The Habit of Becoming

Closing that SC Johnson deal in early 2020 gave us a couple of months of celebration. It felt like we could finally take a breath - like things were finally going our way. After years of grind, Plastic Bank had momentum, trust, and stability. Everything was lining up. Until it wasn’t. It’s rare that every person on Earth goes through the same thing at the same time. Wars break out, but only in one place. Floods, fires, and earthquakes devastate regions, but the rest of the world continues untouched.

But the pandemic - that was different. It didn’t matter if you were rich or poor, young or old, whether you lived in New York or Nairobi, Rio or rural Canada - suddenly, the entire world was living through the same disruption together. And I bet you remember exactly where you were when it hit. At first, it was a whisper. “People are getting sick.” “A new kind of flu.” We shrugged. Another headline. Another scare that would pass. Then came the contradictions. Was it serious? Exaggerated? Just like the flu - or far worse?

Nobody agreed. Nobody knew. I remember staring at my calendar. In three days, I was supposed to fly to Barcelona for a speaking trip. Then the email came. Event Cancelled. I blinked at the screen, shaking my head. That’s ridiculous, I thought. Why would they cancel an entire event? Then the headlines refreshed: Barcelona declared a Covid hotspot. City in complete lockdown. Flights suspended. And suddenly it hit close to home. I was supposed to be there. I was one day away from boarding a plane to Spain. Had I gone early, I might have been stuck there indefinitely.

I’d never had to think like that before. Could you really be stuck somewhere? Cut off from home, from family, from safety? It was the first time I realized how fragile freedom actually was. How connected - and vulnerable - the entire world had become. From that moment, Plastic Bank went into war-room mode. By the next morning we had daily 6 A.M. meetings with the executive team. Every day. No weekends, no pause. Serious talk. Serious planning. Mapping supply chains. Running financial scenarios. Trying to anticipate every what if. The goal was simple: protect our people, protect our collectors, protect the mission.

That same week, I had a long-scheduled coaching session with John Spence - our quarterly deep-dive call. It couldn’t have come at a better time. The Call The world had gone quiet. Flights grounded. Streets emptied. The hum of routine replaced by the echo of uncertainty. Our mornings had turned into 6 A.M. war-room calls - screens lighting up in dark rooms across time zones. Everyone bracing for what might come next. When John’s name flashed on my screen, I felt that familiar mix of calm and command he always brought - part strategist, part steady hand in the storm.

He appeared in frame - calm but focused, the kind of presence that steadies a room. “Hey, brother,” he said. “I’ve been following the data, the briefings. This is real.” He leaned closer to the camera. “I just got off a series of client calls - Fortune 500 giants. Every one of them’s saying the same thing. They’re planning for one to two years of disruption. Conditions like we’ve never seen before.” I nodded slowly. “We’re already in daily 6 A.M. meetings. Full war-room mode.” He raised an eyebrow. “Good. So what have you done so far?” “We’ve identified that only essential services are going to stay open,” I said.

“So we’ve got a team working right now to make sure recycling in our countries is officially classified as essential. People need to eat - and that’s how our collectors survive. That’s pretty essential to me.” John nodded. “That’s smart.” “And there’s good news from our biggest clients,” I added. “Almost all of them came back right away and said they consider our impact essential too. None of our major contracts were canceled. Every single one is continuing - as long as we can figure out how to make it work through all of this.

They still need the material, and they still want to do it the authentic way. Our best customers are showing up strong. It’s a relief.” John leaned back, a proud smile forming. “That’s rare. Not many companies are taking that approach right now. Looks like you’ve really partnered with the right ones.” “Yeah,” I said. “It’s given us some hope. But I know we’re just getting started.” He nodded. “Exactly. And as you stabilize the business, make sure you double down on stabilizing yourself. You’ve got to build the foundations that hold you through it.” I smiled.

“Honestly, I think I’m doing okay there. The reset routine’s been working - I’m getting better at not letting others pull me out of a good state of mind.” John grinned. “That’s a great start,” he said. “But now you’re about to face something bigger. The challenge isn’t just other people pulling you out of your state - it’s the world trying to do it. That’s a whole different level of mastery. You’ve built habits that help you recover. Now you need the foundations that keep you standing.” He leaned forward, his voice calm but deliberate.

“You know I live in Florida. Every year we get hurricanes.” He paused, letting the image build. “People build these perfect homes - big glass windows, palm trees out front. But when the storm hits, you find out what they’re really built on.” Another pause. “The ones with shallow foundations crumble. The ones anchored deep into concrete and steel - they stand strong. Year after year. Storm after storm.” He looked straight into the camera. “That’s life, Shaun. You can’t control the storm - but you can control what you build on.” He let the words breathe.

