The whole trick is to pack your time so tight through the middle of the day that there's no room left where I'd start "thinking." Because the moment a person thinks about what to do in the moment — that's where time bleeds out. And I want to be precise about the word "thinking" here: I mean it in the bad sense, not the general one. This isn't about cognition at all — without thinking you go nowhere — it's about that specific internal noise where you stand in the middle of the day and loop: "what now? what next? maybe this instead? maybe I'll eat? maybe just one minute on YouTube?" That's the time leak through thinking, because in that moment the person isn't acting.
You shouldn't think — you should do the right things. And to do them, conscious deliberation has to happen beforehand (planning, reflection, sorting out priorities). So thinking is needed too — but its place is before, not during. Before is when you sit down and lay out on the shelves what matters to you and how to do it. During is when you simply execute what you already laid out for yourself, without any extra internal negotiation. If every decision is born fresh in the middle of your day, you burn enormous energy on the decisions themselves and never reach the action. Most people live exactly like this: thoughts without actions. And because of that a person ends up losing their whole life, because the whole life passes in "what should I do," not in the doing itself.
That's why what you've already thought through has to be moved onto automation, as Marğulan Seisembai put it. Every correct sequence of actions has to become a habit that fires without your consciousness being involved. You wake up → straight into the morning routine, no deliberation. You sit down to work → straight into a specific sequence of steps. You're tired → not "what now," but a recovery method you defined in advance. Every automated habit is a freed-up chunk of consciousness for more important things. Instead of deciding a thousand times "should I go train now" — you don't decide, you just go. And that's the tetris of time: you cut the shapes in advance (habits, plans, rituals), and when the day starts those shapes drop into place on their own, with no decision cost in the moment.
That's why I named it this — tetris of time. In tetris you don't deliberate over each piece — you see the shape, you see the slot, you place it. Fast, structurally, without reflecting on "did I really put that block in the right spot." The day has to run the same way: you don't think "what should I do now" — you just drop the next piece into its predetermined slot. And when there are no "gaps between the pieces" in your day, it means you left no room for thinking in the bad sense. Everything is occupied by useful action or by rest you planned ahead of time (also action, just a different type).
And here's the core thesis from Marğulan: everything has to be moved onto habits. This isn't just a productivity tip — it's one of the most important skills, one that has to sit in a person's foundation. Not among the secondary things, not in the "would be nice" pile — but right in the base from which everything else is built. Because when your foundation is built from automated habits, any new goal is constructed on top of a ready-made base. But when your foundation is "depending on the mood today," you won't build anything solid on top, because the base itself keeps shifting.
Planning belongs in the same category — and this is the part people often miss. Planning itself is also "thinking" — but it's thinking of the right type: not "what should I do now," but "how do I automate future actions so I don't have to think in the moment later." Planning is the manufacturing of instructions for your future self, so that future you doesn't burn time on re-deliberating. And that is the bridge: deliberate planning → automated habits → efficient use of time → a life where you actually get to what matters to you. Without that bridge, it's either pure thoughts without actions, or chaotic actions without thoughts. Both lead to the same outcome — life passes, and you stay in place.
I follow the teachings of Lao Tzu, and one of the key things I took from him is to constantly hold awareness of life's impermanence. Not as an abstract thesis "well, someday I'll die," but as a living, daily feeling that this moment, this day — is passing and will never repeat. What I fear most is falling into mundane unconscious routine. That's when you live but don't pay attention to the fact that you're living. I call it foggy consciousness — a state where awareness is almost open, but not enough to live fully. You sort of see something, you sort of already understood that life is short and precious — but most days of the year still pass on autopilot. Woke up, did stuff, lay down, woke up, did stuff, lay down. And so 6 days out of 7. It's hard to explain in words, because in this state there's nothing "bad" on the outside — everything works, nothing falls apart, the person functions. But internally they aren't there. They're absent from their own life. This is the worst that can happen — not death, but to live life as if in a dream, not noticing that it was going by. Lao Tzu teaches the opposite: be present here, in this moment, with full focus and the consciousness that the moment is temporary, and therefore precious.
