WHAT YOU’LL LEARN

You’ve been driving toward Cleveland your whole life. And you can’t stand Cleveland.

Lectio Vitae – The Mindset Series | Episode 4: The Adaptability Advantage

In this fourth episode, we’re exploring what happens when your best-laid plans collide with reality. When focus, discipline, and perseverance meet a map that no longer applies.

Through Scripture, saints who pivoted their entire lives, and leaders who learned the hard way: adaptability isn’t weakness. It’s the only strength that matters. You’ll discover the difference between quitting and course-correcting. Between rigidity that destroys and flexibility that saves.

Your vision might stay the same. But your method—and your faithfulness—depends on what you choose next.

Hosted by MP, CORAC’s executive director.

LISTEN TO EPISODE 4

THE ADAPTABILITY ADVANTAGE

Introduction

Adaptability is what happens when focus, discipline, and perseverance meet reality.

Remember the first three talks? Focus showed you where you’re headed. Discipline kept the steering wheel pointed in the right direction. Perseverance kept you moving forward even when the road was invisible.

But adaptability? Adaptability is what you do when you realize you’ve been driving toward Cleveland your whole life and you actually can’t stand Cleveland.

It’s the intelligent flexibility to change course without losing your direction. It’s the wisdom to know the difference between abandoning your goal and finding a better route to it.

The Map Becomes Obsolete

We love certainty. We love having a plan. We love knowing exactly how things will unfold. It’s comforting. It’s predictable. It’s also completely delusional.

So we make the plan. We commit to the path. We persevere through obstacles. We’re doing everything right.

And then the map becomes obsolete.

The job you trained for disappears. The relationship you were rebuilding ends anyway. The volunteer initiative isn’t growing the way you predicted. The strategy that worked for five years suddenly stops working. It’s like you’re holding a Blockbuster Video membership card and wondering why nobody wants it anymore.

You’re standing at a crossroads you didn’t expect, holding a map that no longer matches the terrain.

This is where most people panic. They do one of two things:

They rigidly stick to the original plan, even though it’s clearly not working. They interpret changed circumstances as a test of faith rather than information. They white-knuckle their way forward, insisting that perseverance means never changing course. They become the person driving with their eyes on the GPS even though the road has washed out. Spoiler alert: That doesn’t end well.

Or they abandon ship entirely. They quit. They settle. They accept a smaller version of their impact because the first version didn’t materialize exactly as planned. They become the person who volunteered once, didn’t like it, and now uses it as evidence that charitable work is impossible. (Narrator: It’s not.)

But there’s a third option: Adaptability.

Adaptability says: “The goal is still valid. The path just changed. Let me figure out the new route.”

It’s not quitting. It’s not rigidity. It’s intelligent responsiveness to reality. It’s the difference between being stubborn and being wise. And trust me, people can tell the difference. Usually by the look of desperation in your eyes.

The Trap of Sunk Costs

One of the most dangerous forces in human psychology is the sunk cost fallacy.

You invest time, money, energy, or emotion into something. Then circumstances change and it’s no longer working. But because you’ve already invested so much, you keep investing more—even though the investment will never pay off.

You stay in a career that’s destroying your soul because you’ve already spent ten years building expertise. You stay in a toxic relationship because you’ve already invested a decade. You keep pursuing a goal that no longer aligns with who you are because you’ve already sacrificed so much.

It’s like staying at a terrible restaurant because you’ve already ordered appetizers. The appetizers aren’t getting better. They’re not going to suddenly become delicious. But there you sit, committed to the mediocrity, slowly dying inside while eating cold calamari.

The sunk cost is already gone. You can’t get it back by throwing good time after bad time. (You can, however, get a lot of regret. Regret is infinite.)

But recognizing a sunk cost isn’t the same as quitting. It’s the same as being willing to change your method.

You can stay committed to health while changing your exercise routine. You can stay committed to your calling while changing your career. You can stay committed to your faith while changing how you practice it.

The commitment stays. The method changes.

This is adaptability. This is also maturity. Which, let’s be honest, most of us are still working on.

Jesus and the Pharisees

Jesus had a lot to say about rigidity—especially to the Pharisees.

The Pharisees had a system. They had rules. They had a clear map of how to live righteously. And they followed that map with incredible discipline and perseverance. They never deviated. They never questioned whether the rules still made sense in new circumstances. If rigidity were a sport, they’d be Olympic gold medalists. They’d also be insufferable at parties.

And Jesus looked at them and basically said: “You’re missing the entire point.”

