Man, let me tell you, I never thought I’d be sitting here talking about this “Ichung 43” thing. For the longest time, it was just my own little messed-up system, something I cooked up when things were really going sideways. But then, I started seeing some serious shifts, and I figured, why not put it out there? Maybe it’ll resonate with some of you out there who feel like you’re just spinning your wheels.
So, where did it all start? I was in a proper rut. You know that feeling when you’re working your tail off but nothing seems to stick? I was doing a bunch of projects, trying to learn new stuff, always busy, but at the end of the day, I felt like I hadn’t really moved anywhere. My progress felt like a flat line. I’d start a course, get halfway through, then jump to something else. Pick up a new skill, noodle around for a bit, then drop it for another shiny object. My desk was a graveyard of half-finished ideas, and my brain felt just as cluttered. I was frustrated, man, properly frustrated.
I needed a way to just, you know, anchor myself. To actually see what I was doing, instead of just feeling busy. That’s where the idea of “Ichung 43” kinda randomly popped into my head. I don’t even know where the name came from, probably just something I mumbled to myself one tired evening. The “43” actually came from a stupid little challenge I saw online – finish 43 small tasks in a week. I thought, “Why not apply that kind of focused, bite-sized thinking to my bigger mess?”
Getting Started: The First Scrawls
I didn’t buy any fancy planners or apps. Nope. I just grabbed a cheap spiral notebook from the dollar store, the kind with the flimsy cover and the lines that don’t quite reach the edge. I called it my “Ichung 43 Log.” My initial idea was simple: I’d pick one big thing I wanted to move forward, and every single day, I had to identify 43 actionable steps, no matter how tiny, that pushed that thing forward. Forty-three. It sounded insane at first, right? But the trick was, they could be ridiculously small. “Open project file” was a step. “Read one paragraph of documentation” was a step. “Think about the problem for 5 minutes” was a step. The point wasn’t about the size of the steps, but the sheer act of identifying and acknowledging them.
Every morning, before I touched my coffee, I’d open that notebook. I’d write down the date at the top. Then, I’d list out 43 things I could do. In the beginning, it was tough. I’d stare at the page, blank for a good five minutes. Sometimes I’d only get to 20 or 30. But I pushed myself. I’d think, “Okay, what’s one more tiny thing? What if I just check that email? What if I rename that file? What if I just sketch out an idea?” I didn’t worry if they were perfect; I just needed 43 lines filled.
The Grind and the Glimmers
After I’d planned my 43, I’d go about my day. As I did each one, I’d put a little checkmark next to it in the notebook. This was the core of the practice. It wasn’t about completing all 43 perfectly every day. Sometimes, I’d only get through 10 or 15. Other days, I’d power through 30 or even more. The important part was the logging. At the end of the day, I’d look back. I wouldn’t beat myself up if I didn’t hit 43 checks. Instead, I’d make a quick note: “Only 18 today, got distracted by that client call.” Or “Crushed it! Managed 35. Felt good.” This wasn’t about judgment; it was about data, raw and honest.
The first few weeks were a mixed bag. I felt a bit silly counting “opened browser” as a step. But then, I started noticing something weird. Because I was thinking about 43 things, even small ones, I started to actually do more small things. Those tiny actions, when accumulated, started chipping away at the bigger tasks. Instead of getting overwhelmed by “build entire feature,” I was focusing on “research component library” (1 step), “look at three examples” (3 steps), “download one” (1 step), “try basic hello world” (1 step). It broke everything down into manageable chunks.
And the daily review? That was the real kicker. Seeing those checkmarks, even just a few, gave me a tangible sense of progress. Before, my days felt like a blur. Now, I could flip through the pages and see what I actually did. It wasn’t always a straight line, but there was a definite upward trend. I started seeing patterns in my own behavior – what times of day I was most productive, what kind of tasks I usually avoided, what roadblocks kept popping up.
The “True Power” Revealing Itself
About two months in, that’s when the “true power” of this Ichung 43 thing hit me. I was working on a personal project that had been stuck in limbo for months. Every time I looked at it, I felt this heavy dread. But because of my daily 43-step ritual, I was forced to list something for it, even if it was just “read one line of code.” And slowly but surely, day after day, those tiny steps added up. I actually finished that damn project. Not just finished it, but understood it better, because I’d consciously broken it down and logged my way through it.
It wasn’t just about finishing things anymore; it was about gaining clarity. My brain wasn’t so scattered. By forcing myself to think in increments of 43, I developed this muscle for breaking down big problems. My planning became sharper. My estimates for how long things would take became way more accurate. I stopped feeling like I was constantly forgetting things because they were all there, staring back at me from the pages of that cheap notebook.
And the best part? The confidence that came from seeing actual, undeniable progress. It wasn’t some fuzzy feeling; it was right there, day by day, page by page. This simple, almost stupid method, born out of frustration, ended up being the most straightforward tool I ever used to actually get somewhere.