“And what you build on are your habits. The ones that don’t depend on good weather - sleep, health, focus, gratitude, discipline.” He leaned back slightly. “Those are your foundation. When everything around you starts shaking, that’s what keeps you standing.” Then his expression softened. “Let me name two things that are going to show up for you - maybe louder than before: imposter syndrome and self-limiting beliefs.” He waited a moment before continuing. “Imposter syndrome isn’t something a few insecure people have. Everyone has it. It’s that background hum that says, ‘Any minute now they’re going to find out I’m not as good as they think.’ It’s universal.

It’s how the brain keeps us cautious - but it often keeps us small.” I laughed lightly. “That’s funny. I played in a band for years but never really felt like a musician. My bandmates were the real musicians because they’d been doing it longer. Me? I was the imposter trying to play catch-up.” John pointed at the screen. “Exactly. That’s it. Everybody feels that way about something - sometimes constantly, sometimes out of nowhere. One setback, one bad meeting, one delayed result, and boom - there it is again. My warning to you is that this might be one of those times when it sneaks back in.” He leaned back, tone measured but firm.

“And when it does, recognize it for what it is - not proof that you don’t belong, but evidence that you’re stretching.” He paused, then continued with quiet emphasis. “But here’s the thing. This isn’t just about you. Hard times trigger imposter syndrome in everyone. You’ll see it in your team - the hesitation, the self-doubt, the over-explaining, the second-guessing. As a leader, you can’t wait for people to admit it. Most never will. You have to see it before they say it.” He leaned forward again, his voice lowering. “Coach confidence before anyone asks for it.

Look for the signs - hesitation before a decision, energy dropping after a mistake, someone avoiding the spotlight. That’s when you step in. Remind them of their wins, their progress, their worth. Rebuild belief before they lose it.” He took a breath. “Self-limiting beliefs work the same way - those stories we tell ourselves until they sound like facts: I’m not ready. I’m not technical enough. I’m not the kind of person who… They’re just habits of thought. You can rewrite them. And the same way you rewrite yours, you’ll need to help your people rewrite theirs.” He lifted a finger toward the camera, his tone slow and deliberate - the rhythm of a teacher who’s been here before.

“Here’s the framework - simple, fast, and it works every time.” He counted them out, steady and clear. “One: Name it. Call it what it is - imposter syndrome. Say it out loud. The moment you name it, you take its power away.” “Two: Normalize it. Everyone who grows feels this. Everyone. The more you stretch, the louder it gets.” “Three: Neutralize it. Counter it with proof - remind yourself of the facts, the results, the progress that contradicts the doubt.” “And four - the most important - Narrate the identity you’re building. Replace the old story with a new truth: I’m the type of person who learns fast and figures things out.” He smiled.

“You don’t have to feel confident to act. You act your way into confidence. Proof creates identity. Identity sustains habit. Habit produces results.” He paused, letting the rhythm slow to a close. “That’s the loop. Build it - and teach it.” Then he added, softer but certain. “And one more thing. If you’ve identified as a road warrior all these years - airports, conferences, stages - that identity’s about to change. Flights are going away. Stages are closing. If your sense of self depends on movement, you’ll feel unmoored. So evolve the identity. From I travel to make impact to I make impact anywhere.

From I’m on the road to I’m in the arena - wherever I am.” He smiled faintly. “Identity before itinerary.” The screen went still for a moment before the call ended. When it did, I sat in the quiet, hearing only the hum of my laptop. You can’t control the storm, but you can control what you build on. That line stayed with me. The Second Paradigm Shift Approximately one year later, the unpredictable nature of life continued. Our first child, Ryker, was born in the middle of a Covid lockdown - our hospital experience defined by protocols and silence.

No family in the waiting room. No visitors. Just masks, muffled voices, and the hum of machines. Only weeks later, we started to realize just how unique Ryker’s path would be. His life began as one of the pandemic generation - born into isolation - but it quickly became clear that his story would be even more extraordinary. Constant seizures sent us back to the hospital for observation. Over the next months, the diagnoses unfolded one by one - first CVI, meaning Ryker was visually impaired. Later came the understanding that his global delays weren’t just delays; they were his own unique rhythm in life.

Over time, we learned that he was non-verbal, meaning he was unlikely to speak in the traditional way - unlikely to say “mama” or “dada,” and if he did, that might be as far as his verbal communication would go. And with his low muscle tone and delayed coordination, walking was also an unlikely path for him. Each discovery reshaped us, one appointment at a time. But none of it was a curse or a burden - it was simply who he is. His movements, his communications, his way of being in the world. All unique.

