I Did a September Reset With Three Rules. Here’s What Actually Stuck.

September Reset

September 1, 6:40 a.m.

Chen Yinglan turned off the alarm. The screen showed "Early rising streak: Day 1." She stared at the "1" for two seconds, threw off the blanket, and put her feet on the floor. Cold. In the bathroom mirror, the person looking back had hair flattened on one side and sleep stuck in the corners of her eyes. She brushed her teeth for exactly two minutes. The timer on her phone was set. Then she washed her face with cold water.

This was one of three things she had set for herself: get up at 6:40 a.m. The other two were drinking a glass of water before dinner and reading ten pages before bed.

She had not written them in her calendar. Things in her calendar never got done. This time she wrote them on a sticky note and stuck it by her bed. The note was yellow, with only three lines. Her handwriting was ugly. She had made it ugly on purpose. Writing it neatly would make her feel the thing was already finished.

At 7:10, she stood in the kitchen. Three pre-portioned jars of overnight oats sat in the fridge, lined up in a row. She took the leftmost jar, twisted off the lid, and stuck a spoon in. The oats had soaked all night, soft and mushy, with dried cranberries floating on top. She ate standing at the counter, without sitting down. When she washed the jar, water splashed onto her clothes. She didn't change.

Before leaving, she checked her bag. The water bottle was full. She had put it on the shoe cabinet by the entryway yesterday, so she would be sure to see it on her way out. She had learned this from a post: put the right choice on the path you cannot avoid.

At 9, she arrived at the office. In the elevator she ran into Lin from Accounting. Lin asked where she had gone over the long weekend. She said nowhere, just stayed home. Lin said that sounded nice. She smiled a little. The elevator doors opened. She went left. Lin went right.

At noon she opened her lunch box. Brown rice from last night, blanched broccoli, a piece of pan-seared chicken thigh. A coworker had ordered fried chicken and bubble tea and asked if she wanted any. She said no. The coworker said she was so disciplined. She said she had stopped calling it discipline. It was just what she did now.

She wanted the fried chicken. She wanted it badly. But she told herself that if she ate fried chicken now, at night she would want salt-and-pepper chicken, and tomorrow morning she would want to sleep in. She didn't understand the logic between those things, but she believed it anyway.

She got home from work at 6:40. In the kitchen she poured a glass of water and drank it standing there. She put the glass in the sink and left it. She changed clothes and went out for a walk. No goal, just walking. She circled the neighborhood three times, fifteen minutes. It was only the third day. Her calves were still a little sore.

At 9:30, after her shower, she sat on the bed. The book on her nightstand had been bought last month. She had stopped after twenty pages. She picked it up and started from page twenty-one. By page thirty, she realized she didn't know what she had just read. She flipped back and reread pages twenty-one to twenty-five. This time it went in. By page thirty-three, her eyelids were heavy. She closed the book and turned off the light.

As she lay down, she thought: today I did all three things.

She thought "did," not "great." She didn't feel impressive. She had simply finished three very small things in one day.

The next day, when the alarm went off, she hit snooze. She got up ten minutes later. 6:50. She didn't scold herself. She only changed the first line on the sticky note to "Get up at 6:50." She did it in pencil. She erased the old line, leaving a faint mark.

On the third day, she didn't eat the overnight oats. She bought a rice ball from a street stall. She told herself it was because the oats were gone and she had forgotten to restock. But there were still two jars in the fridge. She knew. She didn't say it out loud.

The fourth day was Saturday. She slept until 9. When she woke, sunlight came through the gap in the curtains and fell across her face. She lay still, feeling as if the whole week of early rising had been a very short dream. She turned over and stayed in bed another twenty minutes. Then she got up, took the two jars of overnight oats out of the fridge, opened one, and smelled it. Not spoiled. She added honey and ate it at the dining table.

After eating, she portioned out next week's oats. Three jars. She thought for a moment, then made a fourth.

Sunday afternoon, she sat on the living room floor with a notebook open in front of her. She drew a table with seven boxes. In each box she wrote one thing:

Monday: Get up early. Drink water. Read ten pages.
Tuesday: Get up early. Drink water. Read ten pages.
Wednesday: Get up early. Drink water. Read ten pages.
Thursday: Get up early. Drink water. Read ten pages.
Friday: Get up early. Drink water. Read ten pages.
Saturday: Sleep until I wake up. Drink water. Read ten pages.
Sunday: Sleep until I wake up. Drink water. Read ten pages.

She wrote "Read ten pages" in every box because that was her favorite one. Drinking water came second. Getting up early came last, because she knew it was the hardest.

When she finished, she closed the notebook and put it on the coffee table. She left it there. No wall, no photo, no announcement.

Half of September passed.

One day she worked overtime until 8. On the way home, she passed the night market and bought a bag of sweet potato balls. She ate them as she walked, the paper bag greasy. Afterward she felt a little guilty, but only a little. When she got home, she still drank water. She still read ten pages. That night she didn't go to bed until 11:30, and the next morning she didn't get up until 6:50. She woke before the alarm. She lay in bed, listening to the cars outside, feeling that her body was a little heavy, but not as heavy as before.

She wasn't sure this counted as success.

What she knew: before, she would make a long list on September 1 and give up completely by September 3. This time she had listed three things. The first week she did them four days. The second week, five days. The third week, six days. In the fourth week, there was one day she did nothing because she had a cold. She lay in bed, drank a lot of water, read two pages, and fell asleep. The next day she didn't try to make up for it. She just continued.

On the morning of October 1, she peeled the sticky note off the headboard. The writing had blurred, and the corners had curled up. She crumpled it into a ball and threw it in the trash. Then she took out a new sticky note, yellow, and wrote three lines:

Get up at 6:40.
Drink water before dinner.
Read ten pages before bed.

She stuck it by the bed, in exactly the same place as the last one.

Before leaving, she passed the entryway. The water bottle was there. There were four jars of oats in the fridge. She took the leftmost one.

In the elevator she ran into Lin. Lin asked if she had lost weight recently. She said she didn't know. Lin said she looked well. She said maybe. The elevator doors opened. She went left.

At noon she opened her lunch box: brown rice, blanched broccoli, pan-seared chicken thigh. The coworker ordered fried chicken again and asked if she wanted any. She said no. The coworker said she was so disciplined. She said she had stopped calling it discipline. It was just what she did now.

After she said it, she paused for a moment. She hadn't expected those words to come out of her mouth.

On the way home that evening, as she walked, she noticed her calves were not sore anymore. She walked one extra lap. When she got home, she poured water and drank it standing in the kitchen. She put the glass in the sink and left it.

Before bed, she picked up the book and continued from where she had stopped. She read twelve pages. She turned off the light and lay down.

Tomorrow was October 2. She didn't think about it. She closed her eyes and waited for the alarm to ring in the morning.