My protein shake every morning is an orange, chicken breast

From the words of Jackson Wang, artist, athlete, and bearer of relentless discipline, we hear a teaching cloaked in humor but rooted in endurance: “My protein shake every morning is an orange, chicken breast, greens, maybe cabbage or spinach, and then an apple and banana. I know it might sound disgusting, but it’s actually a good smoothie. I have it first thing when I wake up.” To some, it is merely a recipe; to the wise, it is a parable of commitment, a testament that the path of greatness is not always sweet to the taste, but it is nourishing to the soul.

When he lists the ingredients—orange, chicken breast, greens, cabbage, spinach, apple, banana—he names more than food. He names sacrifice. For these are not the delicate flavors of indulgence, but the fuel of one who has chosen function over fleeting pleasure. He admits, “It might sound disgusting,” and yet drinks it daily, because he knows the body is the temple of the spirit, and the temple must be fortified if it is to endure. In this, Wang follows the eternal law: those who would rise must be willing to do what others refuse, even when the task is bitter.

The ritual of drinking this shake “first thing when I wake up” reveals another layer of wisdom: the discipline of beginnings. By starting his day with strength, not with weakness, he sets the tone for all that follows. This is no different from the warriors of Sparta, who rose at dawn to train their bodies before their enemies stirred, or the monks who knelt in prayer before the world awoke. The first act of the morning consecrates the day. If the first act is one of strength, the day itself becomes strong.

In history we find a mirror of this truth in the life of Benjamin Franklin, who began each day by asking, “What good shall I do this day?” His ritual was not of food but of intention, yet it served the same purpose: to anchor the morning in discipline. Franklin’s question shaped his day as surely as Wang’s shake nourishes his. Both remind us that greatness is built not upon grand gestures alone, but upon the quiet rituals repeated each dawn, whether through nourishment, reflection, or toil.

There is also in Wang’s words the spirit of humility and honesty. He does not boast that the shake is luxurious or pleasing. He admits its strangeness, its unlikeliness. And yet, he calls it “a good smoothie,” because its goodness lies not in taste but in purpose. Here lies a vital teaching: do not confuse pleasure with goodness. Many things that please the tongue or flatter the ego bring ruin in the end, while many things that challenge us, or even repel us, strengthen and preserve us. The wise learn to see beyond taste to truth, beyond pleasure to purpose.

The lesson is clear for all who hear: true strength comes from embracing what is necessary, not merely what is pleasant. If you would rise to greatness, you must be willing to drink your own “disgusting smoothie”—the task, the habit, the discipline that others avoid. Whether it is waking early, training when tired, studying when bored, or speaking truth when it is hard, these are the ingredients that nourish the soul for the long journey.

Practically, let each person seek out their own morning ritual, an act of discipline that strengthens rather than weakens. It need not be a protein shake of chicken and fruit—it may be exercise, meditation, reading, or the simple practice of gratitude. But let it be done first thing, before the world’s distractions claim you. In this way, you anchor your life not in drifting whims, but in steady strength.

Thus Jackson Wang’s words, spoken with humor and humility, endure as a teaching: greatness does not taste sweet at first sip, but it nourishes those who endure it. Drink deeply of discipline, embrace the strange and the difficult, and you will find that what once seemed bitter becomes the very fuel of your triumph.