Freundinnen & Freunde der Weisheit! Ob gesünder essen, regelmässig Sport treiben oder die Nutzung sozialer Medien reduzieren – viele unserer Vorhaben scheitern, weil wir uns zu stark auf Motivation verlassen.

Eine aktuelle wissenschaftliche Untersuchung zeigt, dass unser Verhalten weitgehend durch Habits gesteuert wird. Unser Gehirn arbeitet mit zwei Systemen: eines für automatische Reaktionen auf Umweltreize und eines für bewusstes, zielgerichtetes Handeln. Um langfristige Verhaltensänderungen zu erreichen, müssen wir unsere Habits gezielt beeinflussen.

Fünf Strategien helfen dabei: Erstens gibt es keine feste Zeitspanne, um einen neuen Habit zu etablieren. Studien zeigen, dass dies von wenigen Wochen bis zu mehreren Monaten dauern kann – je nach Person und Verhalten. Entscheidend ist, dranzubleiben, selbst wenn es einmal nicht perfekt läuft. Zweitens spielt Belohnung eine zentrale Rolle. Unser Gehirn lernt, Verhaltensweisen zu wiederholen, die positive Erlebnisse auslösen. Wer Sport mit einer angenehmen Routine wie einer entspannenden Dusche verknüpft oder nach einer Trainingseinheit bewusst die Fortschritte feiert, unterstützt die Habit-Bildung. Auch beim Abgewöhnen schlechter Habits kann dieser Mechanismus helfen – indem man ein negatives Verhalten durch eine belohnende Alternative ersetzt.

Drittens kann Habit-Stacking helfen, neue Routinen zu verankern. Dabei wird ein neuer Habit mit einer bereits bestehenden Gewohnheit kombiniert, etwa direkt nach dem Zähneputzen zu meditieren oder beim Morgenkaffee eine kurze Reflexion zu machen. Viertens ist es wichtig, Stress als Risiko für Rückfälle zu erkennen. Studien zeigen, dass unser Gehirn in stressigen Phasen stärker auf automatische Muster zurückgreift. Die gute Nachricht: Diese Effekte sind reversibel. Fünftens helfen „Wenn-dann“-Pläne, um schwache Momente zu überbrücken. Wer sich im Voraus überlegt, welche Alternative er in schwierigen Situationen wählt, hat eine höhere Chance, seinen Habit konsequent beizubehalten. Die Forschung zeigt also: Mit den richtigen Strategien lassen sich Habits nachhaltig etablieren.

Denkanstoss zum Wochenbeginn

„Die Vernunft ist nicht die Wirklichkeit selbst. […] Sie verhält sich zur Wahrheit wie ein Vieleck zum Kreis.“ – Nikolaus von Kues (1401–1464)

ProductivityPorn-Tipp der Woche: Auf den eigenen Biorhythmus hören

Jeder hat produktive Hoch- und Tiefphasen. Arbeite an wichtigen Aufgaben, wenn Du Deine höchste Konzentration hast, und erledige Routinearbeiten in weniger produktiven Zeiten.

Aus dem Archiv: Wie wir im Alter das Glück neu lernen können

Seit 2020 lese ich regelmässig und mit wachsender Neugier die philosophisch angehauchten Kolumnen von Arthur C. Brooks im Magazin „The Atlantic“. Seine Texte tragen Überschriften wie „How to Be Happy Growing Older“ oder „The Seven Habits That Lead to Happiness in Old Age“ und sind weit mehr als populärpsychologische Ratgeber. Brooks schreibt als Sozialwissenschafter, als ehemaliger Thinktank-Präsident, als Ehemann und Vater. Vor allem aber schreibt er als jemand, der selbst erfahren hat, wie schwierig es ist, wirklich glücklich zu werden. Nun, da ich ebenfalls 50 geworden bin und die Frage nach dem Glück in der zweiten Lebenshälfte brennender wird, habe ich eine Reihe seiner zentralen Gedanken zusammengetragen und mit der nötigen kritischen Distanz betrachtet.

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Vielen Dank, dass Du Dir die Zeit genommen hast, diesen Newsletter zu lesen. Ich hoffe, die Inhalte konnten Dich inspirieren und Dir wertvolle Impulse für Dein (digitales) Leben geben. Bleib neugierig und hinterfrage, was Dir begegnet!

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EpicMind – Weisheiten für das digitale Leben „EpicMind“ (kurz für „Epicurean Mindset“) ist mein Blog und Newsletter, der sich den Themen Lernen, Produktivität, Selbstmanagement und Technologie widmet – alles gewürzt mit einer Prise Philosophie.

