Who’s Programming You?

A few days ago I was listening to Jason tell stories after class.

Jason is the owner and head instructor at Meraki, the BJJ gym where I train.

He’s a phenomenal martial artist on the mat. He’s also been in the room with some of the best fighters on the planet.

He was describing what fight day looked like for Anderson Silva during his prime.

Jason was part of Silva’s training camp. He saw it up close.

While the undercard fights were running, Silva wasn’t at the venue.

He was a few blocks away. At a mall. Walking around. Hanging out with his buddies: Lyoto Machida, José Aldo, the Nogueira brothers. Just talking, laughing, no tension in his body at all.

Fans would recognize them and get confused.

They’d watch these legends strolling through a mall, looking like they had nowhere to be, while a UFC event was happening blocks away with Silva as the headliner.

Silva had this funny little ritual.

He would stay relaxed, stay with his friends, stay completely unhurried. Jason said the guy was just loose.

Like it was any other Saturday.

The story Silva told himself was simple: this is no big deal.

That’s the story that made him the GOAT.

The Same Fighter, Different Script

You can take the same fighter. Same skillset. Same training camp. Same coaches. Then give him a different internal script.

• “This guy is faster than me.”
• “I don’t belong here.”
• “Last time I got crushed.”

Same body. Same preparation. Radically different result.

The only thing that changed was the voice in his head.

I’ve seen this play out on the mat my whole life.

The Two Guys on the Mat

Some guys walk into sparring having been beaten by the same partner a dozen times.

They’re still telling themselves: this time will be different.

They’ve built a mantra. They’re chomping at the bit. They get tapped, they get up, they go again.

The story in their head is louder than the evidence.

It doesn’t matter that the evidence says they’ve lost every round.

Their internal narrative doesn’t care about evidence. It cares about what it’s been told to believe.

Other guys tell themselves the opposite. They’ve decided they can’t. Decided they don’t have the gas tank. Decided their partner is too fast, too strong, too technical.

Their instructor can give them a new narrative.

Their training partners can tell them what they’re doing right.

It doesn’t matter. The self-defeating tape is already playing, and it drowns everything else out.

Same gym. Same instruction. Same mat space. The only variable is who’s holding the microphone in their head.

I’ve watched guys quit who had more natural talent than guys who stayed.

I’ve watched guys with every physical disadvantage outlast guys who looked like they were built for the sport.

Talent predicts almost nothing. The story they’re running predicts everything.

The Two Guys on the Jobsite

I saw the same pattern as an electrician.

You’d have the guy who crashed and burned on the last tough project.

He’s the first one stepping up for the next one. “Send me in, boss. I can do it.”

He doesn’t have more evidence than the guy hiding in the corner.

Same tools.

Same training.

Same blueprint.

But his internal dialogue is telling him that the last failure was a fluke, or a lesson, or just the cost of doing business. Something he can learn from and move past.

He’s not delusional. He knows he messed up. He just isn’t letting that story become his identity.

Then there’s the guy keeping his head down. Hoping he doesn’t get picked.

Same tools. Same training. Same pay. Same everything.

But his internal dialogue is telling him he doesn’t have what it takes.

Or that the spotlight is dangerous. Or that sliding into the easy stuff is the smart play. Or maybe he’s just downright lazy.

Doesn’t matter. The result is the same: he stays small, stays safe, and stays exactly where he is.

The difference between the two isn’t competence.

It’s the story.

One Word Can Rewrite Your Memory

In 1974, psychologists Elizabeth Loftus and John Palmer showed people a film of a car accident. Then they asked them to estimate the speed of the cars.

They changed one word in the question.

Some people heard: “How fast were the cars going when they hit each other?”

Others heard: “How fast were the cars going when they smashed into each other?”

The people who heard “smashed” gave higher speed estimates. Significantly higher.

A week later, the researchers brought everyone back and asked a follow-up: “Did you see any broken glass?”

The people who heard “smashed” were more than twice as likely to say yes. They remembered seeing broken glass. Vividly. Sincerely.

There was no broken glass in the film. Not a single shard.

One word, planted in a question, rewrote their memory. They believed something that never happened.

The Questions You’re Asking Yourself

The experiment is usually taught as a warning about other people.

• Leading questions from an interrogator.
• Loaded language from a boss fishing for a scapegoat.
• A parent putting words in a child’s mouth before the child has a chance to speak.

