I’ve always been a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to envisioning my ideal life. You know the type – constantly making lists, pinning aspirational routines on Pinterest, and buying fancy planners that promise to transform my chaotic existence into something worthy of a lifestyle blog.
My kitchen drawer is basically a graveyard for abandoned productivity tools. There’s the bullet journal I used religiously for exactly 3.5 days last February. The habit tracker app with premium features I paid for (why?!) that now sends me passive-aggressive notifications I swipe away without opening. And let’s not forget the custom morning routine checklist I laminated – LAMINATED! – before using it precisely once.
“This time will be different,” I whisper to myself every Sunday evening as I set out my workout clothes, prep overnight oats, and place my phone in the living room so I won’t hit snooze seventeen times. My flatmate Ellie has witnessed this cycle so many times she’s developed a rating scale for my enthusiasm levels. “Oh, this is a solid 8.5 on the ‘definitely abandoning by Wednesday’ scale,” she remarked last month as I excitedly showed her the £60 sunrise alarm clock I’d just purchased.
The thing is, I genuinely believe that future-me will have both the discipline and desire to spring out of bed at 5:30 AM, meditate for 20 minutes, journal three pages, work out for 45 minutes, and make a vegetable-packed breakfast smoothie – all before checking my phone. Current-me, however, can barely manage to brush my teeth before scrolling Twitter for 30 minutes while sitting on the edge of my bed, one sock on, contemplating the existential dread of another workday.
But Monday! Monday is magical. Monday holds all the promise of transformation.
“I’ll start my new routine next Monday,” I declare, usually while eating takeaway curry in bed at 11 PM on a Wednesday. Because obviously, it would be ridiculous to start a new habit right now, mid-week, when I’m already tired. The only logical time to begin improving one’s life is on a Monday. Preferably the first Monday of a month. Ideally the first Monday of a new year. Actually, you know what, the first Monday after my birthday would be even more symbolic. That’s the ticket.
My mum calls this my “tomorrow syndrome.” She first diagnosed me with it when I was nine and promised I’d clean my room “tomorrow” for two straight weeks. “The problem with tomorrow,” she’d say while standing in the doorway of my catastrophic bedroom, “is that it never actually arrives.”
Profound, Mum. Really philosophical stuff.
But she wasn’t wrong. I’ve been “about to start” the perfect morning routine for approximately 13 years now. I have read 24 books on the subject. I could literally teach a masterclass on what successful people do before breakfast – I just don’t DO any of it myself.
There was the cold shower phase, inspired by some tech bro podcast where the host claimed shocking your system with freezing water every morning would “10x your productivity.” I managed exactly one cold shower before deciding that I preferred being warm and unproductive, thanks very much. But I didn’t abandon the idea entirely – just postponed it. “I’ll try again next Monday when I’m more mentally prepared.”
Then there was the meditation attempt. I downloaded Headspace, found a lovely cushion, and set my alarm for 6 AM. Day one: hit snooze until 6:45, rushed through a three-minute meditation while mentally drafting emails, felt like a failure. “This isn’t the right mindset,” I reasoned. “I’ll start properly next Monday.”
The journaling experiment lasted slightly longer – four whole days! – before I found myself writing the same things: “Grateful for coffee. Wish I’d gone to bed earlier. Should really call Gran.” Not exactly the profound self-discovery journey I’d envisioned. But next Monday would be different. Next Monday I’d have deeper thoughts.
My sister Jane, who somehow manages to run 5k every morning before her hospital shift, suggested I was making things too complicated. “Just pick ONE habit,” she said during our weekly FaceTime. “You don’t need to transform your entire existence overnight.”
“That’s exactly what someone who has already perfected their morning routine would say,” I replied while eating cold pizza at 10 AM, still in pajamas, having woken up approximately seven minutes before our scheduled call.
The audacity of morning people giving advice to night owls is truly something else. It’s like cats giving advice to dogs. “Just be more catlike” isn’t helpful when your entire being operates on different firmware.
Still, last month I decided Jane might have a point about simplifying. I would focus on just one habit: waking up at 6:30 AM consistently. No fancy activities attached, just the waking up part. I announced this plan to my boyfriend Will over dinner at our favorite Italian place on Wednesday night.
“So when are you starting this new 6:30 wake-up thing?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Monday,” I said, twirling pasta around my fork with great focus.
“Of course,” he nodded, suppressing a smile. “Any particular reason you can’t start tomorrow?”
I looked at him like he’d suggested I shave my head. “Because tomorrow’s Thursday. You can’t start a new routine on a Thursday, Will. That’s just… chaotic.”
