The Small Habits That Change a Man

Jason McCombs
1 minute ago
6 min read

Most men try to reinvent their lives the same way they start a diet. Loud declarations. Big promises. Chest-out confidence that lasts about twelve hours. I’ve done it enough times to recognize the pattern. You go to bed convinced tomorrow you’ll wake up as some upgraded version of yourself. By the second day you’re back to scrolling, and the fire you felt the night before is gone.

Let’s cut the bullshit. Big transformations do not work. They never have. Life doesn’t pause just because you woke up feeling motivated for once.

It took me a long time to realize that real change doesn’t come from dramatic promises. It comes from the small stuff. The simple habits that don’t seem like much at first. The ones you can keep doing even when you’re worn down or frustrated. Even when you’re just trying to manage the everyday chaos of being a grown man with too much on his plate.

There are a few ideas from Japanese culture that get this right. Not because they’re exotic or mystical. Because they’re practical. Consistent. The kind of things that outlast your motivation. They fit with something I say at our Guild gatherings all the time.

"Be a better man than you were yesterday." That is it. One small step. Repeat it until it becomes part of your bones.

Here’s how these habits hold up when life gets loud and inconvenient, which is the only time that actually matters.

Kaizen

Kaizen is the commitment to get a little better each day. Not to overhaul everything. Not to reinvent yourself. Just to improve one small thing until it feels normal.

One page in a journal.

One walk around the block.

One plank while the coffee brews.

One chapter of a book instead of another wasted evening.

Honestly, it’s the only approach that has ever stayed with me.

I have tried the full-life-overhaul routine. It crashes every damn time. You need something simple enough that you’ll actually do it again tomorrow, even if you’re pissed off, exhausted, or buried under a pile of responsibilities. Those tiny steps add up. They become part of who you are. And when you look back, you’ll see the quiet habits did more for you than any loud declaration ever did.

Ikigai

Ikigai is your reason for getting up in the morning.

Not your job title. Not your obligations. The thing that makes life feel like it has direction.

The Japanese describe it as four overlapping circles.

What do you love?
What are you good at?
What does the world need?
And what can you get paid for?

Where those four meet is your Ikigai.

Most men avoid these questions because they’re uncomfortable. It’s easier to drift. To grind through the day, numb out at night, and pretend everything is fine. Facing these questions forces you to slow down long enough to be honest.

What makes time disappear for you?

What do people already count on you for?

What problem in the world pisses you off enough to want to fix it?

Write the answers down. Physically put them in your journal. Real paper. Real ink Like a man trying to map his way out instead of wandering in circles. Your purpose doesn’t need to be dramatic.

It just needs to be yours.

Hara Hachi Bu

Hara hachi bu means eat until you’re about eighty percent full. Not stuffed. Not miserable. Just enough. Okinawan elders say it before every meal, and they consistently live longer than almost anyone else on the planet.

I’ve always eaten too fast. It’s something I’m trying to change. This little habit forces me to slow down and actually pay attention, to enjoy my meal intentionally instead of rushing through it.

Here’s why it works. Your brain is slow to register fullness. By the time you feel done, you’ve already gone past what your body needed. This simple habit gives you a chance to stop before that point.

Halfway through your meal, pause.

Are you still actually hungry, or are you eating because food is there and you’re distracted?

That pause is the difference between shoveling food down and actually listening to your body. It’s small, but it changes everything about how you feel after a meal.

Shinrin Yoku

Shinrin yoku is spending time outside. Being in nature without a plan.

No tracking steps.

No podcasts.

No multitasking.

Just moving slowly through nature and paying attention.

You don’t need a national park. Twenty minutes walking under a few trees in a city park is enough. Your nervous system responds almost immediately. Lower stress. Clearer head. Better mood. Your breathing slows. Your shoulders drop a little. It gives you one part of your week where nobody wants anything from you.

If you’re in the Adventureman’s Guild, this one matters.

You cannot call yourself a gentleman of adventure if your life never touches the outdoors. This is part of the work.

Wabi Sabi

Wabi sabi is accepting imperfection as part of the beauty. Not something to hide. Something to appreciate.

A dented mug that has been with you for years.

Laugh lines around your eyes.

Gear that shows it’s been used instead of displayed.

Most men waste an absurd amount of energy trying to look perfect. Perfect job. Perfect house. Perfect image. It’s exhausting, and everyone sees through it anyway. Wabi sabi gives you a different lens.

The scuffed helmet means you ride.

The patched gear means you fix things instead of tossing them.

The wrinkles and scars mean you’ve actually lived instead of hiding from life.

This is just as true internally. You will screw things up. You will fail. You will disappoint yourself. Good. That means you’re moving. Ask what it taught you instead of scrambling to hide the evidence.

Gaman

Gaman is enduring difficulty without collapsing into self pity. Not by denying your feelings. Not by pretending everything is fine.

You’re exhausted, but you still show up for your friend who needs help.

You hate your rehab exercises, but you do them because you want a future where you can still move.

And when life hits you hard, you don’t spill every detail online hoping for pats on the back. You tell the people who actually matter and you keep moving.

Do not deny your feelings.

This is not about being stoic or macho.

Gaman is not silence.

It is presence.

It is choosing not to let every hardship rewrite who you are.

Omoiyari

Omoiyari is caring about how your actions land on other people. Not to look good. Not for praise. Just because you know you’re not the only one moving through the world.

Putting things back where they belong.

Checking on a friend who’s gone quiet.

Leaving a space cleaner than you found it.

Being aware of the space you take up and who it touches.

Brotherhood, community, respect. These sound good when people talk about them, but they only matter when you practice them. Omoiyari is the practice. Small choices. Made again and again.

Kintsugi

Kintsugi is repairing broken pottery with gold. The cracks become part of the design instead of something to hide. Every man has cracks. Every man has something he broke along the way. Relationships. Promises. Parts of himself he wishes he guarded better.

Most men either pretend nothing broke or drag it around like a punishment. Kintsugi offers a third way.

You admit what broke.

You do the work to repair it.

You let the repaired version become part of your visible story.

Not because pain is beautiful.

Because healing is worth showing.

Because rebuilding yourself makes you more capable, not less.

The strongest men I know are not the ones who stayed intact. They’re the ones who fell apart, rebuilt, and stayed kind.

Start With One

You don’t need all eight habits at once. Pick one. Something small. Something you’ll still do when you’re tired, annoyed, or having a day that feels like it was designed specifically to break you.