For five years, I studied Shotokan karate. My sensei was an incredibly strong German woman who sported a blond ponytail and could take you with a sharp word or a single roundhouse kick. But step outside of her karate uniform and second-degree black belt, and she was warm, funny, and approachable. We became friends and would sometimes talk about her business.

“When do you tend to lose students?” I asked one day.

“Either within the first six months after they start,” she said, “or when they are brown belts.”

Brown belt is the last step before black belt. And earning a black belt in karate is a big deal. It means you have achieved a level of mastery over the Shotokan basics. It is a badge of honor and, though it doesn’t mean your training is “complete,” it is a tremendous accomplishment.

“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” I said. “People quit right before they’ve earned their black belt?” I was incredulous. The years and years of hard work it takes to earn a brown belt, and then, with the ultimate prize in sight, people walk away? That’s when they quit? It made no sense to me.

Until I achieved my brown belt. And then quit.

I’ve been thinking about the tension between remembering that less is more and rest, recovery, and stepping back are not signs of weakness but essential parts of the cycle. That some days, the answer truly is to close the laptop, take a walk, stretch, breathe, give yourself a minute.

But.

Other days, we need the opposite reminder: that doing the work is essential. That meaningful accomplishments don’t float down from the heavens and land in our laps, and that waiting for your lucky break will rarely get you where you want to go. Pretty much anything worthwhile is built with focus, effort, and the unglamorous showing-up-again-and-again kind of consistency most people never see.

If you’ve been an entrepreneur for more than five minutes, you’ve probably heard both of these pieces of advice:

Stay the course.
Pivot when it’s not working.

It’s like a never-ending tennis match of wisdom being lobbed across the net, back and forth, back and forth. One side insists that success goes to those who hang in there, who refuse to quit, who keep grinding until the market catches up. The other side says the real winners are the ones who see the writing on the wall early and make the bold pivot fast.

So which is it? Should you double down or walk away? Stay the course or change direction?

Every Sunday morning, you’ll find me at my favorite table at my favorite coffee shop, doing what I call my Sunday morning planning. It’s my ritual, the one that grounds me for the week ahead (I’ve written about it before, if you’re curious you can find that post here).

By now—three years into this ritual—I know most of the baristas, and they know me. They know my usual Sunday order: small, dark roast, black please. That first cup is one of my greatest pleasures. Honestly, thinking about it is often what gets me out of bed on a Sunday morning.

This morning, though, when they handed me my cup, I took a sip and discovered it wasn’t black. It was milky.

And so came the question: Should I just drink the coffee?

Walking up the stairs in my house the other day, I noticed a ball of dust and dog hair in the corner of a step. I saw it out of the corner of my eye and kept walking. Later that afternoon, I noticed it again. And then again the next morning. And one more time before I finally picked it up.

Now in my defense, the first time I had walked up the stairs, I had something in my hands and the second time, I was on my way to do something. But, if I’m going to be really honest, with you and with myself, I just didn’t feel like bending over and picking up the dustball.

I was writing an email to a client this morning and stumbled over the right way to spell busyness. It just looked wrong to me as I wrote it, so I did a quick Google search and discovered that one of the most common misspellings of the word busyness is buzzyness. That made me laugh because it seems exactly right: when I’m caught up in my busyness, I’m not grounded, focused, or calm. I’m buzzing.

Years ago, I read a novel about vampires and demons.

In this story, demons were beings who fed on drama, intrigue, and the suffering of others. The smart ones chose professions that gave them a steady diet of emotional upheaval—homicide detectives, emergency room doctors, crime reporters. Their needs were regularly met by the natural chaos of their work, so they functioned fairly well in the world. But the others?

A client said something to me recently that made me pause.

“You’re so disciplined,” she said.

She meant it as a compliment, and I received it as one. But I also pushed back because I don’t think of myself as disciplined.

I don’t white-knuckle my way through early mornings. I don’t force myself to do things I hate. I don’t subscribe to hustle-for-hustle’s-sake.

Instead, I’ve built routines—small, intentional ones—that make me feel better, move me forward, and (this is important) that I actually enjoy.

As Eric and I launch our latest venture, I’m reflecting on what has changed since the New York Times featured us in an article titled Joint Venture Couples Live By Special Martial Rules. That was more than 20 years and four businesses ago. What have we learned? What has changed?

After more than a quarter of a century during which I’ve introduced Eric as my husband and business partner, we’ve developed some very specific strategies that help us work and live together happily and productively.

Here’s the top 10 list.

When I was a teenager, my dad used to bribe my friends and me to stay home on a Saturday night.

"Hey kids, how about we order pizza? Chinese food? Should we make a fire in the fireplace and you guys can just hang out here?" he'd say.

