“8:59… time to flip the sign.”
A while ago I stumbled on this 1-minute video of a barbershop owner explaining his opening routine:
What struck me wasn’t the sign — it was the discipline behind it. One minute before nine. Flip. The. Sign.
It’s not about the plastic rectangle in the window. It’s the moment before the moment — the quiet ritual that says:
“I’m stepping into who I am right now.”
It’s less a gesture of business, more a declaration of presence.
“We’re open. We’re ready. Welcome.”
Watching it again made me think about my morning routine. And all my little anchors throughout the day. The schedules. The rituals. The timers. The things I do not because they’re flashy, but because they flip me from one mode into the next.
I don’t have to set a timer to kick me out of a focus block before a call. But I do — because it lets me reset and switch gears calmly, instead of jumping at a Calendar ping screaming, “Oh crap! I’m late! What’s this meeting about again?”
I don’t have to take notes during a meeting. Some AI in the sky can do for us. But I do—because writing helps me remember. It lets me keep the thread and keep moving, instead of pausing later to hunt some summary down just to answer “wait, what did we decide again?”
Technically, I don’t have to do any of this. But if I want to move the way I want to move... I kinda do.
That’s the point of these tiny acts: they’re not chores, they’re switches. A promise to myself. A way to trade intention for momentum, decision fatigue for rhythm, good intentions for visible commitment.
A reminder that you don’t start when you feel ready. You start to become ready.
To set the tone. To show up the best I can.
Because…
At 8:59… flip the sign.