Nothing Left Over

Some years ago I was invited to attend a conference on inner science at which His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama spoke. I listened to him elucidating Buddhist dialectics for three days and was for the most part unable to understand the content or direction of his argument; however, I soon became aware that his actual teaching—at least for me—was going on at another level. I noticed that whatever he did or said, he did with his whole being—whether it was laughing, talking, or just resting. Part of him was not doing something else. He was completely concentrated in the moment, and the power of his unsplintered attention was electrifying. Not only was all his attention given to whatever he chose, but mine was also. Since he was not distracted, neither was I. I left the conference in some amazement, never before (or since) having met anyone who appeared able to focus in this way. This teaching was a tremendous gift.

This morning I heard from an old colleague musing in a wistful tone about when he could retire from his job and just do one thing at a time. He felt completely overwhelmed and torn apart by the multitude of tasks in front of him. The truth is, you don’t have to wait for retirement to do only one thing at a time. There really isn’t any other way to do things. People who believe that they can do more than one thing at a time are just fooling themselves. If you split your attention among, say, three jobs, all you are doing is giving your attention to one of them, then leaving that one for a minute and moving to the next, and so on. I know it looks and feels as though you are doing everything at the same time, but look again.

Most of us are brought up to believe that it is advantageous to do as many things as possible at the same time; however, if we observe carefully, we will discover that this is not only undesirable but also counter-productive. Unfortunately, we not only believe that doing more than one thing at a time is good, but we have also drawn a veil over our activities so that for the most part we are oblivious to what is actually happening.

Take ironing, for example. You may remain aware of what you are doing while you are laying the garment on the ironing board. As soon as your hand begins to steer the iron over the garment, however, your thoughts are off and away. Ironing is one of the dreamiest activities. It is a useful exercise to give full attention to the ironing and see if you can spot the mind’s tendency to wander off. Each time it does, gently bring it back to the task at hand. The ironing will be accomplished better and in less time if it is done without the mind doing something else. In addition, you will discover that ironing—or anything else, for that matter—is not a boring activity. Usually, what makes something appear boring is that we are not giving it any attention. When we give it our undivided attention, many details become clear—things that we would ordinarily miss—and the result may be intriguing.

Obviously, we can walk along the street and look into store windows as we pass them. However, we can give our attention to only one of these activities. If the walking is going along fine by itself, it is easy to look in a window. Yet, if we stumble, knock into someone, or hear a screech of brakes, our attention immediately leaves the store window and is drawn to whatever requires it. It goes there instantly, and the window is forgotten. Most of us walk down the street with our attention neither on the activity of walking nor on the windows of the stores we are passing; not on the architecture of the buildings or on the behavior of the drivers a few feet from us; not on the clouds or planes in the sky, and probably not often on the people walking alongside us or approaching us. We are simply lost in thought, rehearsing something that happened and we wish it hadn’t, or something that we would like to happen, going through a mental checklist of things that need doing or people we hope to see—anything but giving attention to where we are and what is taking place. These mental conversations that we have with ourselves are generally not very fruitful because we cannot rewrite history, and if we are scripting a future conversation, the chances are that other people will not be aware of their cues when the time comes. And while this energy-consuming activity is taking place in our heads, the world is turning and we are missing so much that is taking place. It seems sad not to embrace the fullness of the moment in which anything may be revealed.

I once attended a press conference and watched the reporters scribbling furiously (it was in the days before people used tape recorders to do their work for them). Then I noticed one man sitting very still and not taking notes. He just listened. Afterward I asked him why he had not written anything down, and he replied that if he took notes, he would be doing two things at a time and would therefore undoubtedly miss something. He did not wish to split his attention.

I was thinking about this recently, in particular with regard to studying and learning, because our training has been to take notes on everything we are taught in school so that we can refer back to them later, and I wondered why we all do this. When we read an item in a book or newspaper, hear about an event, or discover an idea by ourselves, we have no difficulty whatever remembering it and reporting it afterward. This is because it is something that interests us, something that caught and held our attention. The trouble comes only when we are not interested in something: for instance, if we are taking a course and need to study something that is required and we wish it weren’t. What happens then is that we tend to focus on our resistance to the matter at hand rather than whatever it is we are supposed to be learning. So the secret is to be interested in whatever we are learning or doing. Then the full power of our consciousness flows to it, it goes directly into the mind, and we have no difficulty retrieving it later. It does not have to be “learned.” The learning happens naturally.

