Tag: mental-health

Go Back to the Beginning

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

Day 67 of 280 | The 7-40 Challenge

I finished Austin Kleon’s Show Your Work today. In the last chapter, he says something that stopped me mid-stride on my walk:

When you’ve learned something really well, go back to the beginning. Learn something new. Do it in the open. Do it in public. Show your work so you can keep going, keep expanding, keep building.

It feels like that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.

Before I started the 7-40 Challenge, I’d been blogging on and off for years. I had over 630 blog posts written before 2026. I’d written over 50 songs. I’d done other challenges for myself.

Back in 2022, I created something I called 100 Days Strong. For 100 days, I practiced many of the same habits I’m doing now — exercise, water, reading, discipline. I wasn’t reinventing the wheel. I saw 75 Hard, didn’t love every facet of it, created my own version, and added 25 days. Not rocket science.

I muscled through it. Lost 40 pounds. Proved I could do it.

But here’s the thing: because I wasn’t able to iterate — because I wasn’t able to evaluate as I went — it became a fitness challenge wrapped in the guise of something bigger. 100 days was too long. Too drawn out. No opportunity for adjustment. And because the habits never got implemented in a sustainable way, I reverted. The weight came back. The momentum died.

In 2025, the 7-40 Challenge was born. I did the first round in August and September, right after moving back to Oklahoma City. 40 days. Pulled it off. It went well.

Then I tried Round 2. It failed.

I restarted. Failed again.

I had to sit down and ask myself an honest question: why does this keep falling apart?

And the answer wasn’t willpower. It wasn’t desire. It wasn’t the habits themselves. It was structure.

I didn’t have goals behind the habits. I didn’t have a daily cadence that connected what I was reading to what I was writing to what I was building. I didn’t have a vision laid out in front of me. I didn’t have a place to put my thoughts. I didn’t have project buckets to organize the multiple lanes I wanted to pursue. I was trying to restart on sheer determination, and determination without a system just burns out.

So when January 1, 2026 came around, I built the system first.

I laid out the vision. I set goals behind the habits — even if I don’t share them all publicly. I committed to blogging every single day, not as a chore but as the processing engine for everything I’m learning. I set up project spaces where I could build context over time instead of starting from scratch every session. I created assessment weeks between rounds so I could come up for air, evaluate, and adjust.

And I made a decision. Not a feeling. A decision. I don’t care how I feel. I don’t care what stands in my way. I’m not stopping this time.

That decision, backed by a system, is why I’m sitting here on Day 67 with no missed days. Not because I’m tougher than I was in 2022 or 2025. Because I’m better organized.

Here’s the other thing Kleon helped me see today. I used to think in very linear terms. I could progress in fitness, but it was harder to progress in creativity at the same time. I could progress in my career, but not in my eating habits. Everything felt like it had to happen one at a time, in sequence, or not at all.

I was selling myself short. I’m much more capable than I was making it out to be. But it was never a capability problem. It was an organization problem.

When I have my vision clear every day — when I can see the lanes, the projects, the habits, and how they connect — what would have felt like a chore becomes a rhythm. What would have felt overwhelming becomes manageable. Not because there’s less to do, but because everything has a place.

Before I had the right tools and structure, I couldn’t get my response cycles fast enough to actually iterate and change. I’d have ideas on a walk and lose them by evening. I’d read something powerful and never connect it to what I was building. Now, when I’m walking and voice-texting like I am right now, I can get all my thoughts out. I can process them. I can connect them to the bigger picture. And I can execute.

Austin Kleon says go back to the beginning. Learn something new. Do it in public.

That’s what this whole year is. I went back to the beginning — back to the habits that I knew worked, back to the discipline I’d proven I could maintain — and I rebuilt it with the structure it was always missing. I’m learning in public every single day. I’m showing my work. I’m pushing the edges in every area of my life that I want to pursue.

And I’m finding myself going much further than I ever expected to.

At the end of the day, I know I have to stay teachable. I have to keep the posture of a student. I have to keep learning and growing, because if I don’t, I’m not just setting myself up for failure — I’m not getting any better. And getting better is the whole point.