He laughed so hard the couple at the next table looked over. “Babe, you realize how ridiculous that sounds, right? What magical property does Monday possess that Thursday doesn’t?”
“Monday is a fresh start,” I insisted. “Thursday is… Thursday is practically the weekend, and everyone knows weekends don’t count for habits.”
“The weekend starts on Thursday now?”
“Weekend adjacent,” I muttered, fully aware I wasn’t making sense but committed to my position nonetheless.
The truth is, I know exactly why I’m always waiting for Monday. Monday is safely in the future, which means I don’t have to change right now. I can continue my comfortable, imperfect habits while simultaneously feeling virtuous about my impressive plans for future improvement. It’s having your cake, eating it too, and then planning a future green smoothie diet that cancels out the cake calories retroactively.
Plus, there’s something delicious about the planning phase of self-improvement. I absolutely love researching morning routines, creating elaborate schedules in color-coded spreadsheets, and imagining how pulled-together I’ll be once I transform into Morning Routine Me. That person is amazing. She wears matching workout sets and has time to blow-dry her hair. She makes proper breakfast and never spills coffee on her shirt. She probably alphabetizes her spice rack and remembers to water her plants.
Current Me, however, found a fork in my bed last night and couldn’t remember when I’d last eaten there. Current Me considers dry shampoo a miracle product worthy of religious devotion. Current Me has three plants that remain alive only because they’re plastic.
The gap between aspirational me and actual me is Grand Canyon wide, and deep down, I know that no Monday, no matter how fresh and promising, can bridge that on its own.
My friend Tasha, who’s studied psychology, says I’m stuck in the “contemplation stage” of change. “You’re always preparing to change without actually changing,” she explained over brunch last weekend. “You’re in love with the idea of transformation more than the reality of putting in the work.”
“That’s not true,” I protested, mouth full of avocado toast. “I’ve made loads of changes!”
“Name one habit you successfully implemented without the ‘I’ll start Monday’ delay tactic.”
I thought for a solid minute. “I started flossing regularly.”
“And how did that happen?”
“My dentist found three cavities and basically shamed me into compliance.”
“So fear and external accountability, not a perfectly timed Monday start date,” she pointed out.
She had me there. The only habits that have actually stuck in my life weren’t the ones I planned to perfection. They were the ones I stumbled into through necessity, convenience, or genuine enjoyment. I didn’t plan to become someone who walks daily – it happened because I got a dog who gives me the saddest eyes on earth if we don’t go out. I didn’t schedule becoming a person who drinks water consistently – I just found a massive water bottle I liked and now carry it everywhere.
Maybe that’s the problem with my perpetual “next Monday” approach. I’m trying to force sweeping character transformation through sheer willpower, when actual change happens gradually through small actions that accumulate over time.
Last night I was scrolling through Instagram at midnight (while telling myself I’d definitely go to bed early “starting next week”) when I saw a quote that actually stopped me mid-scroll: “The thing about ‘someday’ is that it’s always in the future.”
I sat there in the dark, phone illuminating my face, and felt something click. I’ve spent so much time planning the perfect future routine that I’ve missed thousands of opportunities to make tiny improvements right now, today, this very minute. I’ve been so fixated on the idea of transformation happening in one perfect, Instagram-worthy swoop that I’ve ignored the messy reality of how change actually works.
So this morning, at 9:17 AM on a completely ordinary Thursday, I decided to try something radical: I meditated for three minutes. Not as part of a perfect morning routine. Not as the beginning of a transformation. Just as something I did today because I felt like it might be nice.
It wasn’t life-changing. I didn’t achieve enlightenment. My mind wandered to my grocery list and whether I’d put deodorant on. But I did it, on a Thursday, without waiting for the perfect Monday to arrive.
I’m not saying I’m cured of my “I’ll start on Monday” syndrome. Old habits die hard, and perfectionism is a particularly stubborn beast. I’ve already caught myself thinking about how I’ll “properly” commit to daily meditation starting next week.
But maybe – just maybe – I can start noticing the absurdity of perpetually postponing living better until some mythical perfect starting point arrives. Maybe I can learn to laugh at my own ridiculousness when I hear myself say “I’ll start Monday” and occasionally challenge myself to ask “why not now?”
Because while Next Monday Me is an aspirational superhero with incredible habits, Current Thursday Me is the only version that actually exists. And she deserves better than to always be waiting for a perfect future that never arrives.
So here’s to imperfect starts, mid-week beginnings, and the radical act of doing something good for yourself at 3:42 PM on a random Tuesday. I might not be ready to completely abandon my Monday fantasy – we all need something to look forward to, after all – but perhaps I can start seeing every day as a potential Monday in disguise.
Or not. Maybe I’ll just think about it more next week.
