CHAMAI. How to stop people pleasing without losing who you are.

A lion on the ground

On a branch in Madagascar, a chameleon sat without moving, its body melted into the wood and only its eyes on the surface. In Greek its name, khamaileōn, welds two words together: khamai, "on the ground," and leōn, "lion." The book takes its title from the first half, the part of you that keeps its footing while the surface changes shade.

Leonor left Lisbon two summers ago and works as a dental assistant in New Bedford, until the day her sister tells her she slips through her fingers like an eel. Curtis keeps the books at a farm co-op near Lancaster and answers "No problem" to a spreadsheet at five-forty on a Friday, with his daughter's volleyball game at seven. Linda, an executive assistant in Des Moines, spends a Saturday alone and no longer knows what she feels like eating.

Each chapter opens with a scene like theirs, hands you one idea and one tool, and leaves you with a twenty-four-hour challenge. A pen and a minute of attention are enough.

What the book trains

• Three chameleons, told apart by intentionThe healthy one adapts to join you, the toxic one to take something from you, and the political one to rally you to a cause.
• Three musclesPerception reads the room, modulation chooses a color, and the return brings you back to yourself once the door has closed.
• A no that staysHow to say no without leaving the room, then get through the guilt that comes after.
• The rooms of a lifeA partner, the family table, the friend who always asks, screens, and a life between two countries.