours reallocating sharply, unclear where the balance should be.

Language, faith, career. Battered by storms. They cracked and wore down; I did, too. Not enough minutes to fully repair, but I’m doing what I can.

Walled In

This might seem overwhelming. So was that mile I used to run in the morning. Or the empty page staring up at me, my mind jumbled.

Even now, I feel the tension of an entire Mandarin episode blurring by, nothing sticking. The sting of a finger against ivory key, too sore to continue.

I built these walls to expand outward. Somehow, I feel more enclosed. It doesn’t make sense… double-edged sword — just got nicked.

Pause. Take a breath. It’s part of the blueprint.

The walls are still here; bench them. They’ll gather dust, not collapse.

Progress takes time. Silent minutes still count.

This work documents lived experimentation with human-first practice. It is not professional, medical, financial, or legal advice.