We talk a lot about “upgrading”—our systems, our tools, our mindset. It’s easy to imagine the upgrade as something waiting for us on the other side of effort: one more push, one more week, one more early morning.

But lately I’ve realised something uncomfortable and freeing: upgrades aren’t installed by wishing, planning, or hoping. Upgrades are lived.

In a session with a life coach, they used the phrase “upgrade your subscription.” It landed in that strange way truth sometimes does — no fireworks, just a quiet click somewhere in the soul. I could feel the next version of me, but I wasn’t stepping into it. I was standing at the doorway, rehearsing the move.

And then the Zen Ninja whispered:
“The upgrade isn’t a leap. It’s a shift in weight.”

Just like on the mat — or on a mountain bike trail, or in a business meeting — the smallest adjustment in posture can change the whole direction of the flow. The Zen Ninja doesn’t sprint into the new version of himself. He tilts. He softens. He steps a fraction off-centre, and suddenly he’s already moved.

I find myself caught between intentions: I want to go to the gym, I want more energy, I want calmer mornings. But the harder I try to force the shift, the more resistance I create. And of course there are nights where a bottle of wine appears on the bench, my wife walks through the door, and the “upgrade” becomes simply being present with the person I love.

That too is the path.

Zen isn’t about perfect choices — it’s about seeing the choice clearly, without the noise of guilt, pressure, or self-judgement.

Live the upgrade doesn’t mean “be flawless.”
It means: act from the upgraded version of yourself now, even if in tiny steps or shifts in weight.

For me today, that might mean:
• Not telling myself or my business partners that I’m “too busy.”
• Trusting that if something matters, we’ll find the resource or hire the person.
• Allowing stillness before action, even in the middle of work chaos.
• Choosing the morning gym session without turning it into a battle.

These aren’t leaps. They’re shifts in weight.

And that’s the dance of the Zen Ninja:
To move so lightly that change happens without struggle…
To meet challenges without armouring up…
To step sideways when the world pushes forward…
To win battles no one even knew were fought.

Today, I’m just learning to stand in the upgraded version of myself. Not because I’ve earned it. Not because I’ve achieved something. But because the doorway was always open — and all I ever needed to do was shift.