Small Rituals That Anchor Who You Intend To Be
Created at: August 10, 2025
Start with a small ritual that reminds you who you intend to be. — Haruki Murakami
The Identity Signal
Murakami’s line invites us to treat the smallest act as a compass, not a chore. A brief, consistent ritual—lighting a candle before writing, tying shoes before dawn runs—functions as an identity signal: it says, here is who I’m becoming. Because intentions often dissolve in the friction of a day, a ritual provides a reliable threshold moment where aspiration turns into motion. In this way, the ritual is less about productivity and more about remembering, every morning, the kind of person you’ve chosen to be. From that premise, we can see how artists and athletes use routine not to constrain creativity but to summon it.
Murakami’s Quiet Marathon of Routine
Haruki Murakami exemplifies the power of ritual. In a Paris Review interview (2004), he described waking at 4 a.m., writing for five to six hours, then running 10 kilometers or swimming 1,500 meters, sleeping at 9 p.m.—a cycle he kept for months. In What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (2007), he likens this repetition to mesmerism that sustains the creative trance. The point is not the feat but the signal: before words appear or miles accrue, the opening ritual reminds him who he intends to be—a novelist and a runner. Building on this example, psychology helps explain why such cues work.
How Rituals Shape Identity in Psychology
Research shows that tiny, repeated actions sculpt self-concept. Peter Gollwitzer’s work on implementation intentions (1999) demonstrates that if-then plans bypass hesitation. Likewise, Bryan, Walton, Rogers, and Dweck (2011) found that framing actions as identity (be a voter) boosts follow-through. Habit scholars like Wendy Wood (Good Habits, Bad Habits, 2019) and Charles Duhigg (The Power of Habit, 2012) describe cue–routine–reward loops that stabilize behavior. Small rituals, then, act as identity primers: they cue the story you’re trying to live and make the next right action feel obvious. With that foundation, design becomes the next question.
Designing a Small, Sticky Ritual
Effective rituals are brief, specific, and anchored to something you already do. After brewing coffee, open the notebook and write one sentence; after shutting the laptop, lay out tomorrow’s running gear. James Clear’s two-minute rule (Atomic Habits, 2018) captures this: start so small that resistance has nothing to push against. Choose a symbol that feels like you—pen, playlist, stretching pose—so the act resonates emotionally, not just mechanically. Once the ritual reliably cues identity, you can expand the subsequent work. Even so, the environment often decides whether the ritual happens at all.
Environment as a Silent Prompt
Set the stage so the ritual is the path of least resistance: clear the desk, place the instrument on a stand, keep shoes by the door. Choice architecture matters; Thaler and Sunstein’s Nudge (2008) shows how small design tweaks change behavior without force. In practice, these are channel factors—simple logistical aids that turn intention into inevitability. When the space whispers the role you intend to play, you waste less willpower remembering and more energy becoming. Still, even a well-designed ritual will sometimes falter, which leads to the art of recovering.
Recovering Gracefully When You Slip
Missing a day is data, not a verdict. A compassionate reset—Kristin Neff’s Self-Compassion (2011) outlines how kindness fuels resilience—helps you resume without shame’s drag. Adopt a never-miss-twice principle (Clear, 2018): the first lapse is chance; the second becomes a pattern. Create a micro-reset ritual—one deep breath, a written recommitment—to reassert identity quickly. In doing so, you treat the ritual as a lighthouse, not a leash. Over time, these humane repetitions accumulate into character.
From Small Acts to Enduring Character
Repeated signals become a story; the story becomes a self. Will Durant, summarizing Aristotle in The Story of Philosophy (1926), wrote, “We are what we repeatedly do.” Murakami’s counsel fits this lineage: start with the smallest ritual that reminds you who you intend to be, and let that reminder guide the day. As days link, identity solidifies—not through grand declarations but through quiet, faithful beginnings. Thus the ritual is both seed and signature: a tiny act that continually signs your name under the life you mean to live.