The second thing I learned from Lao Tzu is to always be empty in the context of being filled with knowledge. To keep space inside yourself for the new. To be open. And here one big clarification is important, because this is often misunderstood: it's not about being a pushover, agreeing with everyone, "whatever you say." This is not submissiveness, not spinelessness, not absence of a position. It's about behavior that shows you genuinely want to learn something from every person you meet. To listen instead of waiting for your turn to speak. To ask instead of arguing. To notice: "oh, this one does this little thing differently than I do — and why? Maybe there's something in it." To not approach a person with the ready-made plug "I already know everything anyway."
Because you can learn from anyone. It doesn't matter what kind of person it is — smart or stupid, successful or a failure, kind or nasty. Everyone has something. The stupid one might have an incredible sense of humor. The failure — a deeper understanding of why the system doesn't work, better than the one who won inside it. The nasty one — a clear strategy of cold decisions that you may be lacking. Every person is a library with at least one rare book, and your task is to be able to see that book and take from it what is useful. Most people take nothing, because right off the bat they classify their interlocutor as "not worthy" and switch off their attention. That is dead consciousness.
And this, in my opinion, is the strongest skill there can be: the ability to absorb the right qualities from others into yourself. Not to copy words, not to repeat phrases — but to notice useful patterns, models of behavior, reactions, decisions, and integrate them into your operating system. Every encounter is an upgrade if you're tuned to look that way. But if you walk into any conversation from the position of "I'm the smartest one here" — you automatically get nothing, even if a genius is sitting across from you. So emptiness is strength, not weakness. It is readiness to receive. It is a constant place for growth. Lao Tzu, as always, said it shorter and more beautifully than me, but the essence is the same.
Minimalism and cleanliness must be in everything, not just in one corner of your life. Because only that way can you move faster forward — how else? How can you move if you've piled a heap of everything onto yourself: a pile of stuff, a pile of apps, a pile of useless contacts, a pile of old junk on your desktop, a pile of read and unread emails, a pile of pointless habits, a pile of visual noise around you? Every extra thing is a small brake. Tiny on its own, but there are hundreds of them, and together they turn into massive inertia that holds you in place. And you don't even notice, because you're used to it. So my rule is simple: shake off everything unnecessary and keep going. And the main thing — don't gather back what you don't actually need. Because most people "declutter" once a year and then drag everything back in within a week — that's not minimalism, that's window dressing.
To understand what a person is, you look at their artifacts, not listen to their words. Which apps are on their phone, what their desktop looks like, what's in their inbox (that same Gmail — overflowing, or cleared out; with a filter system, or a 10-year dumping ground), what their surroundings look like — how clean and minimalist. What's on their shelves. What's in their kitchen. What's in their closet. What's in their car. All of it brings their inner structure out into the open. Because a person organizes their external space exactly the way they think. Chaos inside = chaos around. Cleanliness inside = cleanliness around. This is not a metaphor, it's an operating principle that works in 99% of cases. And it's a more honest indicator than any conversation, because words can be learned, but maintaining a clean space every single day — no, that has to be part of your character.
If I see a person with an empty desktop, with no more than 3 apps pinned, and three tabs in the browser — that's a formidable person in the best, most respectful sense of the word. It means they have control over themselves and their space. That's someone who consciously chooses what to keep in their field of attention and what to remove. Such a person thinks sharply, because they aren't being attacked by 47 icons on every screen. They have disciplined themselves to throw out what doesn't serve their goals. It's a rare breed.
And the flip side: what many people perceive as "style" or "self-expression" is actually anti-minimalism. Tattoos, dyed eyelashes, colored nails, the constant layering of new details, accessories, ornaments, grooming rituals onto oneself — that's a sign that a person is fixated on the material, because inside they're empty. All those decorations are an attempt to externally compensate for the absence of inner content. The more a person decorates themselves on the outside — the less is happening inside, the less they have to fill their time with besides tending to their appearance. This is not a moral judgment — it's mechanics. A person with a rich inner life simply doesn't have the time or the need to paint their nails for three hours a week, because they have more interesting things going on. And when there are no more interesting things — then nails, tattoos and endless shopping become the filling for the emptiness.
So it's not worth talking to a person in order to form an opinion about them. It's enough to look at their hands — and everything is clear. At their desktop, at their phone, at their nails, at their shelves, at their inbox. Everything has already been said without a single word. And it frees up a lot of time — because once you learn to read these signals, the need for long acquaintances, evaluations, observing behavior falls away. Space speaks louder for a person than the person does themselves.