Keep moving forward.

Day 67 Scorecard:

✅ Bible study and prayer
✅ Walking
✅ Reading (Show Your Work — Austin Kleon — finished!)
✅ Calories tracked
✅ Water (100 oz)
✅ Gratitude
✅ Exercise
✅ BiblePictures365
✅ Creative hour

740Challenge #ShowYourWork #AustinKleon #GoBackToTheBeginning #Systems #Transformation #LivingProof #DayByDay #KeepMovingForward

Day 56: The Hero Can’t Be the Loser

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

Round 2, Day 16
Monday, March 2, 2026

I’m rereading Donald Miller’s A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, and he tells a story that I can’t stop thinking about.

A friend of his had a daughter who’d started dating a bad kid and smoking pot. Miller, fresh from Robert McKee’s story workshop, said something that sounds simple but lands like a hammer: “She’s stuck in a bad story.”

His friend didn’t get it at first. But Miller explained the framework he’d learned — a story is a character who wants something and overcomes conflict to get it. And this friend realized something uncomfortable: he wasn’t presenting a very engaging story for his family. There was no mission, no purpose, nothing bigger than the routine. So his daughter went looking for meaning somewhere else — and she found it in a boy who wasn’t treating her well. At least he was telling her a story where she mattered.

The friend signed up to raise $25,000 to build an orphanage in Mexico. He didn’t have $25,000. His wife was shocked. His daughter was skeptical. But the whole family ended up rallying around it — and here’s the punchline that Miller drops:

“A girl who’s acting in the role of the hero can’t be in a relationship with a loser.”

It just doesn’t work. Because when you find meaning in your own story, when you know your own worth, you can’t lower yourself to be treated poorly. The bad relationship couldn’t survive the better story.

I’ve been thinking about how this applies to what I’m building.

The 7-40 Challenge is, at its core, a decision to tell a better story. Seven habits, every day, for 280 days. Not because checking boxes changes your life — but because the discipline of showing up daily puts you in a different role. You stop being the person things happen to. You start being the person who makes things happen.

And here’s what I’m discovering 56 days in: when you start playing the hero in your own story, it gets really hard to involve yourself in the things where you’re the loser.

The junk food that used to be easy to justify? Harder to eat when you’ve tracked your calories for eight straight weeks and watched the scale move 13 pounds. The excuse to skip a workout? Harder to make when you’ve got 56 days of unbroken execution behind you. The temptation to play it small, to hide, to keep your ideas in a drawer? Harder to give in to when you’ve written 56 blog posts, worked on two novels, lost 13 pounds and have the realization that you’re just getting started.

The better story crowds out the worse one. Not because you become perfect — but because you become aware. You see the choice for what it is. And once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

Miller’s friend didn’t rescue his daughter by lecturing her. He didn’t ground her or take her phone away. He gave the family a mission. He gave them a story worth living. The daughter rescued herself — because the better story made the bad one impossible to tolerate.

I wrote recently about what it feels like to drift through life without a plan. I compared it to floating face down in water, only lifting your head from time to time to see where the current has taken you. That’s how most people live — pulled by the tide, reacting instead of choosing, going wherever the flow sends them.

To live differently, you have to put your feet down. You have to stand up and let the current run around you. And then you have to decide which direction you’re going to walk.

Nobody’s coming to make this easier. There’s no rich relative showing up with a check. No lottery win. No miraculous rescue. You either tell the story or somebody else tells it for you — and you’re just a character in theirs.

I’m 56 days into telling my own story. It’s connected to everything — my work, my family, my health, my writing, my faith. I can’t compartmentalize it anymore. I have to be the same person at work that I am at home. I have to give the same effort to the things I love that I give to the things I’m paid to do. Because all of it is part of the legacy I leave behind. All of it is part of the story I choose to tell.

If I start to play the hero, it’s really hard to involve myself in things where I’m the loser.

And those are my thoughts for today.

Day 56 — Seven for Seven

See you tomorrow for Day 57.