Until a short time ago, while I was still working in a big office, I would be sitting at my desk typing away when the phone would ring and I would answer it immediately. Before I could get back to what I was doing, someone would walk into my office to discuss something he or she felt was much more important than whatever I might be doing. Then I would check my e-mail to make sure that I wasn’t missing anything. After I’d fired off three e-mails and answered the phone again and made a note to myself of something I had planned to do first thing in the day, I would remember that I had been in the middle of typing a letter about half an hour earlier. This is the way our lives tend to run. Even now that I work at home, it is no different. Yes, it would be wonderful if there were no interruptions, but even if you are alone with no phone and no e-mail, there are still your thoughts to distract you.

There is away to approach your work that takes all this into account. Usually while this maelstrom of distractions is taking place, we are dragged from one demand to another, trailing our attention behind us. By which I mean that we don’t relinquish whatever we are doing when we are interrupted. You need to make a clean break. Just drop whatever it is. That way you are doing only one thing at a time, even if it is in small drafts. Carrying your regrets about not finishing the first task into the second and then the third is counterproductive. We have enough to do these days without bearing this extra weight. The important thing is to come to each job fresh, as though it were the only thing in the world. When the right moment comes, you will get back to the first task. Good luck.

Postscript: A few days after I wrote the last paragraph, I was cheerfully answering e-mail, dreaming up fact sheets on next fall’s books for the sales force, receiving a fax, and trying to write some of my own book. I thought I had all my balls in the air, and then the computer crashed, the screen froze, and my options dwindled down to rebooting the computer or rebooting the computer. Alack and alas, the copy I had concocted for one of the fall books dematerialized because I hadn’t saved it. The lesson to be learned from this, I suppose, is that it is okay to shift your attention from one job to another, but you must make sure that everything is in good order before you do so, whether this means putting the saw out of harm’s way so that no one will trip over it or turning off the flame under the pan of milk before you leave the kitchen. One moment’s inattention can cause a lot of heartache. Now to reconstruct that brilliant description that went the way of all flesh …

It is always important to be aware of what is going on in our minds because whatever it is, it is absorbing our energy and attention. We are giving ourselves to it. This constant activity, of which most of us are completely unaware, can be exhausting and wasteful of our resources. Whatever we give our attention to grows, so we should know what that is. It may be fear, loneliness, anxiety, or any number of things, but it behooves us to take a look. If what we had planned to do was take a walk, why not just walk? It could be fun, but if all we are doing is continuing an inner conversation that has been going on all day, the walk will not prove very refreshing.

Nowadays people tend to look for distraction, any distraction that will take their mind off whatever they don’t want to think about. This tends to take the form of “entertainment.” People will do almost anything in order to avoid being where they are, doing whatever it is that needs to be done. Sometimes they are seduced (by themselves) into thinking that whatever anyone else is doing is bound to be more interesting than what they are doing. This assumes many guises, but all of them make us restless and discontent, unable to settle down to what we really need to do, and usually unable to enjoy it.

There is one small rule that can be of enormous benefit to us, not only when we are engaged in work but also throughout our lives, and it is this: Do and say nothing unnecessary. In order to observe this rule, we need to remain in the present or we will not be able to tell if something is necessary, so right from the start it can be seen that this is a useful thing to do. This maxim also implies that we will do whatever is necessary to accomplish the task at hand, while giving up what is not germane.

One of the places where it is important to recognize what is necessary and what isn’t is in our own homes. I remember reading a proposal for a book about this many, many years ago. It suggested that you sit down and make a list of the things that you actually do at home most of the time and then plan your furniture and its arrangement around them. It pointed out that many people buy a three-piece suite simply because they believe it is the thing to do. But how many people actually sit on a sofa at any given time? Usually one. People feel a little crowded if they have to share a sofa with someone else. So in my living room I have two small love seats rather than one big sofa. Love seats are more intimate and more practical. I like to put my legs up when I read, so I have love seats with firm, straight backs to support me, and when I have guests, I encourage them to take their shoes off and put their legs up just the way I do.

I am lucky enough to have an eat-in kitchen with a round table and two rush-seated chairs. Because I generally avoid giving dinner parties and prefer to invite only one person at a time for a meal, I rarely use the dining room table, so I’ve relegated this to the far end of my living room. Luckily it is one of those tables with fold-down leaves, so it takes up very little room when it is not being used.