All Ryker. Ironically, the same pandemic that had shut down the world gave us the gift of time to meet him on his terms. Remote work meant I was home - fully present. Every therapy session. Every breakthrough. Every small miracle. That time was our gift. And as we learned to adapt to Ryker’s needs, everything around us evolved too. Passage of Time The months that followed unfolded in their own rhythm. Hospitals turned into home therapy sessions. Tension gave way to routine. The world slowly reopened - borders lifted, offices stirred, flights returned - but nothing about life went “back.” It all moved forward.

Plastic Bank had started its journey toward digitizing more of our operations. But that would become a transformation of its own. Most of our team had a deep preference - and comfort zone - for showing up in person every time. Even during a shutdown, it became clear that full digitization wasn’t just a technical shift; it would take a massive culture change. It was a new kind of learning curve - not about systems or software, but about trust, adaptation, and letting go of old ways of feeling “connected.” And at home, everything had its own kind of order - a new balance between mission and meaning.

Work calls between therapy appointments. Impact metrics alongside seizure logs. Every day still unpredictable, but grounded by love and purpose. My speaking and work life shifted online. The stage lights turned into ring lights. The microphones turned into webcams. The Podcast Two years later, I sat in front of my iMac camera. No stage lights. No audience rows. Just a ring light and the quiet hum of home. Lindsey and Ryker were in the other room. Indy lay at my feet, breathing steady beside the mic. “Welcome to Thriving Through Habits,” the host said. “Today we’re joined by Plastic Bank co-founder Shaun Frankson to talk about how becoming a father reshaped his routines.” The red light blinked on.

“Shaun,” he began, “what changed for you after Ryker was born?” “Everything,” I said. “The moment he arrived, my self-identity shifted. I built a simple model I try to live by: Be Strong and Live Long for Ryker. That sentence redefined me. It stopped being about performance and became about purpose.” He nodded. “How did that show up in your habits?” “It started with movement,” I said. “I used to sit through back-to-back meetings. Now, thanks to noise-canceling Bluetooth headphones with a mute button, I hike through most of them. Some days it’s three, four hours of calls back-to-back.

Nature became my office. The air, the trees, the rhythm of footsteps - they keep my body moving and my mind clear. That one change turned stress management into a daily ritual of clarity.” He smiled. “That’s brilliant.” “The next was longevity,” I said. “My workouts used to be about strength or appearance. Now they’re about function and endurance - training so I can lift Ryker easily, carry him wherever he needs to go, and still be strong enough to do it decades from now. Every rep, every stretch, every recovery session is built around that single purpose.” He nodded again.

“And health?” “That’s where things got deep,” I said. “My diet is now mostly vegetarian with a sprinkle of seafood - plant-forward but flexible. I started studying macro-biodiversity, maximizing the variety of whole foods for gut health - vegetables, grains, seeds, legumes, herbs, and sometimes fish for omega-3s and trace minerals. Every meal became a palette of color and texture - greens, beans, citrus, nuts, crucifers, and the occasional grilled salmon. You’re not just feeding yourself; you’re feeding your gut ecosystem. The healthier that system, the clearer your energy and focus.” The host laughed. “You sound like a nutritionist now.” I smiled.

“I became one out of necessity. When you’re caring for someone who needs you for life, you start thinking long term. I had to design habits I could sustain for decades.” Are you ready to go? Here is the fully updated, copy-paste-ready version of the section, with the alcohol moment rewritten so it flows naturally from the conversation and reinforces evolving self-identity and alignment. Nothing else is changed. He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Was there one habit you thought would be impossible to change or give up,” he asked, “but ended up being easier than you expected?” I didn’t hesitate.

“Alcohol,” I said. He raised an eyebrow. “Really?” “Yeah,” I said. “I thought that one would be a battle. Willpower. White-knuckling. All of it. But once my self-identity shifted, it wasn’t hard at all. Even a single drink unraveled too much of the good. Alcohol kills beneficial gut bacteria, wrecks sleep, dulls recovery. Once I saw the difference, it stopped being discipline and became alignment.” I smiled slightly. “What started as Dry January became Dry Me.” He nodded slowly. “So it wasn’t about restriction.” “Exactly,” I said. “It was about becoming someone I no longer had to convince.” Deep Dive - What Self-Identity Really Is The host leaned closer.