The Family You Choose

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

Day 55 — Gratitude Sunday

March 1, 2026

Today I am thankful.

I’m thankful because I have friends. Two friends, specifically, who over the years have become not just friends — but family. Chosen family. The kind that is just as close as blood.

Last night we went to dinner at Whiskey Cake, a really cool eatery in Oklahoma City that serves freshly prepared, locally sourced food. The K’s sat across the table from us, and we talked about everyday things — family, activities, what everyone’s been up to. And all of that was wonderful in itself. But as I sat there and listened, I had to soak in just how good and right all of it felt.

These are the people who have been there through the hard times. These are the people we know we can count on, depend on, trust. These are friendships that started when we were barely twenty years old and have lasted almost three decades. And they’ll last from here.

You don’t get this kind of depth without taking years of time to just be friends.

There have been seasons where we didn’t get to see each other as much as we wanted. We were in Texas for nine of those years, and it made things tough. But we stayed dedicated — visiting several times a year, driving back and forth, staying in each other’s homes. One of their daughters even mentioned that she loved having us back in town, but that she missed us living in the DFW area because they didn’t get to go on road trips like they used to. That made me smile, because even in the distance, we had built something that was enjoyable. Something worth driving to.

It’s the process of getting to be with people you’re this close to. Just to share in their life. To know that you’re part of their story and they’re part of yours. To see their successes. To be there when they hurt. I love every bit of it. I love having these kinds of friendships because I know they are rare.

In today’s world, you don’t find this just anywhere. You can’t rush it. You can’t manufacture it. You build it one dinner, one visit, one road trip, one hard conversation at a time — over years and years and years.

The Bible says there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. It’s true. That’s what the K’s have been to us. Not just friends. Family. Not by blood by choice.

So thankful for you.

Rest Is Not Retreat

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

Day 53 — The 7-40 Challenge

February 27, 2026

I didn’t work out today. And I’m fine with it.

Yesterday I spent 95 minutes in the gym and burned 1,400 calories according to my Apple Watch. Tomorrow morning I’ll be outside for several hours finishing a garden project for my wife — hauling materials, drilling, bending, lifting, sweating in the Oklahoma air. That’s not a light day. That’s manual labor.

So today, I rested. On purpose.

There’s a difference between rest and retreat. Retreat is what happens when resistance wins. It’s the moment you close the laptop, skip the creative hour, and tell yourself none of this matters anyway. Retreat is reactive. It comes from a place of defeat.

Rest is strategic. It comes from a place of awareness. I know what I did yesterday. I know what’s coming tomorrow. And I know that running myself into the ground today doesn’t make me tougher — it makes me less effective when it actually counts.

Here’s the thing most people miss about discipline and habit streaks: rigidity is not the same as consistency. If your system can’t absorb a rest day without collapsing, your system is brittle. And brittle things break.

When I built the 7-40 Challenge, I wrote into my vision document that there would be times when exercise needed to look different. Not optional. Not a loophole. A stipulation. I decided before the moment arrived that strategic rest would be part of the plan — not a violation of it.

That matters more than it sounds like it does. Because when today came, I didn’t have to negotiate with myself. I didn’t have to justify it or feel guilty about it. The decision was already made. I just executed it.

That’s the same principle I wrote about yesterday — responding versus reacting. A response flows from something pre-programmed inside you. If you plan your rest, it’s a response. If you skip because you’re tired and feel bad about it, that’s a reaction.

Fifty-three days in, I’ve learned that the streak isn’t the point. The system is the point. The streak serves the system. The system doesn’t serve the streak. And a system that accounts for the reality of a human body — one that lifted heavy yesterday and will work in the yard tomorrow — is a system that lasts 280 days and beyond.

So if you’re someone who beats yourself up every time you take a day off, I’d ask you this: did you plan it, or did it just happen? If you planned it, that’s not weakness. That’s energy management. That’s wisdom. That’s the kind of discipline that doesn’t make the highlight reel but keeps you in the game long enough to finish what you started.

Rest is not retreat. Not when it’s strategic. Not when tomorrow’s already on the calendar.

Day 53. Resting on purpose. Back to work in the morning.

