Let the trash day be trash
Picture this: the mess daal tastes like dish-water, your landlord texts “rent tomorrow or keys”, your laptop fan sounds like a dying tractor, and the person you’ve been texting for weeks leaves you on read. I sat on the floor with cold Maggi, scrolling through reels of people winning marathons while I couldn’t even win over my own focus. Earlier I would have forced fake positivity—change playlist, chant affirmations, gulp extra coffee. That night I simply said, “Aaj ka episode flop hai, series abhi baaki hai.” Accepting the landfill removes the pressure to recycle garbage into gold before bedtime. Landfills can be flattened tomorrow; tonight you just survive the stink.Two square feet of control
When the universe hijacks every remote, the brain hunts for proof that some buttons still work. I fold my bed-sheet and brush my teeth—hostel’s worst days still allow these eight minutes. They’re like demo levels in a video-game: easy wins that remind you the controller isn’t broken. Once the sheet is smooth and mouth minty, the scoreboard reads 1-0 in your favour—even if you dive back under the blanket ten seconds later.Shrink the goal till it feels stupid
“Finish project” is Everest in fog. I shrink it to: open laptop → create one slide → type the title. Cursor starts blinking, momentum coughs, and suddenly the slide has three bullets. If it doesn’t, you still own a slide more than yesterday. Guilt loop breaks, dopamine dribbles in. Next session you add two more bullets. Inch by inch, the mountain photo appears on your Google Drive.Text one human before noon
Isolation and despair are co-founders of an illegal club. I send one message before twelve: “bhai alive?” Reply can be thumbs-up, meme, or “kal se pakka serious”—doesn’t matter. The ping proves the world hasn’t ended; it’s just in a different time-zone of mess. Connection restored, brain downgrades threat level from “extinction” to “really bad day.”Mute the highlight, follow the street dog
Influencers selling “6-figure at 19” courses were gifting me free anxiety. I muted them, followed a page that posts only sleeping strays. No captions, no filters. Feed became a quiet lane instead of a loud rally. Curate what hits your eyes at 8 a.m.; mood photocopies the first twenty images it sees.Five-minute rant window
I set a timer, bury my face in the blanket, and yell every crappy thought—prof is partial, rent is high, crush is cold, noodles were cold. Ding—done. No replay allowed. Anger spoken aloud turns cartoonish; even you start laughing at the dramatic script. Written rant also works, but voice burns faster.Playlists = time machines
Pity-party list: exactly three sad songs. After that player auto-jumps to “fake swagger”—Nucleya, 90s Govinda, DMX, whatever moves shoulders. I don’t wait to feel energetic; I let beat hijack feet. Motion drags emotion like a toddler to dentist—before interval, you’re humming.Spend sunlight, not just will-power
Hostel corridors are bat caves. I drag my carcass to the terrace for ten minutes—eyes closed, face to sky. No meditation app, no yoga mat. Sun = free serotonin. Even if you scroll Reddit, let the rays hit your face, not the screen. Dark room charges phone; sunlight charges head.Proof list before sleep
Every night one line in a cheap notebook: “Auto-wala gave five rupees back.” Next day: “Fried papad in mess.” Looks lame, but the page soon resembles a Christmas tree—more green dots than red. Visual proof beats the 2 a.m. soundtrack of “everything sucks.” Evidence kills exaggeration.Borrow tomorrow’s energy—one IOU only
3 a.m., brain frozen. I write future-me a sticky: “Slide 2 heading done, you add bullets.” Then I crash. Tomorrow-me curses, but starting coordinates exist. Emergency loan, not habit—else tomorrow files bankruptcy. Use once, repay with breakfast and shameless gratitude.Don’t hunt the big “why” after midnight
Night philosophy is a scam. Questions like “what’s the point” breathe on darkness-oxygen. I jot the question, promise brain we’ll debate at 10 a.m. Morning rarely hands the full answer, but tea is enough to downgrade existential crisis to mild confusion. Sunlight + chai > 2 a.m. spiral.Help someone, super-small
Give a pen, share PDF, explain one formula—120 seconds max. Brain registers “I still have resources.” You don’t need to be fully repaired to hand over a band-aid; while sticking it on their paper cut you notice your own scrape isn’t fatal.