It was a lovely gesture — and honestly, it often worked. My parents worked hard to make our house a place where my friends were always welcome.

But the truth is, these warm invitations from my dad came in large part from a place of fear. He wanted us home, safe in the living room. He didn’t want us out on the roads, at parties, or anywhere he couldn’t protect us.

I was raised to believe that fear is the best motivator.

About 1 million years ago, I was wrestling with what I believed (at 23) to be the biggest, most important decision of my life. The weight of it felt crushing. So, naturally, I got on a plane and flew to Florida to talk it through with the two people who knew me best and who also happened to be my biggest cheerleaders: my parents.

We spent the weekend dissecting every angle. Pros, cons, potential consequences, imagined outcomes. I repeated the same thoughts over and over. I had an answer to every question they asked and an objection to every suggestion they made. As always, my parents were insightful and patient. Exceptionally patient. Even as I looped through the same arguments for the fifth or fiftieth time.

Finally, at one point, I threw my hands up and said in frustration, “You don’t understand! This is the biggest decision of my life!”

Nearly three decades ago, I was taking a walk with my uncle. At the time, he was a seasoned entrepreneur, and I was more like a fledgling entrepreneur. We were talking about the typical challenges of the entrepreneurial journey – I’m sure I was complaining about how incredibly busy I felt all the time, running from meeting to meeting, answering a daily avalanche of emails – all the flotsam and jetsam of early entrepreneurial days.

He offered advice that I have since heard in a multitude of ways from a multitude of sources: don’t let the urgent take over the important. Yes, yes, I thought, that is precisely the problem.

Last week, I sent an email to a high-profile thought-leader asking if I could interview her for my new book. It was a reach -- she’s a bestselling author, hosts one of the most popular podcasts in the pod-o-sphere and is clearly a very, very busy person. I almost didn’t bother sending the email.

But then I remembered a lesson that we have tried to teach our kids: you don’t ask, you don’t get. And it got me thinking about how often we talk ourselves out of asking for something we want.

This time of year, many of us set out with the best intentions—call them resolutions, call them goals. We commit to achieving something we deeply want, envisioning the transformation these goals promise. Yet, so often, these aspirations are left unfulfilled, and goals are left uncrushed.

Why? What keeps us from accomplishing our well-intentioned goals?

The truth is, the obstacles can usually be found in one or more of the three key stages of goal-setting and goal-getting. Let’s break them down.

While you don’t have to wait for a birthday, a milestone, or a new year to set goals or make changes in your life, there is something about those moments that provide an opportunity for reflection, contemplation, and planning. 

The start of a new year presents the perfect opportunity for that. Here’s EXACTLY how to do that.

About a dozen years ago, a friend recommended The Miracle Morning by Hal Elrod. “Seriously,” she said, “it’s changed my life.” I was skeptical, but curious. Until then, the idea of a structured morning routine had never even crossed my mind. Sure, I had a default routine: get up, brush teeth, drink coffee, check email, feel overwhelmed, get dressed, and head to work. Functional? Maybe. Intentional? Not so much.

Was there a better way? I was willing to find out.

Most Sunday mornings, you’ll find me tucked into my favorite table at Starbucks with two notebooks and my laptop. It’s my weekly planning ritual—a focused 45 minutes that sets the tone for a week that feels calm, productive, and aligned with not only my goals but also how I want to move through life.

It’s a ten-step process. I know that sounds like a lot, but trust me, it takes less than an hour. These ten steps didn’t come together overnight; they’ve been fine-tuned over the years to create a system that works for me. As I always say: take what resonates and leave the rest.

Ready? Let’s dive in.

When I was in school, I loved the start of a new semester. There was something magical about a blank notebook—the promise and opportunity it held. More importantly, it felt like a blank slate, a chance to start over, set new goals, and chase them with fresh determination.

For many years, I missed that feeling—that sense of possibility and renewal. But I’ve found a way to recapture it: my monthly planning ritual.

Several months ago, I was walking with my friend Helen (something we do frequently) when she offered this pearl of wisdom: “Look behind you, but don’t stare.” It’s a simple reminder to reflect on where we’ve been, learn from our experiences, and honor the journey—but without getting stuck in the past. It’s been percolating in my mind ever since.

Last spring, I spent a week surfing in Cabarete, a vibrant beach town on the north coast of the Dominican Republic. Though I love surfing, I’m not particularly good at it. So, I enlisted the help of a local surf instructor named Tito because I’m all about getting the right coaching to improve. (And maybe that’s a third lesson, but I digress.)

At the end of the week, I walked away with two lessons that go far beyond surfing.