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Disclaimer Teile dieses Texts wurden mit Deepl Write (Korrektorat und Lektorat) überarbeitet. Für die Recherche in den erwähnten Werken/Quellen und in meinen Notizen wurde NotebookLM von Google verwendet. Das Artikel-Bild wurde mit ChatGPT erstellt und anschliessend nachbearbeitet.

Topic #Newsletter

Dreams are funny things that come and go. Rarely do mine interrupt or intersect. However, he is a steady repeat. He's always been there. My Darkness. My Shadow. My Faerie Man. My Male of Faerie.

Tonight, he bloodied his fingers and scratched the wreathing tendrils of shadow incorporated within him to pluck the crushing weight of slab and stone that was suffocating my broken limbs, and pitch it asunder into the mighty void between dreams.

I was fading. I could feel every drop of consciousness plummeting drip by unrecoverable drip. I heard his melody thrumming through my mind. He was very angry with me, growling at my foolishness. Snarling that he had taught me better. He did not find my “tethering” cheeky. The use of “cheeky” had caused me to laugh and choke on the blood bubbling past my lips.

Everything hurt so bad, but a fog was forming around the pain as my mind began to drift through other dreams and other trips. I could hear him growling about our unfinished book. That I still owed him many more pages. That was our trade. Our agreement. Briefly, I realized it an uneven bond, for the majesty of such a book was that it had no end.

I felt the whirlpool of his essence swirling and encompassing me. Seeping into me. Merging with my blood and mending the wounds that dared to break our contract. It was a frigid, burning, soothing crutch. For the smallest of eternities, I understood everything. I tasted our memories seasoning absence with a completeness there are no words for, and then we were fractured once more.

I awoke with the memory of his smile and a song. Our song—of woods and rain and obsidian night. I awoke owing him the poetry of my soul, for he continued to doom his relevance via maintaining our lifeline.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved

We have dogs, chickens, turkeys, sheep, a hamster, oh and flies. But of all of our animals there seems to be something special about cows. Perhaps it’s a subjective thing and what I resonate with, and maybe this is objective fact – but either way cows are something special.

We have some great friends nearby who have joined us on our milk cow operation. So we expanded quicker than I was planning and it’s turned out pretty decently in my view. They brought in three cows so they could ramp up milk production quickly. The oldest of their cows had a baby pretty quickly because she came in pregnant, which was great for milk production, and the baby was a female too – which is great! So they had four female cows in their first year of raising milk cows. They went from zero to four pretty much the speed of light, at least in terms of human perception, and it became overwhelming quickly.

Over at our homestead we had two females and a newborn baby. We also have two bulls to help with the whole reproductive and milk cycle, but the females are the main point to all of this. I think women deep down know they are the main point to all of this. One of our oldest cows is my favorite, she was our first and I’ve really bonded to her. She’s my friend. We don’t really speak the same language with our lungs, diaphragms (do cows have diaphragms?), tongues, and faces. But we do speak quite a bit one to another in other ways. I can mimic some of their sounds and it does seem to soothe. I can also stand my ground and show I’m tough if needed. But there are dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of micro actions that seem to be part of communication. And as we spend time together these things sparkle about.

Well my favorite cow and best friend in the cow world turns out to be pretty broken. We are pretty sure she cannot reproduce. The lady we bought her from thinks she might with some surgery – but we don’t even like surgery on ourselves, why would we do that for a cow? And I am pretty sure it’s well beyond cysts as she thinks, there are many things off with my friend. We can actually milk her, and she hasn’t had a child. But that milk isn’t milk at all, it’s a mildly bloody mucous. One of her pelvic bones is sunken in; that isn’t right. She is about 30% larger than any of the other cows of her breed. Her heat cycles aren’t very noticeable to her, the bulls can tell but she can’t. So my view is that she is hormonally and physiologically broken. And I love her. Not in any sort of gross way you perverts out there may be thinking, just in a great friendship happy sort of way.

But I am a very practical person. We have very clear intents, and raising a bunch of cows for friendship really isn’t the goal here. We also have a neighboring household who happens to be one of our best friends who are also human. They are getting older, are homesteaders, and eat a decent amount of beef. So we are turning the problem of my friend who cannot be milked (at least for useable milk) or have children into the solution of creating beef for our human friends.

We tried one last time to breed her for several months so there is a small chance she will have a baby this fall. If she does then that whole killing thing will be derailed which is great for my cow friendship but bad for meat and the logistics of us having too many cows. So the plan is that if she has a child we will keep her and milk her and I can keep my friend. And if she does not have a baby we will truck her off to another human friend nearby with no attachments to her to do the whole killing and cutting up type of thing.