You always have to deliver decisions and a clear sequence of actions. Not process, not deliberation, not reasoning for the sake of reasoning — a finished structure. Everyone likes this — bosses, colleagues, friends, and generally any person who has come to you with a question. Because the person came for a result, not for your behind-the-scenes process. And this isn't some imposed corporate-etiquette rule — it's just a solid baseline skill that immediately distinguishes a person who owns the subject from a person who only pretends to. The one who owns it speaks briefly and to the point. The one who doesn't rambles, because behind the words hides the absence of structure in their head.
You don't need to say a lot of extra. You don't need to recount "how I did it, what I went through, what I thought along the way". You need a clear structure and sequence of actions for solving any question. Structure → action → result. This is the format that respects another person's time and at the same time demonstrates that you yourself think structurally.
This truth was handed to me by warrant officer Domashyn, who, unfortunately, was killed during the war. I remember that moment very clearly. He came up to me and told me to give him a report on the work completed on his vehicle — the vehicle was to head out to the ATO (Anti-Terrorist Operation zone in eastern Ukraine). And I started telling a great deal, with a heap of extra: how I did it, what the stages were, what I had figured out along the way, what problems came up, how I worked around them. He stopped me and corrected me: he needed a clear report of what I had done, not how I had done it. "Tell me what's done. How you did it is not my business." It was a short, simple, but very strong lesson. I didn't immediately grasp the full weight of those words back then, but with the years — it's one of the most useful rules ever passed on to me. And it's sorrowful that the person who said it is no longer here. He's gone, but the rule remains — and now I pass it on to others the same way he passed it to me: briefly, without extras, to the point.
There is one universal thing that truly concerns every human being. 100% identical in all: in me, in you, in him, in her. In some it manifests, in others it does not — in some this force awakens, in others it sleeps the entire life. And this is not some small abstraction that stays in the head — it ends concretely: with the history of humanity, with your personal history, with the history of your family. Whether you submitted to this force or ignored it determines what came out of you. Because it runs through any animal, through any creature — and here is the terrifying truth: if you do not realize this law, then you are not a human, you are at the animal level. Because the law of evolution — it passively runs through any existence. Through any. The laws of the Universe force everything alive, everything on this planet, every creature, every element — to move forward. Not to stay in place. To grow, to perfect itself, to manifest better versions of itself through the pressure of time and circumstances. There are no "pauses" in nature. There is no "I'll just stand, breathe, do nothing, stay the way I am." That does not exist in nature. Everything moves, or yields its place to what moves.
And here is the harshest part for a human: we are the only species that can resist this law. We can say "no, I don't want to develop, I'm fine as I am." An animal cannot — it either evolves, or the species goes extinct. But a human can get stuck in the middle. Live 80 years by one and the same template. And this is not a neutral state, as it seems — it is active regress. If you are not moving up, you are automatically sliding down. Because everything else around continues to grow — time, technology, other people, new generations — and you stand still. And the distance between you and reality grows every day. This is the moment when a human descends to the animal level: not because they suddenly became an animal, but because they ceased to be more than an animal. Because what distinguishes a human from an animal — this is precisely the conscious choice to develop. An animal moves by instinct, because otherwise the species dies. A human must choose consciously. And if they choose "not to move" — they are in fact choosing the animal level. With one difference: an animal in nature exists honestly within its dimension. But a human who refused evolution — this is the saddest creature on the planet, because they had the resource and did not use it.
And that is why when I think about discipline, the constancy of effort, moving forward in spite of everything — this is not "my personal ambition." This is simply the only way to remain a human in the full sense of the word. The other option — is a slow transformation into something less than yourself.