When a woman caught in adultery was brought to the Pharisees for judgment, they had a rule: Stone her. The law was clear. The path was predetermined. They were ready to execute the plan with perfect discipline. No questions asked. No mercy considered.

But Jesus adapted. He recognized that the circumstance required not rigid adherence to the rule, but wisdom about what the rule was actually for: mercy, redemption, transformation.

He said to the woman: “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.” (John 8:11)

He didn’t abandon the principle of holiness. He adapted how that principle was applied to meet the actual human being standing in front of Him. Revolutionary concept: People matter more than rules.

This is why Jesus was so dangerous to the religious establishment. He healed on the Sabbath. He ate with tax collectors. He touched lepers. He spoke to women. Every single time, He was saying the same thing: “The rule was never the point. The person was the point. Adapt your method to serve the actual human need in front of you.”

The Pharisees were basically the original “but we’ve always done it this way” people. And Jesus was basically the original “yeah, and look how that’s working out” person.

Rigidity kills. Adaptability saves.

The Entrepreneur’s Pivot

In the business world, there’s a concept called the pivot.

You start with an idea. You have focus. You have discipline. You persevere through early challenges. You’re executing your plan perfectly. You’ve got your pitch deck memorized. You’ve already imagined yourself on the cover of Forbes, probably with your hair blowing in the wind.

And then you discover: Nobody wants what you’re selling.

Or they want it differently. Or the market has shifted. Or your assumptions were hilariously wrong. Or your target demographic turned out to be literally nobody. (Awkward.)

At this point, you have a choice: Persevere with the original plan or adapt.

The successful entrepreneurs are the ones who adapt. They’re willing to change their product, their market, their business model—while staying committed to their core mission.

Instagram started as a location check-in app called Burbn. Nobody used it. So they adapted. They stripped away everything except photo sharing. Now billions of people use it to share pictures of their lunch and pretend their lives are more interesting than they actually are. (It’s working.)

YouTube started as a video dating site. It didn’t work. They adapted. Now it’s where people watch cats falling off furniture at 2 a.m. and then can’t fall asleep for another hour because the algorithm keeps recommending more cat videos.

In each case, the founders didn’t quit. They didn’t rigidly stick to the original plan either. They recognized that the goal could be achieved through a completely different method than they originally imagined.

This is exactly how faith works. Except we rarely talk about it that way. Which is weird, because it’s arguably more important than social media.

The Spiritual Pivot

You felt called to defend the unborn. You started praying the rosary on the sidewalk outside an abortion facility. You persevered through the hard years. You gave up comfortable mornings. You gave up the ability to pretend that abortion isn’t happening. You stood there in the rain, in the cold, in the heat, praying for women and babies you’d never meet.

And now you realize: This isn’t working anymore. Or it is, but not in this form. Or you’re burning out. Or God is clearly calling you in a different direction.

What do you do?

If you’re rigid, you stay. You interpret the difficulty as a test. You persevere even though every part of you is screaming that this isn’t right. You become a burned-out sidewalk counselor showing up out of obligation while feeling numb inside. You’re praying the rosary but your heart isn’t in it. Which is basically the opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing.

If you quit, you abandon the calling entirely. You assume that because this particular form didn’t work out, nothing will work out. You become the person who stood outside an abortion facility once, didn’t like it, and now uses it as evidence that defending life is impossible.

But there’s a third option: Adapt.

Maybe your calling to defend life looks different now. Maybe you leave sidewalk ministry and become a fundraiser for a pregnancy resource center. Maybe you shift from public witness to private counseling. Maybe you move into adoption advocacy or foster care. Maybe you step back from full-time sidewalk presence and serve part-time while doing something else. Maybe you discover that your superpower is actually helping women after they’ve chosen life, not trying to convince them before they go inside. That’s valid too.

The calling stays. The method changes.

Dorothy Day lived this. She fell away from her Catholic faith, lived a life she later regretted, and came back. But she didn’t just return to traditional Catholicism. She adapted it. She founded the Catholic Worker movement—a radical expression of Catholic social teaching that included a fierce commitment to defending the vulnerable and the poor. She basically said, “I love my faith, but I’m going to express it in a way that actually makes sense to me and actually helps people.”

She stayed committed to her faith. She adapted how she lived it. And the Church survived of course.

Or consider the young professional who starts by donating money to pro-life organizations, realizes that’s not enough, and adapts by volunteering their legal skills to help with adoption cases. Or the retiree who thought they’d spend their retirement golfing, but adapted their retirement to include mentoring women in crisis pregnancies. Or the sidewalk counselor who realized their particular neighborhood had enough presence and shifted to a different location where the need was greater.

