When Discipline Becomes a Cage

It was 11 a.m. on a seemingly ordinary morning, July 20th. I found myself in a strange state of self-awareness. Not because something dramatic happened, but because everything was unfolding so routinely that I had to stop and ask: When did my life become this tightly wound rhythm? A rhythm that I created. A rhythm that started out healthy, productive, meaningful, but now began to feel like something I had to obey, whether or not it still served its purpose.

I had just returned from the confinement center with my wife and newborn daughter, Arielle. There was joy, of course. There was also a sense of rushing. An urgency that didn’t quite make sense until I looked closer. Over the past few months, I had unconsciously created a powerful rhythm. From writing nightly reflections, to walking my dog Loki, to capturing the day’s lessons and converting them into articles. These weren’t just habits. They had become anchors.

But anchors, when not regularly inspected, can become chains.

Loki knew this rhythm better than I did. Every night around 10 p.m., he expected his walk. And when I missed it, just once or twice, he let me know. Barking, complaining, pacing. As if to say: You made a promise. Where were you? Even the dog could feel the disturbance in the rhythm. That was the moment I realized. The rhythm that once freed me was starting to trap me.

We often praise discipline. We admire consistency. But we rarely ask what happens when consistency becomes compulsion.

The treadmill that once made us fit can also exhaust us if we forget to step off.

When the Dog Barks and the Routine Bites Back

The disruption didn’t end with Loki. That day was full of little cracks in the pattern. My son Evan had been spending weekends with my parents, a routine that formed without us realizing it. While his brothers had been bonding with Arielle, he was missing it. His rhythm unintentionally pulled him away from the family moments that mattered. We had planned for him to go to Singapore with his grandparents, but suddenly we couldn’t find his passport. I always keep it in the same place. But this time, it vanished. Just like that, a new rhythm was broken.

These weren’t just scheduling issues. They were small awakenings.

Earlier that day, my wife helped Aden with an assignment about his favorite island. He paused and said, “I don’t remember going to any island.” That hit me. He had been to at least 3 that I could recall: Langkawi, Pulau Tioman, and a day trip with my mentor Datuk Peter at Mersing. But he remembered none of it. And I realized that if we don’t intentionally capture life, we lose it.

According to the Forgetting Curve by Hermann Ebbinghaus, we forget 70% of what we experience within a single day unless it’s deliberately recorded. That’s why I started writing daily. But even that rhythm, once disrupted, left me feeling off. It wasn’t just a habit anymore. It was my memory bank. My anchor. My therapy. My legacy in motion.

But here’s the danger. When a routine becomes too tightly coupled with identity, breaking it feels like failure. And that’s where many leaders fall into the trap of false guilt. We start to serve the rhythm, not the reason we created it in the first place.

Why Even the Exceptional Must Learn to Let Go

There’s a strange thing that happens when you begin to pursue excellence seriously. People start to admire your consistency. You get praised for your discipline. You build systems. You build structures. And before you know it, the very thing that once served you begins to own you.

I’ve written over 200 reflections. That rhythm didn’t exist a year ago. It came from nowhere, out of necessity, out of a desire not to waste the day. But now, when I miss a night, something in me feels off. Like I’ve disappointed myself. Or worse, broken an unspoken contract. But with who? No one asked me to write. Not even my wife fully understood why I was so obsessed with it. But I had built it. It became identity. And anything tied to identity becomes sacred.

Yet life changes. A baby is born. A wife needs more support. A son’s memory loss becomes a father’s wake-up call. And suddenly, what was once sacred may need to be surrendered.

Even NASA once fell into the trap of routine.

In 1986, the Challenger shuttle was launched despite engineers warning that the cold weather could compromise the O-rings. But the launch had already been delayed once. Pressure mounted. Momentum was in motion. The rhythm of scheduled launches could not be broken, or so they thought.

73 seconds after takeoff, the shuttle exploded. All seven crew members died.