Respond, Don’t React

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

Day 51 — The 7-40 Challenge

February 25, 2026

Zig Ziglar once made a distinction that I think about more than I probably should. He said there’s a difference between responding and reacting. If you go to the doctor and they give you a medicine and ask you to come back in a few days, you want to hear them say, “Your body is responding to the treatment.” That means it’s working. If they say your body is reacting to the treatment, that means something’s gone wrong and they need to try something else.

Responding means something thoughtful is happening. Reacting means something unplanned is happening. A response flows from something pre-programmed inside of you. A reaction is something that happens in a moment.

I’ve been on both sides of this more times than I’d like to admit.

Over 27 years of marriage, there have been plenty of moments where my wife has said something, and I heard it wrong. Not because she said it wrong, but because I skipped the step where I consider context, intention, and the fact that this is a person who loves me and has been proving it for nearly three decades. Instead of processing what she actually meant, I jumped to how it made me feel. And then we had to spend the next thirty minutes untangling a reaction that never needed to happen in the first place.

Even with the people we love most, we sometimes forget to use who they are as a filter. We forget to give them the benefit of the doubt — that maybe they’re having a bad day, or maybe they just said something in a way that hit us sideways. A response gives them that grace. A reaction doesn’t.

On the other end, I had a moment at work not long ago where someone from a different department walked into my office and essentially started unloading on me. They were upset. Really upset. But I knew they weren’t mad at me. I knew I wasn’t even the reason they were venting. So I smiled. I kept asking questions. I let the storm blow over. And when it was done, I offered to help fix the problem going forward.

Had I matched energy for energy, nothing productive would have come out of that conversation. Just two frustrated people making each other worse. But something was pre-programmed in me that kicked in before the reaction could: I’m not going to let other people dictate how I act. I choose to show kindness. I choose reserve.

Now, a moment of honesty. I owe my bride the same. For the times I haven’t my darling, I ask for your forgiveness.

That’s what responding looks like. It’s not weakness. It’s not letting people walk on you. It is not assuming the worst and starting from that place. It’s having something already built inside you that catches the moment before it spirals.

Which brings me to something I’ve noticed 51 days into this challenge. The daily habit structure hasn’t necessarily made me better at handling unexpected problems. But it has made me better at keeping focus when problems show up. Good days or bad days, there’s a certain set of things I’ve committed to getting done. And I just do them. If something throws me off, I adjust the plan — but it’s because I planned the adjustment, not because I panicked.

Yesterday was a good example. I sat down, read some current events, and felt the weight of the world land on me. The kind of weight that makes your own goals feel small. My agency felt like it was shrinking. And the resistance — the part of your brain that’s always looking for a reason to stop — grabbed onto that feeling and tried to run with it.

But instead of spiraling, I was able to name it. I could identify what I was feeling and why. I could remind myself that aside from being the person I’m supposed to be, there’s not a ton I can do to affect the greater world. I have to control what I can control, be an inspiration to the people around me, and leave the rest to God.

That’s a response. A reaction would have been closing the laptop, skipping the creative hour, and telling myself none of this matters anyway.

So if you’re someone who feels stuck in reactive mode — where everything feels urgent, every problem is a crisis, every headline sends you spinning — here’s what I’d ask you: What can you actually do today to make your situation better? Not the world’s situation. Yours. What to-do list can you write right now that moves you toward something that matters to you?

I think what a lot of people forget in our current crisis culture is that we’re human. We have basic needs. And one of them is a sense of accomplishment — the feeling that we can do something and do it well. When we lean into excellence, when we focus on working through the things we can actually control, we give ourselves less room to react and more room to respond.

And yes, my faith is all over this. My belief in God, my relationship with Jesus, my daily Bible reading — they ground me in something bigger than the world around me. Bigger than current events. In my view, there’s nothing bigger than my God. And when I take that perspective and look at the problems around me, I don’t see political sides or cultural battles. I see people who are hurting. People who need help. People to serve.

That’s the filter. That’s the pre-programming. And it changes what you see when the storm walks through your door.