Becoming a Better Person

At some point, usually after a hangover, a breakup, or a speeding ticket, we all decide that it's time to become a “better person.” Whatever that means. We picture ourselves as less angry, more generous, perhaps someone who volunteers at a soup kitchen and doesn’t shout at printers. But we immediately run into a problem: we haven’t the faintest idea what “better” even looks like.

Are we meant to start yoga? Hug strangers? Stop flipping people off in traffic? Nobody says.

Now, the world is stuffed full of lifestyle gurus who’ll tell you to journal, meditate, juice kale, or swim with dolphins. But the truth is, self-improvement doesn’t come from reading books or listening to people who use the word “authenticity” unironically. It comes from doing. And more importantly, not being a complete arse.

So, what does being a “better” human actually involve? For a start, stop being awful to other people. Revolutionary, I know. Try treating people with respect, not because it’s spiritual, but because one day they might be your Uber driver or your dentist. Listen when people speak. Tell the truth even when it's awkward. And maybe just maybe don’t treat every minor inconvenience like the fall of civilization.

Of course, change doesn't happen overnight. This isn’t a Hollywood montage where you go from chain-smoking cynic to Zen monk in 90 seconds. It’s slow. It’s unglamorous. And half the time, you won’t even realise it’s working until someone tells you, “Hey, you don’t seem like a complete tool anymore.”

The real trick? Stick to your own values. Know what matters to you and don’t sell it out for approval, likes, or a faster promotion. Dignity. Integrity. Doing your job properly, whether it’s launching rockets or stacking shelves. These things matter. And if you can approach your daily nonsense emails, meetings, the school run with a bit of humour and decency, congratulations: you’re already better than most.

You may never become perfect. Frankly, that would be annoying. But if you can go to bed each night knowing you were slightly less rubbish than yesterday, that you helped someone, told the truth, and didn’t scream at the coffee machine, well then. That’s progress.

And it didn’t even require yoga.