Maybe it sounds conflicting. On one hand, we’re talking about never retiring. On the other, we’re talking about creating space to get more done. But let’s remember that retiring means stopping completely. Creating space means injecting space into your life so you can properly live it. Thoughts process, experiences reflect, and ideas spark. And burn is even sweeter after that.
Remember the Space Scribble.
Flip between Burn and Space. Take Thinking breaks. Take Doing breaks. Use the 3 Removals to add to your life. Because life is short. Time is fleeting. And you will never be as young as you are right now.
So develop extra space by Removing Choice, Removing Time, and Removing Access, and nurture that space, that powerful space, so it fills your mind and time and life with contentment, freedom, and happiness.
I want this for you more than anything.
The poem called “Leisure,” written by W. H. Davies in 1911, is all about creating space. We have to go back over a hundred years to find the perfect poem talking about how to live a happier life today.
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
Have Everything
The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.
—C. G. JUNG
When I was five years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down “happy.” They told me I didn’t understand the assignment. I told them they didn’t understand life.
—ATTRIBUTED TO JOHN LENNON
Nobody can give you wiser advice than yourself.
—MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO
Secret #7
How to Turn Your Biggest Fear into Your Biggest Success
1
The childhood trauma that made me quit swimming
Don’t be a wimp. Get down here! Get on the slide!”
Wet bathing suit clinging to my sides, I was sitting on top of the curving blue plastic slide, staring down at the bright baby-blue pool and the open arms of the gigantic burly man with a thick black mustache. He taught with my dad and we were at the annual end-of-year school party at the principal’s house. Teachers were mingling on the patio near the barbecue and everyone was celebrating the start of summer.
“I’ll catch you! Don’t be a wimp!”
I was eight years old and couldn’t swim but had been playing in the shallow end with my sister Nina all afternoon—watching kids climb to the top of the slide and squeal as they slid down feet first, hands first, face first. Sprinkler water sparkled at the top from a garden hose and slick-greased the slide in the scorching sun. It looked inviting.
Conquerable.
Easy.
I had finally decided to climb my way up and give it a shot. My six-year-old sister swam like a fish and my parents were doggie-paddle pros. I was the family anchor.
“I’ll catch you! Don’t be a wimp!”
Looking down at the bright baby-blue pool below, I stared into the eyes of the high school math teacher who worked with my dad. Then I took a deep breath and pushed off.
Wind blew into my face, my stomach lurched, and I watched with excitement and then sudden fear as the burly teacher’s waiting arms suddenly lifted up into the air as he laughed.
He wasn’t going to catch me.
I plunged into the deep end and my vision cut to bright blue horror-film footage. My chest was filling with water and I tried to breathe. Frantically flailing. Hot suffocating pain like I was being smothered by fiery blankets. My eyes lost focus and I was flailing and flailing and flailing until I finally felt big hands grab under my armpits and lift me out.
“See, you can swim!” he screamed. Barbecue smoke, beer bottles, distant laughing. My sister running for my parents. Coughing up water. It felt like glass in my chest.
2
Two barriers we place in front of anything we don’t want to do
I stopped swimming that day.
Ear infections dotted my childhood, so I was outfitted with neverending sets of tubes. Swimming lessons became skating lessons when I got fancy rubber molded earplugs and a plastic cap for showering.
On summer vacations I would dip into the pool, in the shallow end, or occasionally strap on a life jacket and goggles, clinging onto whatever floating Styrofoam I could find, kicking my way around for a few minutes. At teenage pool parties I didn’t bring my bathing suit and made up excuses while sitting on the deck. When friends at college went swimming at the gym I went for a jog on the treadmill instead.
I was afraid of swimming and I became good at avoiding it.
Why didn’t I swim?
First, I didn’t think I could swim. I took a few lessons after the tubes were out. Picture a scared fourteen-year-old who didn’t want to get his face wet in a baby pool of five-year-olds picking neon golf balls from the bottom of the pool like circus seals. I quit as soon as I could. I still also had that memory of my dad’s pool party. I couldn’t breathe, I didn’t float, and falling into deep water reminded me of pain.
Second, I didn’t want to swim! Who cares if I could? I wasn’t motivated. What was the big deal? Strapping on a bathing suit meant showing off my spaghetti arms and man boobs. It meant getting cold and wet and chloriney and showering and changing afterward. For what reason? Exercise could be done in other ways. As I got older I told myself the best conversations were at the barbecue or beer cooler. I didn’t live near an ocean. So I convinced myself swimming was a waste of time.
What are the two barriers we place in front of our least desirable tasks?
Can’t do it!
Don’t want to, anyway!
3
The secret scribble to moving from fear to success
Let’s take a step back.
Swimming was my fear, sure.
But my brain was giving me the same signs we all experience.
In order to do something, we need to think we can do it first and then we need to want to do it second.
Then what happens?
We do it.
We tell ourselves that this is how we get anything done.
Looks like this:
For me, when it came to swimming, I couldn’t get past Can Do (“I can’t swim”) or Want to Do (“I don’t want to swim”), so I never got to Do (“I’m going swimming”).
I learned the secret to getting those tough things done a few years ago.
Everything changed in a flash when I fell in love with Leslie over a few months. A few dates in and she started telling me over dinner one night how much she loved to swim. “It’s my favorite thing to do in the world,” she said. “The water just feels like home to me.”