Every morning I do half an hour’s yoga in ten minutes (this is New York, the world capital of fast living) and twenty minutes of meditation. I therefore keep my huge carpet free of furniture so that there is plenty of space for these two activities. I don’t want to feel closed in or cramped for either one. In the bedroom I have very little except a double bed low on the floor, a small bedside table with lamp, clock, coaster for my nighttime glass of water, cough lozenges (just in case), pad of paper, and pencil. Over by the window there is a ficus tree and a collection of prayer plants nestling next to a couple of African baskets filled with sweaters I don’t often wear. A plain rosewood chest of drawers, a standing lamp, a love seat for draping my clothes on when I undress, and a thick, cream carpet to welcome my toes when I get out of bed in the morning. On the wall above the chest is a rack for earrings so that I can see everything at a glance, and beside it an almost floor-length mirror. All the hanging clothes are hidden away in the wall closet (shirts on one side, pants in the middle, dresses and skirts on the other side). I have to admit that there is also a spinning wheel that I haven’t used in twenty-five years, plus two baskets of fleece, spindles, and carders. I can’t bear the thought of surrendering these non-necessities that I plan to incorporate back into my life one day. It’s the exception that proves the rule.

What each person needs in a particular room of the house will differ, but the trick is not to take into that room anything that isn’t really necessary. “Necessary” will, of course, include beautiful things and not just useful ones, but the fewer of (each of) these there are, the better. Avoid clutter of all kinds.

About clothes: Do not be tempted to decide what you are going to wear tomorrow today. For years I would take out of my closet whatever I thought would be appropriate for the next day before I went to bed each night, under the illusion that it would save me time in the morning. To begin with, you have no idea what the weather will be like tomorrow. How reliable is the weather forecast? Yes, it may rain tomorrow, but when and where are always a mystery. More important is the fact that emotional weather also changes. There are some days when I dress in pastel shades. On others I gravitate toward browns and rusts, and so on. For some years I would arrive in the office each day and find to my astonishment that one of the production editors was attired in exactly the same colors, even though we were not close friends. Something in us was resonating. On the rare occasion when I was wearing red and she was wearing blue, we would joke about it. So the thing to do is go to the closet first thing in the morning with no fixed idea in mind and see which garments call to you. That way you will be in tune with the day and you won’t have to put away a whole other set of clothes that you took out the night before but just don’t seem right now.

When I was still working at Knopf, I used to receive a flood of free books, some of which we published and some of which were gifts. Still, I tried to take home only those books that I truly believed I would read. The others I returned to their donors or found other willing recipients for. And, once I have read a book, if I think that I will never reread it or refer to it again, I find someone else who would enjoy it.

I endeavor to do the same thing with my clothes. I go through my closet periodically and try to be honest with myself. If I haven’t worn something in the last year, the chances are I won’t wear it in the next year either. So I either find a friend who would like it or give it to a thrift store or emergency relief. I suspect that dwelling in Manhattan makes it easier to live this way because of the paucity of storage space. Most city dwellers have a hard enough time finding a home for the things they use every day. Still, it is remarkable the objects that creep into your apartment. I currently have an old phone I am kidding myself I might need if both of my current phones stopped functioning at the same time. I also have a microwave oven my son hardly used at college. I have never used a microwave and hope to go to my grave without doing so, but I have not yet managed to bring myself to take it across the street to the Salvation Army. Perhaps someone I know would welcome it?

Not introducing unwanted possessions into your home and/or surrendering those that are not being used creates not just physical space but also psychological space. People often comment on how empty my apartment is, and I think this is because it feels free and clear. There is very little in it (apart from the phone and the microwave) that is just gathering dust.

One major thing I don’t bring into the house is the newspaper. Six weeks after I started work at Knopf, there was a big piece in The New York Times about the circumstances of Bob Gottlieb’s hiring. I was shocked not by what was included in the article but what was not. The major facts had been left out; therefore, the whole report was skewed and, it seemed, malicious. This was an event that I knew about. Thereafter, I hesitated to read accounts in the newspaper of things of which I had no prior knowledge because I wouldn’t know what to add in to make the picture accurate. I stopped reading The Times, and people continue to be amazed by this. As someone said to me the other day, “Not buying The New York Times represents a level of simple living far beyond anything I’ve considered.” It’s not that I am completely uninformed; I do listen to the news on the radio in the morning and watch it on television at night. And there are always friends who press upon me clippings that they have saved. But can you imagine the time, money, and energy I have saved over the last thirty-two years?