They stayed committed to their values. They adapted what faithfulness looked like.

As Jesus taught: “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.” (Mark 2:27) Translation: The rules exist to serve human flourishing, not the other way around. When the method stops serving people—when it’s harming you spiritually, when it’s becoming performative, when it’s no longer bearing fruit—it’s time to adapt. When the method is actively harming people? Definitely time to adapt.

Adaptability isn’t weakness. Sometimes it’s the only form of strength that matters.

The False Choice Between Conviction and Flexibility

Here’s where people get confused: They think conviction and flexibility are opposites.

They think: “If I’m willing to change my method, I must not really believe in my goal.”

But that’s a false choice. It’s like thinking you can’t love your spouse and also admit they snore. Both things can be true. You can be absolutely convicted about your goal while being completely flexible about your method. In fact, that’s basically the definition of maturity.

Real conviction says: “I know what I’m trying to accomplish. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish it, including changing my approach if the current approach isn’t working.”

Fake conviction says: “I’m doing it this way because I said I would, and admitting I was wrong would mean I’m not a strong person.” That’s not how strength works.

This is why Jesus could be so flexible in His methods while being absolutely uncompromising in His message. His message was always the same: God loves you. God wants to redeem you. God is offering you a way back home.

But how He communicated that message changed constantly. To the rich young ruler, He challenged him to give away his wealth. To Zacchaeus, He invited Himself to dinner. To the Samaritan woman, He asked for a drink. To Nicodemus, He used theological language. To the disciples, He told parables. To the money changers, He made a whip and flipped tables. Yeah, Jesus had range.

Same core message. Radically different methods. It’s like He understood that people are different and require different approaches. Revolutionary concept, really.

This is adaptability in service of conviction. This is also called being smart.

The Seasons of Life

Your life has seasons.

There’s a season for building. A season for rest. A season for intensity. A season for withdrawal. A season for risk. A season for consolidation. It’s basically like nature, except with more anxiety and fewer birds.

The mistake we make is trying to live the same season forever.

You’re in the building season. You’re working eighty hours a week. You’re sacrificing everything for growth. You’re pretty sure you’ve forgotten what sleep feels like. You’re pretty sure your kids have forgotten what you look like. You’re basically a walking productivity machine fueled by coffee and regret.

This works for a while, and may even be necessary for a while. But if you try to maintain that season forever, you’ll burn out. You’ll destroy your relationships. You’ll lose your health. You’ll wake up one day and realize you’ve built something impressive but lost everything that matters. You’ll be successful and miserable. Congratulations, I guess.

Maybe it’s time to adapt. Maybe it’s time to work forty hours a week instead of eighty. Maybe it’s time to actually know your kids’ names. Maybe it’s time to sleep.

This isn’t quitting. This is wisdom. This is recognizing that different seasons require different commitments. This is also called not being an idiot.

The same is true spiritually.

There’s a season when you’re on fire with new faith. You’re reading the Bible constantly. You’re going to every event. You’re telling everyone about Jesus. You’re basically that friend who won’t stop talking about their new CrossFit membership, except it’s about faith. This is beautiful. This is necessary. This is also exhausting.

But if you try to maintain that season forever, you’ll burn out spiritually. The intensity becomes exhausting. The fervor becomes performative. You lose the depth. You become the person who’s so busy doing ministry that you forget to actually have a relationship with God. You become a human doing instead of a human being.

Maybe it’s time to adapt. Maybe it’s time to shift into a season of contemplation. Maybe it’s time to go deeper rather than wider. Maybe it’s time to practice silence instead of constant activity. Maybe it’s time to remember why you started this in the first place.

Saint Teresa of Ávila described the spiritual life as having different stages or mansions. In the early stages, you’re active. You’re doing things. You’re building disciplines. But as you progress, you move into stages of greater passivity—where you’re learning to receive rather than achieve. Where you’re learning to be still. Where you’re learning that doing less might actually be doing more.

She wasn’t saying the early stages were wrong. She was saying each stage has its own wisdom. And trying to live every stage at once is exhausting and counterproductive. It’s like trying to be a newlywed and a fifty-year-old married couple at the same time. It doesn’t work.

The Courage to Course-Correct

Adaptability requires courage. Real courage.

