I begin every day by thinking of ways to do things better.

A friend spent a year irritated by her kitchen before working out that the problem was the bin. It sat three steps from the chopping board — a small friction she'd absorbed across roughly four hundred meals without once naming it.

Moving it took ninety seconds. That's the shape of most real improvement: unglamorous, structural, invisible the moment it's done.

Optimising everything at once tends to improve nothing. People who genuinely get better work on one bin at a time and let the rest stay inefficient. There's one in your week, and you've stopped noticing that you walk around it.