Hey there,

Establishing new habits can be difficult, especially when you’re trying to replace ones you've been practicing for ten or twenty years. Recently I stumbled across a video by a communication teacher who said something that completely changed how I thought about shyness:

"The reason you are so good at being shy is because you’ve been practicing shy behavior."

Before this moment, I’d never considered that being shy or having shy tendencies might not be a personality trait we're born with. But in fact, it’s a collection of behaviors we've repeated so many times that they begin to feel like who we are.

I wouldn’t describe myself as a shy person, but I think I have some shy tendencies, as many of us do. Around friends and family or in familiar places, I’m open, comfortable, and outgoing. If I see someone struggling, I don’t hesitate to help. But put me in an uncomfortable environment like a crowded city surrounded by hundreds of strangers, and things change. I get quieter, focusing inward. I avoid unnecessary interactions. I move from point A to point B without really engaging with the people around me.

So I wondered: could I change that? If I deliberately changed how I interacted with the outside world, would I eventually feel different? Would those environments become more comfortable to exist in?

I decided to run a little experiment. I made a list of things that felt mildly uncomfortable: approaching strangers on the street, starting conversations, asking for help, speaking first. Eventually I settled on one simple challenge:

Compliment one stranger every day for at least two weeks.

It sounded positive, harmless, and not too intrusive. In a city with millions of people, surely I could find one person each day who deserved a genuine compliment. I thought it would be easy. Life, as it likes to do, proved me wrong.

On the very first day, I got on the subway and, almost without realizing it, started scanning the train. That alone was a discovery in itself: apparently, I already had a habit of quietly observing everyone around me, for the sake of survival, I guess.

Then I noticed her.

She had a gorgeous, unique hairstyle. Medium-length layered hair twisted at the ends, with strands fading from blonde into blue, ending in darker tips. She had tiny butterfly clips and sparkling bobby pins placed perfectly symmetrically throughout her hair.

Her hair looks amazing, I thought. Then came the second thought: you should tell her.

And almost instantly, my body disagreed. My heart started racing. I felt cold sweat forming on the back of my neck. My shoulders tensed up. I hadn't even spoken to her, but my brain already went into defense mode.

Maybe she'll get off before my stop.

I counted the stations. More people boarded the train. I lost sight of her.

Well... maybe she already left.

Then people shifted. There she was again, standing by the doors.

The subway is loud. She probably wouldn't even hear me.

Another stop. Now it was my stop. I had just a moment to act. I stood up. Walked toward the doors. She was still there.

"Excuse me," I said.

She looked up with a confused expression on her face.

"Your hair looks gorgeous. I love the butterfly clips."

She thanked me with a soft laugh. The doors opened. I stepped onto the platform. And finally I could breathe again.

I wasn't expecting such a tiny interaction to feel so physically difficult. It wasn't the compliment itself. It was interrupting the invisible social script that tells us to mind our own business, keep walking, and avoid bothering strangers.

As the days went on, the experiment became easier. Most days, I still had to argue with myself before saying anything, but something else started to change. While it started with finding the courage to speak up, it slowly turned into finding someone to genuinely compliment. Instead of looking at my phone between subway stops, I found myself playing a little game: what's the nicest thing I can notice about someone today? A colorful character keychain hanging from someone's dark backpack. A man whose sleeve of tattoos looked like a botanical illustration. An older woman carrying a beautifully worn leather bag that looked like it had decades of stories behind it. A girl in a bright floral dress that somehow made a gray Tuesday feel more colorful. By the end of two weeks, this challenge had altered what I was looking for. Rather than unconsciously searching for reasons not to interact or stay away, I started searching for things worth appreciating.

Another surprising side effect was that I became more affectionate towards people in my life. I had always complimented friends and family, but now it happened practically on autopilot. It became so second nature that I didn't even notice the change until someone pointed it out. It made me realize that my little experiment was affecting how I looked at people in general. I'm not claiming that one or two weeks of compliments can completely rewire your personality, but I do think that communication teacher was onto something.

If we can practice avoiding interactions, we can also practice having them. Maybe confidence isn't something that popular people are born with, but it's built from lots of tiny moments that feel just a little uncomfortable. One compliment. One conversation. One small experiment at a time.

And who knows what habits we'll be practicing a year from now.

— Zhenia

P.S. If you need an easy read for the rest of the summer and want to learn more about habit-making, I’d recommend two books: Good Habits, Bad Habits by Wendy Wood, for a deeper dive into how habits form and what we can do with that knowledge to make positive change, or Badass Habits by Jen Sincero, for a fun, easy-to-digest read on how habits shape who we are.