Back to our friends mentioned in the beginning who bought some cows and got up to four too quickly. Well they were stressing out and we love them and wanted to help out. So we adopted all of their young cows and are starting to train them. They are keeping the oldest milker only right now. This is what spurred this post. I was just out there trying to calm the craziest one that moved here and get her more comfortable with me being around. We have taken in three of their cows for now. We hope they will take at least one back when they are ready. The cows coming to our place have gone in waves, we didn’t take them all in at once. First came R (don’t want to disclose her full name, you may know her :P), she was wild and crazy when we got her. But over the last month or so she’s calmed down and is leadable a this point. We had her and my best cow friend near one another and now R is pretty calm and easy for a young heifer. We just recently received M who is fairly insane. The same time M came up here we brought my best friend cow A down to their place. My best friend cow is outside their immediate homestead and out in the more wild perimeter fence. So they don’t have to do much with her, she can go have a lot of fun on roughly 160 acres of woods and pasture. I’m sure she is loving it, if she doesn’t give birth it will be a great end of life adventure. If she does give birth then meat is called off and she can come back home.

I saw her today. I was visiting my human friends and saw my cow friend A outside the fence. I wanted to go give her scratches and hugs but I didn’t. It’s sad to me and I am trying to create distance before this potential end coming up. I’m feeding my best friend cow to my best friend humans. It’s kinda disgusting, but kinda beautiful. Depends on how you want to look at it. I like to look at the whole spectrum I can see, which makes it disgustingly beautiful.

Well then. We now have two babies we are training up. Two heifers about old enough to breed. One best friend cow who is away on vacation ready to die. One milking cow who I just finished milking – she is a gem as well. And two bulls to help keep the breeding going for a while. It’s a pretty fun and exciting situation in my view. They are curious, intelligent, stubborn, and lovely animals. Many people I’ve met aren’t nearly as pleasant to be around. In the animal world I find them pretty top tier. Seems to me more people should have cows instead of buy cow products – it is a completely different experience. It’s like the difference of eating a tomato versus tending to a garden. Or the difference in playing the recorder versus playing in an orchestra, or even listening to a live orchestra.

Anyways I’m already mourning for my potential beef cow while at the same time celebrating the new cow personalities coming in. Life and death is always present at the homestead.

What Doesn’t Kill You

Every parent, especially an Asian one has (an often very exaggerated ) story about how and why their childhood was so much more difficult than their own children's and how they miraculous survived. Now, especially with a teenager on my hands, it is most imperative that I strategically utilize my survival story. I thought I’d share my self proclaimed survival story, but I prefer to label it as my “thriver story” .

Once upon a time, the world was more insular or provincial, if you will and its people were not nearly as cosmopolitan. It was when international travel , let alone migration , was considered to be more for the reckless dreamers. Yes, some migration to the developed countries like the US happened but not often times did folks return to their developing homeland. Whenever I meet someone new (especially here in Florida) , it’s always that dreaded question: where are you from? Hmmm, where do I even start? So I start with a big sigh, of course, knowing for certain that the conversation is going to be followed by a look of surprise/confusion and then a barrage of predictable questions. Did I irk your curiosity as well? I was born in Nepal. …Naples? Nope. If I was lucky, the person I was talking to knew at least which continent this tiny but beautiful country was nestled in. This would be followed by me emphatically stating… you know, the country where Mount Everest is in! Anyhow, as I was saying, I was born in Nepal and grew up in Wisconsin. Wisconsin?! Yes, I acknowledge with humor , truly how random that sounds! I didn’t realize until someone pointed it out to me recently and we had a good laugh. Now I use that as my icebreaker.

Back to my story. I moved with my parents from Nepal to the US when I was five and returned at the hormonally labile age of 13. My father pursued further education and ultimately conducted research under the US government at the University of Wisconsin. My brag story is that he was the first Nepali to step foot in the south pole. I digress. My parents never failed to remind me that we were only in the US as temporary guests and that the plan was always to return to Nepal . However, one year turned into two and then into nearly a decade.

I started kindergarten and was assigned to ESL (English as a second language ). My first friend was Maria, a beautiful, blonde haired, blue eyed quintessential, American girl. She would try to speak to me in the few words of Spanish that she had learned. Her parents wondered how our friendship would survive. But it did ; even oceans apart. Her family became mine. I was blessed with amazing friends and their families who cared for me like their own. That’s another blog in itself. The time flew by (as childhood often does ) with the cold snow packed winters , sweet summers , crisp autumns, and flagrant springs. Memories were made of swimming in lakes (I wouldn’t dare to swim in as an adult ), the smell of smoky barbecue , the comforting smell of a fusion of ethnic and American food that wafted through the university housing complex and neighborhood.

