We like to believe that we choose our norms—that we live our lives based on principles, values, and reasoned decisions. While this is true to some degree, one of the most powerful forces shaping our behaviors and the structure of our society is far more mundane: repetition. Repetition is a neutral force—not good or evil. It doesn’t care what it reinforces. But what we repeat, we normalize. We tend not to question or resist norms nearly as much as we question or resist deviations from them. Repetition is how both good habits and terrible systems get entrenched—how addictions form and how recovery happens, how civil liberties are built and how they erode, how health is built, and how it falls apart.
Every new norm starts as an aberration—a break from the pattern that came before. It might be an uncomfortable act of courage or a moment of indulgence, but whatever its nature, the first time we do something different, it stands out. It feels charged, unusual, unfamiliar. The second time is easier, and each successive iteration comes easier than the one before it; our resistance softens and makes room for accommodation. The more we repeat it, the the further the memory of it being aberrant fades. Eventually, what once felt strange becomes invisible. We no longer notice it—it’s just life, the norm.
When we’re trying to build positive change—exercising, meditating, showing kindness, telling the truth—it’s easy to get discouraged while it still feels awkward and new. This is when good intentions die, when we tend to fall back on pre-existing norms instead of evolving into new habits. The shift from forced to fluent happens through repetition, but repetition is hard to maintain, and it isn’t sexy. Going from aberrant to familiar is a big gap. The key piece is just to focus on the repetition; fluency, mastery, and identity change will eventually follow. Recovery from addiction happens through daily choices, repeated long enough to become a new identity, not through grand intentions or promises.
Repetition itself is neutral, and it works in both directions. If we want to push back against a negative change—lying to avoid responsibility, or scrolling on our phones to avoid engaging in difficult conversations—the best time to intervene is while the behavior still feels wrong. That discomfort is a signal—but it is a signal that will fade with repetition. If we ignore it, the aberration settles in and soon stops feeling wrong at all.
Imagine someone who normally gets up, goes to work, fulfills responsibilities, and maintains structure. One day, they call in sick and start drinking at 9 a.m. They lay on the couch, watch TV, and avoid the world. That first day feels transgressive—maybe thrilling, maybe shameful. It stands in contrast to everything that came before. But then it happens again. And again. Over time, the new pattern loses its edge. The consequences don’t hit right away—after all, there are 20 days of sick leave. It becomes easier to justify, harder to resist. Eventually, it becomes the new normal—even as the damage accumulates. Drinking and avoidance become the new norm, so entrenched that deviating from it takes effort and feels abnormal.
What happens in the life of one person can happen in the life of a society. Just as we adapt to repeated behaviors on an individual level, cultures adapt to repeated harms. Arbitrary arrests may begin as shocking—but as they happen again and again, they start to feel expected. The first bribe is appalling, the second easier to explain, and soon it’s no longer seen as corruption—it’s just how things work. Familiarity dulls discomfort until what was once aberrant becomes routine. We see this pattern in environmental degradation, where repeated acts of destruction—loss of species, loss of habitat— become so common they no longer register. The repetition of harm normalizes it, even as the damage accumulates.
Just as repetition entrenches the harmful, it can also entrench the good. Civil rights movements advance by repeated acts of resistance and repeated demands for justice—until justice itself becomes the expectation. Cultural shifts begin when small actions—speaking up, including others, telling the truth—are repeated enough to reshape what’s familiar. Repetition gives momentum to both decay and growth.
Norms are powerful because they are background noise– but insight into their power can become leverage. We can’t change everything at once, but we can decide, intentionally, what to repeat. If we know the direction we want to move in—whether it’s showing up differently in a relationship, prioritizing our health, or engaging more honestly with the world—we don’t need to wait for perfect clarity, confidence, permission, or transformation. Instead, we can start repeating the behavior we want to normalize. Call it mechanical change—repetition doing the heavy lifting of shifting who we are. Each time we show up in alignment with our values, we give that version of ourselves a stronger claim on what becomes familiar, and eventually, what becomes normal.
We often overthink the changes we want to make because we are aiming at grandiose, or identity-level goals: I want to be healthy, I want to be a writer, I want to be more present. These aspirations are helpful, but their scale can paralyze us. Repetition offers a concrete way in. Instead of putting together a complete plan, we focus on repeating an action: running, writing, being present. Instead of getting stuck in our head about trying to be a painter, we focus on painting every day. Instead of wanting to be a more present parent or partner, we devote our energy to repeating behaviors that demonstrate attention and care. We don't need to become someone new—we need to repeat the actions that the person we want to become would already be doing.
At the same time, we must stay alert to what shouldn’t become normal. When we see behaviors—within ourselves, our communities, or our systems—that violate the world we want to live in, we need to understand that repetition will dull our resistance. The most important time to push back is early, when something still feels wrong. If we allow it to repeat, we’re training ourselves to accept it. To prevent that, we treat each instance as an aberration– privately and publicly. The danger is less in one act, but in the slow slide toward acceptance born of repeated acts. The structures in our world fail because problems repeat until they are seen as normal, and those problems weaken the foundations until the whole edifice collapses at once.
Repetition is always at work, shaping our norms and expectations. This shaping of our world is present whether we notice it or not, whether we agree with it or not, and it will normalize whatever we feed it, whether that is a little bit of loneliness or a small piece of intimacy and belonging. Our job is to repeat wisely.
Cheers,
Doc
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