The practices

At the start of Year 9 I began praying every night without missing a single day. Fifteen minutes a night, and within 24 days I could say the full prayer.

It was stacking up. I didn't know it. I was happy I wasn't aware, and that's what kept me consistent: I was doing it to fix myself, not for a reward. Every day I prayed, I was changing the direction of my life by the slightest. I can't say it was a sudden miracle, that one day I woke up a new person. It was gradual.

All the high-performing people and I have one thing in common: we kept a habit going without approval until it compounded into a result you could see. You don't ask anyone to start. You don't tell anyone.

In 1973, a group of preschoolers were split in two. One group was rewarded for every drawing they made, and the other drew for fun. Over the weeks, the rewarded group drew fewer pictures. The reward had turned play into work.

Goals are “how can I get there?” Purpose is “why should I do this?” I couldn't work out the why at first, so I kept doing the habit until I did. The one thing that finds your purpose is the act of acting.

How it started

At the start of the year I set a goal to gain weight, so I started going to the gym. My pressure came from the people who had called me “skinny” and “a twig.” I didn't want that label. I wanted to be seen as a leader.

My gym journey had just begun. Two weeks in, I'd built the habit of going, and I had no progress. In the mirror my arms looked the same. I still wanted to quit.

People quit because they don't have pressure strong enough to keep them going. In the three weeks of school holidays, a friend and I both committed to going every weekday. He went every day of the first week. In the second he slept in one day and fell away from there. By the third he was completely inconsistent. He had a goal but no pressure. I went when I didn't want to go. He went when he wanted to.

A goal is the outcome you want. A standard is the least you expect of yourself, like stretching every time you work out, and it never gets skipped. The goal gets you moving, and the pressure keeps you going.

On my Year 9 camp I chose the hardest option: tents every night and the full hike. It was my first time hiking, with 15kg on my back. Then came the hardest turn of my life.

It was about 3 centimetres wide, and right beside it was a 50‑metre fall straight into the river. If I lost my balance, my pack would pull me straight into the drop. I hugged the tree on the other side and shuffled through.

After two hours we made it. That night a thunderstorm hit, and we chopped dinner on a board that had been dropped in the mud. My family had asked why I didn't choose the easier option. I had a purpose: to come out of that camp more skilful, by building skills through the pain.

We didn't wish for food, and we didn't wish for a sunset. They came to us.

Near the end of Year 8 we had a big English essay exam, and we were given the question beforehand. Many of my classmates wrote the essay at home and copied it into the exam, some off their smartwatches. One printed his and was caught halfway through. I didn't cheat. The people who cheated did worse than the people who didn't, and I got one of the highest results in the class.

In a five-person STEM project, most of my group stopped contributing, so I built our website myself. I spent so long on it that I ran out of time for the written part, which was marked on its own, and got 75%. But I learnt how to design a website, a skill that will stay with me for life.

In 2008, Kobe Bryant lost the NBA Finals to the Boston Celtics, four games to two. That summer he went to the film room and watched replays of his games, looking for the gaps Boston had exploited. He watched to understand the game, not to relive the pain. The following year the Lakers won the championship, and the year after that.

If we can't see it, how can we change it? In Year 9 I prepared for an English essay by having AI write practice questions, and in the exam I wrote a well-structured essay. It got a failing grade. The feedback said I hadn't clearly addressed the question. You can put a lot of effort into a skill and still be way off where you meant to go.

Feedback keeps you on the right path. Not knowing where and how you're wrong is the weight that holds you back.

The ones who teach benefit from the ones who learn. Once you become the teacher, you become the master of what you teach.

While I was writing this chapter, I started writing articles on my main ideas. Teaching what I'd found helped me keep it.

Gain the knowledge, apply it, then teach it. Use the Feynman Technique and explain it simply to someone else. You find the holes in what you know the moment you try.

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