Middle school arrived along with the hormones , boy crushes, cliques and young adulthood experiences .Everyone was either dreading or looking forward to high school. I was most certainly looking forward to it. Then one fated day , I came home from school, completely oblivious to the life changing event that would turn my little world upside down. Both of my parents were at home along with my little brother . My parents appeared nervous and solemn. My mom had whipped up an impressive spread of my favorite dishes and asked me to sit down and eat. They locked eyes and stated that they had to tell me something. I swallowed a lump in my throat and forced down the delicious food while anxiously wondering what this could be about. And then they uttered the dreaded words : “Babu, we are going back to Nepal” . Then came the ultimate shocker …”we are leaving in two weeks”! My mind froze, heart dropped and then tears promptly poured out in a classic shristi fashion. My otherwise previously excited little brother rightfully deemed “his sister’s tail” , began bawling as well. I escaped swiftly to my room but not before I dragged the phone and cord (yes I’m dating myself ) with me to inform all of my friends of what seemed to me to be a death sentence. I spent the whole rest of the evening on the phone. All of us wailed at what we determined to be the greatest teenage catastrophe. I was moving halfway around the world in two weeks. Farewell parties were planned at school and Beyond. I unashamedly reveled in my newly found celebrity status for the next few weeks. All my friends came to see me off at the airport. My world as I knew it, had been shattered.

The flight was long, taking nearly 2 days and multiple layovers. We stopped in Hong Kong, where I was introduced to the squatting toilet. No, I did not care that it was better functionally for the human anatomy. The public one was appalling. Being back in Asia ( in those days especially) came with a little bit of a culture shock to say the least. Everyone seem to stand too close to eachother , walk too close and stare a little too long. The site smells and sounds were so foreign. We landed at twilight and there was no electricity. The plane descended into a blanket of darkness. My grandmother was at our house and had candles lit. There was no central heat and it was dead in the middle of winter in Nepal.She cried tears of happiness, thrilled to see us after all these years. It was her first time meeting my brother. Strangely, she looked and smelled exactly how I remembered her. It was the smell of incense and Pooja. I barely slept that night. The bed was hard and I shared it with my brother. I tossed and turned, and upon waking up in the morning, I rushed up the stairs to the open terrace to finally discover in daylight, the place where my new life was beginning and I would now call home.

I couldn’t speak Nepali and I could barely understand a handful of words. Standing there at dawn , little did I know what the next several months would entail. It would comprise of one of the most challenging periods of my young life that I had ever encountered. I didn’t know that I would struggle at school , not to just learn a brand new language from scratch l, starting with the alphabet while having to take eighth grade level, grammar, and literature tests in a new language merely months later and a national board exam within two years. I didn’t know that I would be ridiculed, bullied and stalked on my way back home and discover dead frogs and hate notes in my backpack. I was blissfully unaware that the bathroom walls would have writing about me that I didn’t even understand in my innocence. I would hold it together , grit my teeth and bear it all with a smile and politeness only to come home and cry silent tears for months. I know it was hard on my parents to watch their little girl in turmoil and they even offered to move back on one desperate evening. However, I was determined not to let them down and not to let hate, carelessness and ignorance win. I know it broke their heart seeing how I was trying so hard and was still hitting walls . I didn’t know that I would learn to read and write nepali literature even before I would dare to speak it. One day, despite being teased for my accent and being “the foreign girl”, I would decide that enough was enough . I would learn to speak fluently over summer break whilst practicing with with my unsuspecting baby cousins. It was their secret and mine. I returned to the next semester of school and to the astonishment of my classmates, I set forth to speak the purest grammatically, correct Nepali in the most (Midwestern) American of accents.

So yes, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. It shifts your perspectives. It showed me that the world was bigger than just the confines of my immediate surroundings. It taught me that the world was full of so many kinds of people in various walks of life and fortune. It help me realize that I had so much to be grateful for. That not everyone lived or thought the way I did and how environment and upbringing molds individuals . I learned that there is no one right way of doing anything . It expanded my world and my horizons. I learned early on that I could do the hard things. I learned that I didn’t need to put myself in a box or fit a label and that I could be truly proud to be different and unique. It was OK to stand out. I learned to rely on and trust my family , all of whom I became closer to as a result . Most importantly, I learned not to take no for an answer. If someone told me I couldn’t do something ( they often did) , that I could turn around and politely say, “WATCH me “ with the brightest smile and do exactly that and more.

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Try telling that to a teenager. Or better yet, teach them. So yes, my beloved son and daughter, remember , you can do the hard things . Remember , change can be good . When life leads you on to a hard rigid path, it teaches you to be fluid, to adjust and be flexible . It tests your character and refines it. It makes you realize that you don’t have to be a ragdoll like victim to life’s situations. You can indeed , make sweet lemonade when life hands you lemons. You can learn to dance in the darkness and fall in love with the soft glow of candlelight. Whatever doesn’t kill you, well… you know :)