Why? Not because of incompetence. But because a good rhythm went unquestioned.

When routines harden into rituals, we lose the courage to interrupt them. Even if lives are on the line.

I thought about this as I reflected on how even my dog could feel the broken rhythm. And I thought about how easy it is to confuse momentum with meaning. Progress with purpose. I was moving, yes. But was I still aligned?

Flip the Table. Reset the Rhythm.

Yesterday at Every Nation Johor Bahru, a young pastor got up to speak. He was younger than me, but his words cut deep. Here was a man with a long list of titles. CPA Excellence Award, Mensa member, strategy consultant, etc. And yet, he stepped on stage in a simple t-shirt and delivered one of the most authentic messages I’ve heard in a while.

His topic? Why do we need to endure?

He compared it to a losing NBA team still showing up for the second half, down by 50. Why keep going when all seems lost? Why continue showing up for routines that feel hard, or meaningless, or misunderstood?

And then he said something that pierced me:

“In this era of self-love and personalization, we’re told to love ourselves more. But what if the problem isn’t that we love ourselves too little, but too much?”

He brought up the example of women who were sexually assaulted. Is that really because men loved themselves too little? Or because they were so self-absorbed they disregarded all boundaries?

The truth is, rhythm without reflection becomes ego in disguise.

We fall in love with our own systems, our own way, and anyone or anything that interrupts it feels like a threat. Even if that “threat” is your daughter being born. Or your wife needing presence over productivity.

This young pastor reminded me of resilience and flipping tables, like Jesus did. Not out of rage, but for restoration. To make space for healing, peace, and truth.

That’s when it hit me. Sometimes the most legacy-building thing we can do is disrupt the very rhythm we worked so hard to protect.

Legacy Over Routine: How Leaders Reclaim What Matters Most

Routines aren’t evil. In fact, they’re necessary. Rhythm is how the body heals, how ecosystems stabilize, how organizations scale. But the danger isn’t in having a rhythm. The danger is when we forget to question it.

Our own biology proves this.

The body runs on a circadian rhythm. An internal 24-hour clock that governs everything from sleep to hormone release to immune function. But when this rhythm is disrupted, through night shifts, artificial light, or stress, our risk of depression, anxiety, and even chronic illness spikes.

In fact, a 2021 study in JAMA Psychiatry found that individuals with disrupted circadian rhythms had a 35 percent higher risk of major depressive disorder.

Biology teaches us what leadership often forgets.

A rhythm that doesn’t serve the season becomes a silent saboteur.

We keep the routine because it feels “productive.” But slowly, it robs us of presence, clarity and joy.

Like a song on loop. Once beautiful, now maddening.

So what do we do?

We flip the table.

Not in rage. But with resolve.

We reset the rhythm.

I’ve missed a few nights of reflection. But the truth is, nothing burned down. The world didn’t fall apart. Loki got a little upset. But I gained something deeper: perspective. My daughter needed me more than my writing did. My wife needed presence more than performance. And my sons needed to see that even their father’s “sacred routine” could be paused when love calls louder.

This is the part no one tells you about high performance.

What makes you exceptional isn’t just what you commit to. It’s what you’re willing to release.

We often say leadership is about consistency. But legacy is about clarity.

Knowing what to hold. And when to let go.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

The opposite of growth is not failure.

It is rigidity.

Because rigidity refuses to evolve, refuses to respond, refuses to recalibrate.

What begins as a pathway to excellence can easily become a trap for the ego if we don’t pause to ask:

Why did I begin this rhythm in the first place?

Does it still serve the purpose I now carry?

And if not, do I have the courage to release it without guilt?

Exceptional leaders break their own rhythms when presence is more important than performance.

Because legacy isn’t built by keeping perfect habits.

It is built by making imperfect, human decisions with courage, clarity, and love.

So let the dog bark. Let the rhythm break. Let the page go unwritten.

If the cost of consistency is connection, choose connection.

And start again tomorrow.