Because admitting that your original plan isn’t working is hard. It means acknowledging that you were wrong. It means accepting that you wasted time or energy on something that didn’t pan out. It means facing the disappointment of unmet expectations. It means eating humble pie, and humble pie doesn’t taste very good.

It’s much easier to rigidly stick to your plan and blame external circumstances. “The market wasn’t ready.” “People didn’t understand.” “God was testing me.” “Mercury was in retrograde.” Okay, maybe not that last one. But you get the idea.

But here’s the truth: Starting over is often the bravest thing you can do.

It takes more courage to change course than to stay the course. Because staying the course is familiar. It’s defended by inertia. It’s easy to justify. It’s the path of least resistance, which is also the path of greatest regret.

But changing course? That requires you to admit you were wrong. That requires you to face uncertainty again. That requires you to risk failure all over again. That requires you to be brave in a way that staying comfortable never does.

That’s courage. And it’s often the most faithful thing you can do.

Because faithfulness isn’t about defending your original choice. It’s about being responsive to what God is actually calling you to now.

Abraham was called to go to Canaan. He went. But then God kept calling him to move. Abraham’s faithfulness wasn’t about rigidly sticking to the first calling. It was about being willing to adapt and move as God led. He was basically the original nomad. By the end, he’d moved so many times he probably didn’t even unpack.

Moses was called to lead the people out of Egypt. He did. But then God kept adapting the plan. Plagues. Wilderness. Forty years of wandering. Moses had to keep adapting his leadership based on what each new circumstance required. By the end, he was basically a crisis management expert .

Paul was called to preach to the Jews. He did. But then God adapted the calling and told him to preach to the Gentiles. Paul had to completely reimagine his ministry. He had to adapt his message, his methods, his entire approach. He went from being the guy persecuting Christians to being the guy writing most of the New Testament. That’s not just adaptability. That’s a complete 180. That’s also called character development.

In each case, the person stayed committed to their core calling while being completely willing to adapt how that calling was lived out.

The Wisdom of Discernment

But how do you know when to adapt and when to persevere?

There’s no formula. But there are some markers of wisdom:

First: Check your motivation. Are you adapting because the current path genuinely isn’t working, or are you adapting because you’re scared? Because you’re tired? Because you want to avoid discomfort? Because your friend suggested it? Because it’s easier? Be honest.

Second: Consult wise people. Don’t make this decision alone. Talk to mentors. Talk to spiritual directors. Talk to people who know you and love you and have no stake in your decision. Not your mom. She’ll tell you to come home. Not your best friend who secretly hates your current job. They have an agenda. Talk to people who will tell you the truth even when it’s not what you want to hear.

Third: Pray. Sit with the question. See what emerges. Sometimes wisdom comes as a clear sense of peace. Sometimes it comes as a persistent unease. Sometimes it comes as a random thought while you’re doing the dishes. Pay attention to what the Holy Spirit is stirring in you. Don’t just pray once and expect a lightning bolt. Sit with it. Let it marinate. Give it time.

Fourth: Look at the fruit. Is the current path producing the fruit you’re committed to? Or is it producing dysfunction? Burnout? Broken relationships? Spiritual emptiness? If it’s producing dysfunction, adapt. If it’s producing good fruit—even if it’s hard—persevere.

Fifth: Consider the timeline. How long have you been on this path? Have you given it enough time to see results? Or are you quitting prematurely? Sometimes you need to adapt after three months. Sometimes you need to persevere for three years before you see results. There’s no universal answer. But ask yourself honestly: Have I given this enough time? Or am I just impatient?

Sixth: Examine your identity. Is your commitment to this path based on who you actually are, or who you thought you should be? Is this something you’re doing because you genuinely want to, or because you think you’re supposed to? Is this aligned with your values, or are you just following someone else’s script?

Maybe you became a lawyer because your parents wanted you to. You persevered through law school. You built a career. But you’re miserable. You hate every second of it. You’re basically a walking resentment machine. This isn’t a failure of perseverance. This is a failure to align your life with reality.

Adapting might mean leaving law. That’s not quitting. That’s wisdom. That’s also called not wasting the rest of your life.

The Integration

So how do focus, discipline, perseverance, and adaptability work together?

Focus gives you direction. It answers: “What am I actually trying to accomplish?”

Discipline keeps you moving toward that direction. It answers: “How do I stay committed even when I don’t feel like it?”

Perseverance keeps you moving forward even when the path is invisible. It answers: “How do I keep going when everything in me wants to quit?”

Adaptability keeps you moving toward the actual goal instead of rigidly defending your original plan. It answers: “How do I stay responsive to reality while staying committed to my vision?”