The whole joke of life is that people just don't truly realize it's temporary. And because of that, they live inside frames the whole time — frames of what's familiar, safe, accepted. But you don't have to. Even if you have physical defects, even if you have hard circumstances, even if you have something to cling to as a reason not to move — none of that should stop you. It's a certain awareness that you have to go only forward, not sit in place. Live in interesting places. Do non-standard things. Don't work from home like everyone else — constantly change locations: cafes, libraries, parks, other cities. Walk in the rain when everyone else is sitting inside. Go through places no one walks through — literally and metaphorically. What's the point of just living life like everyone else, the way it's supposed to be, by the template? What difference does it make how long you lived if all of it ran on someone else's script? You have to live. But here's the trick — anyone can read this. Anyone can understand it in words. But not everyone can realize it. And I'm not asking rhetorically whether you understand what realization is. I'm asking directly: do you feel inside that this is really about you? That between knowing the thesis and living by it — there's a chasm that 99% don't cross?
If you live just by going to work — in order to go to work — you might as well not live. What's the goal in that? If you're asking yourself this question, you already have a chance. And if you don't even think about the goal, then there are no questions here. In that case there are simply those who live, and those who serve those who live. It sounds harsh, but it's the truth. And how can you not recall the Indian castes — that's not an accidental system, it's just an honest selection: some are slaves of circumstance, others live. Castes only named what exists everywhere — it's just that in the West it's masked under the illusion of "we're all equal" and "you have a choice." You do have a choice, but only a few get out of it. The rest stay in the serving caste. Not because "you can't get out" — but because the frames they live in seem natural, and stepping outside them means fear, discomfort, loss of familiar support points. So 99% choose comfort in the cage. And 1% chooses movement, even if it hurts and it's unclear where to. And it's exactly those 1% who live. The others merely exist.
Everything you do must have a purpose — and that purpose must lead to self-improvement. Not action for the sake of action, not process for the sake of process, but always the question: why am I doing this, what do I get out of it, how will I be better for it? If there's no answer — either it's pointless, or the approach needs rethinking. Example: you're filming a video — what's the purpose? If it's for self-reflection, to see yourself from the outside, hear your own thoughts, see how you're changing over time — then it makes sense, and you should be making more videos like that: conversations with yourself, reflection, capturing how you feel and what you're thinking. But filming all kinds of garbage, content for the sake of content, noise for the sake of noise — that's a waste of time and attention, and you have to cut it without regret.
When you're doing something important — before you start, you have to see the end goal clearly in your head. Not a fuzzy "I guess I should," but something concrete: why am I doing this right now, what result do I want, what does it look like, how will I know when I've gotten there. Without that picture in your head, action becomes aimless wandering — you move, you burn energy, but you get no closer. I'm telling you this as your mentor — this one's been proven. Goal → see the result → action. In that order. Otherwise — you're just going through the motions.
The whole secret of a morning routine — don't think. Thinking is forbidden. You get up → immediately start doing things on autopilot, no deliberation, no internal negotiations. A thought in the morning is the very trigger that switches on procrastination and drains your energy before the day has even started. Autopilot > decision. The fewer decisions in the morning — the more fuel left for the day.
And don't try to do everything at once. That's the most common mistake — build a perfect 12-point routine, hold on for three days, and quit. Start with one action that will become automatic: you get up → immediately go wash your face. That's it. Nothing more. It's a promise to yourself — small, but kept. One step that triggers a chain. Then, once that step becomes a reflex — you'll add the next one. And another. And another. That way, in a year you'll have the same 12-point routine — but it will actually work, because it's built not on willpower, but on autopilot.
Sleep → autopilot → day. In that order. Otherwise — you'll spend your whole life waking up with the feeling that the day is already lost.
Every generation refuses to simply accept the relay of experience from the previous one. Instead it insists on learning from its own mistakes. Because of this, humanity wastes an enormous amount of time walking a path that has already been walked — and already described in books, in conversations with parents, in the experience of those who are 30 years ahead.
The root of the problem is ego. "I'm special", "it will be different for me", "they didn't get it, but I will". You won't. Because it's the same rake. The law of gravity doesn't care who falls. The mistake that cost your father 10 years will cost you the same 10 years — unless you listen.
The cheapest way to learn — from other people's mistakes. The most expensive — from your own. The dumbest — from no one's, when you do the same thing again and are surprised by the result. If someone tells you "don't do this, I've been through it" — that's not a limit on your freedom, that's a gift. Ten years of your life saved. To accept it or reject it — your choice. But the price of rejection only becomes visible 10 years later, when it's already too late.
