“There is no way.

I’m telling you now, this is not happening.”

My neighbour, Tuka, had asked me to help move a couch from downstairs to upstairs.

Of course, I said yes.

Tuka is in his seventies and, very sadly, going through chemotherapy.

But when I arrived, I realised we had a problem.

The couch looked like it had been designed for a hotel lobby.

The staircase looked like it had been designed for a Victorian chimney sweep.

Trying to fit one up the other was like trying to post a grand piano through a letterbox.

“I’m sorry, Tuka. We can’t get this up there. We need more people.”

“Let’s just try,” he said.

“We can try as much as we want. That couch is not going up those stairs.”

More importantly, I didn’t want him putting any stress on his body.

But you should know something about Tuka.

He has the age of a grandfather and the curiosity of a child.

He reads everything.

Questions everything.

And seems to know something about almost everything.

He’s exactly the sort of person you would want as your grandad, mentor and role model.

We walked around the neighbourhood looking for help.

Nobody.

It was a ghost town.

Still, Tuka kept saying:

“I think we can do it.”

“No chance, Tuka.”

There was a construction site across the road, so I suggested we come back on Monday and ask a few builders for help.

Problem solved.

At least, I thought it was.

Tuka looked at the couch.

Then at the stairs.

“I think we can do this.”

We went back inside.

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s try.”

But I refused to let him take any of the weight.

He stood beside the couch and said:

“Don’t think about upstairs. Just get it onto the first step.”

So I did.

“Now stop.”

We stood there for five minutes and talked about world politics.

Then he looked at the couch.

“Right. Let’s get it to the next step.”

So I did.

And stopped again.

This time, we talked about artificial intelligence, the next generation of students and the future of work.

I could listen to him for days.

“Next step,” he said.

We moved it again.

Then we talked about my vision for No Ordinary Moments.

He spoke about focus.

About doing what is within your control.

About not wasting energy on everything that isn’t.

One step.

One conversation.

One lesson at a time.

Then, suddenly, Tuka started celebrating.

We had reached the top.

I hadn’t even noticed.

In that moment, his soul seemed to go from 70 to 20.

And mine had travelled in the opposite direction :)

I had been the one with the fixed mindset.

I had looked at the distance between where we were and where we needed to be, and decided it was impossible.

Tuka only looked at the next step.

It reminded me of the early days of No Ordinary Moments.

I had a huge vision.

Products.

Experiences.

A community.

A brand that could change how people lived their lives.

But one week, my entire goal was to learn how to buy a domain name and connect it to an email address.

That was my next step.

Writing a book felt the same.

The thought of writing thousands of words was intimidating.

So I stopped trying to write a book.

I sat down for 30 minutes each day instead.

If I kept doing that, the book would take care of itself.

We often give up because we stare at the top of the staircase.

We see the size of the dream.

The distance still to travel.

Everything we don’t yet know.

And we decide there is no way.

But you don’t have to reach the top today.

You only have to reach the next step.

Then pause.

Learn something.

Catch your breath.

And go again.

Tiny, consistent actions can rewire your brain.

They can build a business.

They can write a book.

They can even move an enormous couch up an impossibly narrow staircase.

Whatever feels too big this week, make it smaller.

Then get it to the next step.

Have a great week ahead.

Kia kah & Love

Chris Xx