They’re not in tension with each other. They’re in conversation with each other.

Focus without adaptability becomes rigidity. You’re so committed to your original plan that you can’t see when circumstances have changed. You’re like a GPS that insists on taking you through a flooded road.

Discipline without adaptability becomes legalism. You’re so committed to your system that you can’t respond to actual human needs. You’re like a robot that follows the rules even when the rules don’t make sense.

Perseverance without adaptability becomes stubbornness. You’re so committed to pushing through that you can’t recognize when it’s time to change direction. You’re like a person driving with their eyes closed, insisting they know where they’re going.

But focus plus adaptability? That’s wisdom. Discipline plus adaptability? That’s maturity. Perseverance plus adaptability? That’s resilience. All three together? That’s basically a fully functioning human being.

The Question

So here’s what I’m asking you:

Where are you being rigid when you need to be flexible?

Where are you defending an original plan that’s no longer working?

Where are you persevering in the wrong direction because you’re too proud to admit the direction was wrong?

What would change if you gave yourself permission to adapt?

What goal are you committed to that might require a completely different method than you originally imagined?

What season of life are you in, and what does this season require from you?

Are you exhausted? Are you burned out? Are you living someone else’s life instead of your own?

Because the world doesn’t need more people who are rigidly committed to their original plans. It needs more people who are wisely committed to their actual vision while being flexible about how they pursue it.

It needs you—focused on what matters, disciplined in your commitment, persevering through difficulty, and wise enough to adapt when the path changes.

It needs you to have the courage to course-correct.

It needs you to have the wisdom to know the difference.

It needs you to be fully alive instead of just going through the motions.

May God give you the wisdom to know the difference.

May God give you the courage to adapt when adaptation is required.

May God give you the vision to see where you’re actually headed, even when the original map no longer applies.

And wherever the journey leads, may God bless you.

ACTION ITEMS

5 Things You Can Start Doing Now

1. Conduct a “Rigidity Audit” Across Your Life. Identify three areas where you’re rigidly defending an original plan that may no longer be working (career path, volunteer role, spiritual practice, family commitment, go forth project, health routine, etc.). For each area, honestly assess: Is this still producing good fruit? Or am I persevering in the wrong direction out of pride, fear, or stubbornness? Write down what would need to change for this to become life-giving again. Then consult with a trusted mentor or spiritual director about whether adaptation is wisdom or avoidance. Don’t make the decision alone.

2. Map Your Current Life Season and Adapt Accordingly. Reflect on what season of life you’re currently in: building, resting, intensity, withdrawal, risk, consolidation, or something else. Then honestly assess: Are you trying to live multiple seasons at once? Are you maintaining an unsustainable intensity? Are you asking your current season to deliver what only a different season can provide? Based on this reflection, make one concrete adaptation to align your commitments with your actual season. This might mean reducing hours, shifting intensity, or deliberately choosing depth over breadth.

3. Identify One “Sunk Cost” and Choose Wisdom Over Pride. Think of something you’ve invested significant time, money, energy, or emotion into that’s no longer working or no longer aligns with who you are. Acknowledge the sunk cost honestly—you can’t get that investment back. Then ask: What would it look like to adapt this commitment while staying true to my core values? Example: You’re committed to defending life but sidewalk ministry is burning you out—maybe you adapt to legal advocacy or pregnancy resource center counseling. The calling stays. The method changes. Make one decision this week to adapt rather than rigidly persist.

4. Create a “Discernment Practice” for Major Decisions. Develop a structured process for discerning when to adapt versus when to persevere. Use these six markers:

• • Check motivation—am I adapting from wisdom or fear?
  • Consult wise people—get input from mentors and spiritual directors, not just friends with agendas.
  • Pray—sit with the question and notice what the Holy Spirit stirs.
  • Look at fruit—is this producing good fruit or dysfunction?
  • Consider timeline—have I given this enough time? (6) Examine identity—is this aligned with who I actually am?

Write this process down and use it for your next major decision. Share it with your CORAC community so others can use it too.

5. Lead a CORAC Conversation on “Faithful Adaptation.” Organize a community discussion (in-person or virtual) where CORAC members share stories of times they had to adapt—either successfully or unsuccessfully. Create safe space for people to talk about: When did you realize your original plan wasn’t working? What helped you have the courage to change course? What did you learn about the difference between quitting and adapting? What would you do differently now? This normalizes adaptation as a sign of maturity and wisdom, not failure. It also helps people see that others have faced similar crossroads.