The system of how children learn needs a complete overhaul. The point isn't to stuff their heads with answers — it's to teach them how to ask the right questions. That's the most important skill: being able to ask "why do I need this?", "what's the goal of what I'm studying right now?", "where does this lead?". Without that, learning turns into mechanical memorization for the sake of a grade, not for the sake of understanding. The world isn't the same anymore — there's AI now, and the entire education system has to be adapted to that reality. And what's happening right now is a road to the mass dumbing-down of an entire generation: nobody is really learning, everyone is just copying answers from AI without understanding the point, the context, or the logic. AI hands you the fish — but you have to teach them how to fish, otherwise in 10 years we'll have a generation that can't string two thoughts together without a prompt.
Grades should be given based on how much and how well a child asks. The more they ask — the higher the grade. It's a grade for curiosity, for engagement, for the courage to risk it and look like "the one who doesn't know." That's how you build a culture where asking is cool, not shameful. The kid has to clearly understand: the community won't judge them for asking — on the contrary, it'll respect them, because they took the risk and weren't afraid to look foolish. Today's system does the opposite: it punishes mistakes and "dumb questions," and as a result kids grow into adults who are afraid to ask in a meeting, afraid to admit they don't understand something — and they live their entire lives with gaps that could have been closed with a single question at age 10.
Every teacher needs to be retrained, and only those who actually know how to teach should stay. And knowing how to teach isn't reciting the textbook. It's understanding that your job isn't to deliver knowledge (AI will spit that out in a second now) — it's to spark the kid's interest. Once that spark catches — the kid will find the information on their own, ask on their own, dig in on their own. The role of a teacher in the new world is a guide to curiosity, not a deliverer of facts. Anyone who doesn't see this shift — has to leave or relearn.
The biggest problem is that kids aren't taught how to learn. They're forced to memorize, but no one explains the process, no one shows them how. And learning is a separate skill — fundamental, like the ability to walk. You have to honestly explain: learning takes time, it's not always easy, sometimes it's boring and hard, and that's normal. But if you learn how to learn — the rest of your life gets easier, because you'll be able to master any new topic on your own. It's an investment that keeps paying back for the rest of your life. Without it, a kid stays helpless every time they run into something new.
Discipline isn't about "keeping yourself in check" or "forcing yourself." It's about respect. For your dream, for your goal, for the future self you want to become. Every time you do what you planned — you're telling your dream: "I see you, I respect you, I'm coming for you." Every time you bail — you're telling it: "I don't care about you."
And don't lie to yourself with the word "later." "I'll start training later," "I'll get to the course later," "later, when inspiration comes." Inspiration comes to those who are already working. Not to those who wait. If you can't do one page now — you won't do 300 later. If you can't get out of bed for a warm-up — you won't build a body. Every "later" is a small betrayal of the person you want to become.
Look at this not as a limit on your freedom, but as an act of love for yourself. Not for the self that wants to lie around right now. For the self that, ten years from now, will either be what you dreamed of becoming — or will look in the mirror and ask: "Why didn't you respect me back then?" Discipline is when today-you serves tomorrow-you. Without it — you only serve the moment. And the moment is the cheapest master of all.
Calm isn't a temperament you were born with. It isn't "I got lucky" or "he's just like that." It's a skill. More precisely — the skill of filtering out what doesn't require your response. And like any skill — it can be trained. Anyone who thinks "I can't be calm" just hasn't started training yet.
90% of the things you currently burn emotional energy on don't require anything from you. Someone wrote something in the comments. Someone did something differently than you would have. A driver didn't let you merge. The weather turned bad. The currency tanked. It's noise — it doesn't demand a reaction, it just exists. A trained person distinguishes "this is a signal that needs a response" from "this is noise that needs to be ignored." An untrained person reacts to every little thing and burns out by lunchtime.
Training calm doesn't mean sitting in the lotus position. It's asking yourself, every time something gets to you: "Does this really require my response, or can I simply not react?" In 90% of cases, the answer is the second one. Say it out loud. Don't respond. And the next time, the same thing. And again. A year from now you'll watch someone lose it over something that was making you lose it six months ago — and you won't understand how you ever lived that way. That's the skill. The strength isn't in reacting faster. The strength is in not reacting at all — when no reaction is needed.