When I discovered Timothy Ferriss’ new book The 4-Hour Workweek: Escape 9-5, Live Anywhere, and Join the New Rich (Crown, 2007), I was irrepressible. I suffer from a mild case of self-help-book skepticism, but the promise of this book was too good to be true: I want to be lazy! And rich! And live in Tuscany!
I plowed through the book. Ferriss is full of tricks for saving time and energy. To wit: hire an online virtual assistant to make your appointments and do rote personal and work-related tasks; only check email once a week; empower employees (if you have them) to make most decisions for you, freeing up your time, and train your boss (if you have one) to accept the increasingly flexible schedule you hope to keep; stop reading newspapers or taking in media all together and get your world news from friendly- and informed-seeming waiters when you go out for lunch… and on and on.
I took furious notes, imagining my forthcoming life of leisure in the Tuamotos.
But as I read I found myself reluctant to excise some of the time-wasting activities Ferriss suggests, like asking waiters for the day’s news. I actually enjoy reading the Sunday paper, giddy at the prospect of perusing the style section and taking on the challenge of trying to finish articles that don’t interest me — on baseball, say, or mutual funds. (Yeah, I know how to have a raucous good time.)
I also began to think about the satisfaction of hard work. As often as I gripe about the effort big projects can take (see my first blog entry on writing this blog), there’s a satisfaction that comes with devoting ourselves to a big or difficult job. Meaningful projects tap our deep human desire to be useful, to take pride in our efforts, to get lost in a project, to partake in something worthwhile.
Starting this blog, for example, felt challenging. Having blogged feels great. Sure, if I’d skipped writing my first entry or procrastinated and watched TV instead, I would have felt pleasure in momentary escape, but I would have short-changed myself in the long-term satisfaction and meaning department. The effort I put in (as tortured as it was in the moment) became it’s own just reward.
Of course, I would pass off doing the dishes, if I could. I'd also probably let the magic chore fairy file my taxes. Not all hard work is satisfying. Ferriss is right: some of it is just tedious.
What chores would you never do again if you could get away with it? Which ones do you secretly enjoy?
...In unrelated news, I’m currently reading Stumbling on Happiness by Harvard professor of psychology Daniel Gilbert. Look for a significantly happier me in my next entry!
I Dream (Half of) Timothy Ferriss’ Dream
When I discovered Timothy Ferriss’ new book The 4-Hour Workweek: Escape 9-5, Live Anywhere, and Join the New Rich (Crown, 2007), I was irrepressible. I suffer from a mild case of self-help-book skepticism, but the promise of this book was too good to be true: I want to be lazy! And rich! And live in Tuscany!
I plowed through the book. Ferriss is full of tricks for saving time and energy. To wit: hire an online virtual assistant to make your appointments and do rote personal and work-related tasks; only check email once a week; empower employees (if you have them) to make most decisions for you, freeing up your time, and train your boss (if you have one) to accept the increasingly flexible schedule you hope to keep; stop reading newspapers or taking in media all together and get your world news from friendly- and informed-seeming waiters when you go out for lunch… and on and on.
I took furious notes, imagining my forthcoming life of leisure in the Tuamotos.
But as I read I found myself reluctant to excise some of the time-wasting activities Ferriss suggests, like asking waiters for the day’s news. I actually enjoy reading the Sunday paper, giddy at the prospect of perusing the style section and taking on the challenge of trying to finish articles that don’t interest me — on baseball, say, or mutual funds. (Yeah, I know how to have a raucous good time.)
I also began to think about the satisfaction of hard work. As often as I gripe about the effort big projects can take (see my first blog entry on writing this blog), there’s a satisfaction that comes with devoting ourselves to a big or difficult job. Meaningful projects tap our deep human desire to be useful, to take pride in our efforts, to get lost in a project, to partake in something worthwhile.
Starting this blog, for example, felt challenging. Having blogged feels great. Sure, if I’d skipped writing my first entry or procrastinated and watched TV instead, I would have felt pleasure in momentary escape, but I would have short-changed myself in the long-term satisfaction and meaning department. The effort I put in (as tortured as it was in the moment) became it’s own just reward.
Of course, I would pass off doing the dishes, if I could. I'd also probably let the magic chore fairy file my taxes. Not all hard work is satisfying. Ferriss is right: some of it is just tedious.
What chores would you never do again if you could get away with it? Which ones do you secretly enjoy?
...In unrelated news, I’m currently reading Stumbling on Happiness by Harvard professor of psychology Daniel Gilbert. Look for a significantly happier me in my next entry!
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