Accept cyclical motivation
Mine arrives like Mumbai monsoon—mostly on time, sometimes missing, occasionally floods. Calling myself lazy on dry days is like cursing the sky. Carry an umbrella (read: shrunk goals), wait it out. Train rattles in eventually—always does, often when you’re busy helping someone else.
Exit plan inside escape room
Binge-watching four seasons = escape, leaves you hollow. Exit plan: pre-decide “two episodes, then I answer one email.” Same activity, different contract. One leaves you further stranded, the other drops you a mile ahead. Keep the EXIT board lit even when you enter the chill room.
No feeling is final
Sounds like a fridge magnet, but it’s the truest thing I know. The knot loosens—could take hours, could take Navratri to Diwali—but it loosens. While waiting, job description is simple: stay alive, stay fed, do one microscopic thing future-you can high-five you for. That’s it. No superhero cape—just the next stubborn, tiny step.
Micro-travel without tickets
When life feels like a broken record, I take a 15-minute walk to a lane I’ve never entered—could be a new tea stall, a different library floor, even the back-side of the campus where trucks unload. Novel scenery tells the brain “pattern shift possible.” You don’t need Goa; sometimes a new paan shop is enough geography reset.
Rename the file, rename the feeling
I was working on a folder titled “Useless_Draft.” Every time I saw it, mood dipped. I renamed it “V1_Raw_Material.” Instant relief. Words we attach to tasks bleed into self-worth. Change the label, change the taste. Try it—your “Pathetic_Resume” becomes “Draft_That_Will_Pay_Rent.”
Keep a “done” jar, not just a to-do list
To-do lists grow like Hydra—cut one head, two appear. I keep an empty pickle jar and drop a peanut inside for every finished micro-task: email sent, dish washed, chapter read. Peanuts rattle, jar fills, eyes see proof of velocity. On horrible days the jar holds three nuts—still evidence you moved.
Use the opposite hand rule
When stuck, I brush teeth or doodle with the non-dominant hand. The awkwardness forces brain to drop autopilot and notice present moment. It’s like shaking the Etch-A-Sketch of thought loops. Two minutes of weird grip, and the mental needle jumps the groove.
Schedule worry like a meeting
Anxiety loves to gate-crash. I give it a calendar invite: 6 to 6:15 p.m.—“worry, plan catastrophise.” During the slot I mentally list every worst-case. When timer ends, I stand up, close notebook, and cook dinner. Brain slowly learns: panic has a container; it can’t spill the whole day.
Re-read your own old victories
Not ancient school trophies—just WhatsApp text where a friend thanked you for debugging his code, or a screenshot of 60 you scored when you expected 40. Your past evidence is more believable than any outsider quote. I store these in a folder named “Receipts.” When imposter whispers, I flash the receipts—silent, solid proof you’ve climbed before.
Let music be background, not escape
Long playlists can become auditory social-media: endless scroll with drums. I pick one instrumental track on loop. Repetition becomes white noise, lyrics don’t hijack focus, and the brain isn’t tempted to “skip” like with a 40-song list. One track, one task, one hour—surprisingly militant, surprisingly calm.
Forgive the yesterday version
You promised yourself 10 chapters, managed 2, then binged four hours of gaming. Now guilt wants a double penalty. I literally say aloud: “Yesterday-me was doing the best with the tools he had; today-me has one extra tool—this sentence.” Self-compassion isn’t a hug, it’s a firmware update. Install, reboot, move.
Keep an “energy budget” like money
I’m broke by month-end, yet I plan mental expenditure like unlimited credit. Now I track spoons: morning lecture (-2), group drama (-1), gym (+1 if I go), tea with friend (+1). When balance hits zero, I stop borrowing at 14% emotional interest and choose one low-cost task. Budgeting prevents overdraft meltdowns.
Remember motion creates memory
Years later you won’t recall the exact mark of that crappy semester; you’ll remember walking to class in rain while repeating formulas under breath. The step, not the score, becomes the story. So take the step—however small—because future nostalgia is quietly recording. One day you’ll thank the version that moved when everything felt wrong.
Landfill weeks will return, Everest will hide in fog, playlists will betray. Let them. You only need to beat yesterday by one sticky note, one sun-soak, one sent text, one new street, one peanut in the jar. String enough of those together and—quietly, without any glitter—everything stops being completely wrong.