All true. All worth watching for.

But I think the bigger danger is quieter.

It’s the questions you’ve been asking yourself for years without noticing.

“Why do I always choke under pressure?”

“Why am I the one who never gets the opportunity?”

“Why does this keep happening to me?”

Every one of those questions contains an assumption:

• It says the choking is inevitable
• It says you’re the one who doesn’t get picked
• It says the pattern is happening to you, not something you’re participating in

And then your brain, helpful as always, goes looking for evidence to support the question you just fed it.

It finds the time you choked. It finds the promotion you didn’t get. It finds every instance that fits the pattern and ignores every instance that doesn’t.

You’re running the Loftus experiment on yourself. Daily. And you don’t even realize you’re the one holding the clipboard.

The Promoter and the Analyst

Nobody knows the future.

The promoter temperament who’s certain he’ll close the deal and the analyst temperament who’s certain it’ll fall apart are both telling themselves a story.

The promoter skips past the risks.

The analyst magnifies them.

Neither one has proof.

But one story moves them forward and the other keeps them frozen.

Promoter temperaments tend to make the most money. Not because they’re smarter. Not because they’re more talented. Because they’re telling themselves a story that supports action. The analyst is telling himself a story that supports paralysis.

Both are making it up. One just happens to be useful.

If you’re going to lie to yourself anyway, lie in a way that helps.

The Chair Is Open

The critical question is who’s sitting at the keyboard.

Are you the programmer, or are you the programmed?

We are remarkably easy to program.

​The Loftus experiment proved that a single word from a stranger can change what we remember.

What do you think happens when the words are coming from inside your own head, on repeat, for years?

Most people never sit down at the chair.

They let the programming happen to them:

• Their parents’ voice
• Their boss’s criticism
• Their ex’s parting shot
• Some failure from a decade ago, replayed so many times it’s become a core memory

They didn’t choose the story.

They just inherited it and never questioned whether it was true.

But here’s what I’ve learned on the mat, on the jobsite, and in everyday life: the chair is open.

It always has been.

Someone is going to sit down and start programming.

You can wait for someone else to do it, or you can do it yourself.

Commitment Changes the Story

Explorer W.H. Murray wrote something from the Scottish Himalayan Expedition that has stuck with me for decades:

Commitment itself changes the story.

And the story changes what you notice, what you attempt, and what you remember afterward.

Commitment rewires the filter. When you commit to the idea that you can, your brain starts scanning for evidence that supports it. When you commit to the idea that you can’t, your brain does the same thing, just in the other direction.

Either way, the brain finds what it’s looking for.

So the question isn’t whether you’re going to tell yourself a story. You already are. The question is whether you’re going to choose one that helps.

Put It On the Mat

This week, do one thing.

Find one story you’ve been telling yourself that’s holding you back.

Not the big one. Not the origin story of all your problems. Just one.

Then pick the smallest possible reframe that points the other direction.

Don’t try to convince yourself you’re unstoppable.

Don’t build a whole new identity in one afternoon.

Just find one example that proves the opposite story might also be true.

A few to get you started:

1. “I never follow through” → “I followed through on that one thing last month”
2. “I’m not good with people” → “I had a real conversation with that guy last week”
3. “I always choke” → “I showed up and did the work that one time”
4. “I’m not a leader” → “I led when nobody else stepped up”
5. “This always goes wrong” → “Last Tuesday it went right and I barely noticed”

Now start living as if that version is the one you believe.

Not forever.

Just for today.

See what happens.

The goal isn’t to pull yourself out of the hole you dug with years of bad self-talk.

The goal is to stop jumping into holes in the first place.

Notice the question before you answer it.

Notice the story before you live it.

The chair is open. Someone is going to sit down and start programming.

Might as well be you.

Charles

⚔ The Dojo Drill

Today’s training:

The Fear List

Write down 3 fears you’ve been avoiding.

Take one small action toward one today.

📚 Leader’s Library

Book I recommend this week:

​​​Poor Charlie's Almanack by Charlie Munger​

Why?

Because it will give you the rare opportunity to get inside the head of a billionaire and what it took for him to get there.

P.S. Know a martial arts gym owner who’s stressed about money or student numbers?

Do them a favor: send them to The Leader's Dōjō, my website where I help owners get more students and keep them longer with simple systems.

One forward from you could change their gym: The Leader's Dōjō​

Chuck