When I leave town for any reason, I have got into the habit of surrendering my apartment to a friend or an acquaintance. I don’t go out and look for anyone. What happens is that a week or so before I am leaving, I hear from someone who is hoping to find accommodation for a short period. Sometimes it is a person I know well, but often it is someone I know only by reputation. I don’t charge rent. I am just happy that the space is being occupied and enjoyed. And I like the idea of someone being there in my absence to deal with any emergencies that might arise (but don’t). In a way, it is odd to have guests I can’t entertain personally, but I believe that they appreciate what my little home has to offer, and they will return to share it with me sometime in the future. I am also always touched by the gifts I find on my return: a bowl of tall white narcissus, a loaf of crusty bread, a new brush for the toilet—whatever each visitor perceives is my need.

As I was walking home along Broadway today, I saw a sign outside the corner store announcing that it was closing and that most of the merchandise was being sold at 30 percent discount. I was on my way to “my” Korean store to buy butter, but it occurred to me that the reason the store was closing was perhaps because it was in financial difficulty and I might be able to make a small contribution by purchasing anything I needed there rather than where I usually go. So I bought the butter (which wasn’t reduced), plus some dried cranberries, and a jar of artichoke hearts (okay, I’ll admit I also bought two bars of Toblerone because I’ve been experiencing a recurring desire for chocolate). I looked around at the array of other foodstuffs, but the truth is: I didn’t really need anything else. For a moment I was torn between wanting to save money and realizing that there wasn’t anything else in the store that I was likely to use in the next year or so, so I wouldn’t really be saving any money if I bought other things. The things I purchased are things I will definitely eat over the next few weeks. I emerged unscathed, happy that I had saved a little money of my own and contributed to their cash flow while avoiding the trap of tying up my money in unnecessary goods.

All this talk of what is unnecessary raises the question: What is necessary? A very big question. I once gave a talk to the twelfth grade of my son’s school, and the teacher who introduced me asked how I would describe the kind of books I published. “Necessary books,” I replied. “I have to believe that the world really needs a book before I will take it on.” This caused him to ask me to write an essay for the school magazine on “What Constitutes a Necessary Book?”

At the time (1985), I consulted my dictionary and discovered that necessary was defined as “needed for the continuing existence or functioning of something; essential; indispensable,” and to those definitions I added “useful; a tool.” On reflection, I realized that what I try to do is supply readers with something vital to body, mind, or heart, and what I see as my function is to supply this something in its most appropriate form to all those who really need it. When someone picks up a book, the title and subtitle, the color and design of the jacket, the copy on the flaps, the choice of typeface and interior design, the paper, and the binding should all inform the prospective reader of the writer’s intent. I believe that the physical aspect of each book should be a reflection of everything that is within it. Because I am writing this in 2001, I must add one more thing: In publishing during the 1980s all you had to do was produce the book and float it out into the bookstores where it would find a ready audience. Now that so many more books are published each year by companies large and small and even by individuals, it is no longer enough to manufacture books; you also have to find a way of bringing them to the attention of customers, which is a much more difficult proposition. But if you cannot do this, your books will have no chance in the marketplace, and all your effort will have been for naught.

The principle behind all this is not to waste precious energy where it is not needed. We do tend to fritter it away if we are not aware of what we are doing. Sometimes this takes the form of a nervous tapping of the foot or drumming of the fingers. I notice that television cameras often focus on people’s hands and what they are doing while they are making speeches or testifying, so I am not the only person who has spotted this. I catch myself walking down the street with my hands clasped in front of me. Usually I am walking in order to get some exercise, and the best way to achieve this is not to restrict the body in any way. Let the arms swing. I don’t know how I started this unfortunate habit, which creates tension rather than relaxation and has the opposite effect from the one I am hoping for, but perhaps by keeping an eye on it now, I will be able to let go enough to just walk and not clutch.

There is one thing I must record here because it was the impetus for this book: When Joel suggested that I write this book, I asked him what would be in it, and he said, “Well, when you go to make yourself a cup of tea, you just boil one cup of water.” “Doesn’t everyone?” I responded. “Of course not,” he said. “Well, then, they are wasting not only water but time and energy too.” He smiled and nodded. