The Decision Was Already Made

On Tuesday morning, I got up early to go to the gym, a little under a mile away.

Right outside my building is a row of Blue Bikes, Boston's bike-share program. Unless I'm walking Scout, taking a bike is pretty habitual for me.

When you look at that lineup, you'll see a mix of regular bikes and e-bikes. Each one was last set up by a different rider, so the seats are all over the place. There are about ten preset height options, along with two different adjustment mechanisms—one easy to change and one more of a hassle.

There is one more variable: a sprinkler system in front of my building that, if I leave early enough, sprays directly over the first three bikes. I try not to get soaked before 6 a.m.

So when I walk outside to get a bike, how much am I actually deciding?

Almost none.

I have a simple decision rule:

By the time I step outside, most of the decision has already been made.

That's what a behavior can look like once it becomes automatic. But it wasn't automatic the first time I rode a bike.

Most of the behaviors we care about aren't automatic when we start them. They have to become worth repeating before they ever have a chance to become habitual.

So how do you know whether something is likely to stick?

I think about behavior all the time, so I built a simple framework around four questions:

Meaning: How much does this matter to me?

Ease: How difficult is it to actually do?

Belief in outcome: If I do this consistently, do I believe I'll get the result I want?

Enjoyability: How much do I like doing it?

These aren't four independent characteristics. They can influence one another over time. But together, they give me a useful way to understand why some behaviors persist while others disappear.

Resistance training is central to my identity, so it has a high level of meaning for me.

It's also convenient. I enjoy it. And I have a strong belief that if I train consistently, I'll get a very specific outcome.

That's a pretty favorable combination.

Practicing Portuguese means a lot to me because my wife and in-laws are Portuguese, although it isn't as central to my identity as resistance training.

It's relatively accessible to learn, moderately enjoyable, and I believe that if I practice consistently, I'll eventually become fluent even if that outcome is far away.

That makes it a behavior I'm likely to continue—even if I don't enjoy every individual practice session.

On September 27th, I have an 18-mile trail race.

The race is meaningful mostly because of the challenge itself. Proving to myself that I can do it matters more than the race being connected to anything bigger in my life.

I believe that if I follow my training plan, I'll be able to finish.

But it's time-consuming. It's difficult. And it's not the most enjoyable activity I've ever done.

So I expect my consistency to depend heavily on whether I continue to believe the challenge is worthwhile.

On a recent vacation in São Miguel, I took two surfing lessons.

It was enjoyable.

But it didn't have much meaning for me. I think it would take considerable time to become good at it, and it's not particularly accessible to me living in Boston.

So surfing is probably something I'll do when the opportunity presents itself—not something I'll build into my regular life.

If I lived in São Miguel, that calculation would look very different.

That's the interesting part.

These variables aren't fixed.

Portuguese is a good example. There was a time when Portuguese had almost no meaning for me. Then I met my wife, who is Portuguese.

The meaning increased again when we visited São Miguel and decided to get married there.

And it increased again when we found out we were expecting a daughter. I want her to learn Portuguese too.

Once the meaning increased, I started looking for ways to make the behavior easier. I hired a tutor. As I practiced, I began to see that I could actually learn words and phrases. My belief that I could eventually become fluent increased.

Then I started having basic conversations and that made it more enjoyable.

So the behavior changed in more than one dimension:

Meaning increased → I made it easier → I practiced more → I saw progress → my belief increased → I enjoyed it more.

That's the part I find most useful about this framework. When a behavior isn't sticking, the answer isn't always "try harder."

Instead, ask: Which part of the equation is working against me?

If the behavior doesn't mean much, find a reason it should. Or if you can’t, find a new behavior. If it's too difficult to do, remove some friction.

If you don't believe it will work, create opportunities for small, visible wins.

If you don't enjoy it, look for ways to make the experience better—or become competent enough that the activity itself becomes more rewarding.

And sometimes the answer is simply that the behavior doesn't belong in your life right now. Surfing isn't a failure because I don't practice it every week. The environment doesn't support it, and it isn't important enough to overcome that barrier.

But if I moved to São Miguel, the calculation would change. The behavior would become more accessible. I'd have more opportunities to practice. I would probably get better. And I’d certainly start enjoying it more.

The goal, then, isn't to find a perfect behavior that scores highly on every dimension from day one. It's to understand which levers you can change.

Once a behavior becomes meaningful, make it accessible. Once you start, make progress visible. As competence grows, belief and enjoyment can follow.

And if you repeat the behavior enough, eventually you may find you aren't really deciding anymore. The decision was already made.

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