“Explain that. What is a self-identity?” “It’s the story you tell yourself about who you are,” I said. “And most people don’t realize that story is usually outdated. For most of us, our self-identity is a reflection of the past - who we’ve been - plus a small dose of the present if we’ve been working on ourselves. But rarely is it future-focused. We forget that identity is supposed to evolve.” He raised an eyebrow. “So are you talking about faking it till you make it?” I laughed. “Not really. When you do it right, it’s not faking it - it’s evolving until you become it.

It’s rehearsing the habits of the best version of you until they feel familiar. You’re not pretending; you’re training your brain and body to recognize the future as normal.” He nodded slowly. “So the trick is to anchor identity in the future.” “Yes,” I said. “Exactly. You choose a future-focused identity - the person you’re becoming - and you start acting in alignment with it now. Because you don’t become successful and then act like that person. You act like that person until you become successful. You are your habits, so your habits are the building blocks of your identity.” Then I added, “And here’s something most people miss: your self-identity defines your comfort zone.

If you identify as someone who avoids risk, your comfort zone will always shrink to protect that belief. If you identify as someone who pushes their comfort zone, it expands with you. Identity isn’t a boundary. It’s a decision about how far you’re willing to go.” He smiled. “That ties it all together - the habits, the confidence, even growth itself.” “Exactly,” I said. “And it’s never static. My self-identity has evolved through every chapter of my life - after the car accident that changed how I saw the world, after creating Plastic Bank, and again after Ryker was born.

I’ve been on a journey of becoming ever since that car accident. But after Ryker, I realized something deeper.” I paused. “I realized that becoming wasn’t accidental anymore. It was intentional.” “That’s when I started thinking about Becoming on Purpose,” I said. “Not as a theory, but as a way of living.” The host stayed quiet, listening. “For me, it came down to four things,” I continued. “Four moves I was already making - I just hadn’t named them yet.” I leaned forward. “First, I worked backwards from a blurry vision. I didn’t need perfect clarity - just a direction worth committing to.

Second, I leveraged and leveled up my DNA. I stopped fighting who I was wired to be and started building on it. Third, I expanded my comfort zone through imperfect progress. Small stretches. No heroics. Just staying in motion long enough for growth to compound. And finally, I aligned my habits with who I was becoming - letting identity evolve naturally instead of forcing it.” The host nodded slowly. “So the habits followed the identity - but also shaped it.” “Exactly,” I said. “It’s a loop. Direction creates action. Action reshapes identity. Identity expands what feels possible.” I paused, then added softly, “That’s why I love the blurry middle so much.

It’s where evolution actually happens. The blur gives you room to grow, to learn, to course-correct, to let new information shape you for the better. The blurry middle isn’t confusion. It’s permission.” The host sat back, thoughtful. “So Becoming is really about keeping identity in motion.” “Exactly,” I said. “You don’t lock yourself into who you’ve been. You keep evolving forward - one habit, one stretch, one proof at a time. It’s not about faking it. It’s about becoming it.” The red light blinked off. Indy lifted his head, as if to say we were done.

Through the wall, Lindsey’s voice floated softly as she sang to Ryker - a melody of quiet resilience. I leaned back, eyes closed, and let the silence fill the room. John’s voice echoed in my mind: It shouldn’t take a storm to build your foundations. But maybe storms are what reveal who we’re becoming. That conversation - about identity, evolution, and purpose - marked the beginning of a deeper lesson for me. The beginning of The Habit of Becoming. Because at its core, Becoming isn’t about achievement. It’s about alignment. It’s the daily act of evolving your self-identity forward - one habit, one proof, one quiet stretch at a time.

That’s when I realized something simple and permanent: Your habits aren’t just how you live. They’re how you become. Reflections Life never stops asking you to become someone new. Every challenge, every shift, every unexpected turn forces an evolution. Sometimes it happens by choice. Sometimes by circumstance. But one way or another, you change. The question is whether you evolve by default or by design. Most people define themselves by the past. Their self-identity is a mirror pointed backward. But if identity doesn’t evolve, the future can only repeat what it already knows. Becoming is the habit of keeping identity in motion.

It’s the courage to let the next version of you take shape before you fully understand it. You don’t need perfect clarity. You don’t need certainty. You just need to keep moving in the right direction long enough to become it. Because life isn’t about arriving. It’s about Becoming. And mine was just getting started. The 8 chapters you just read are selected sample chapters from a full 30+ chapter book I am writing called purpose habits. I would love your feedback on what you liked, what you didn’t and how I could make this book even better with your feedback.

The full book will include the origin stories of Plastic Bank, how I met David, how we created Plastic Bank and all the lessons I learned along the way on my journey of becoming. Thank you for reading.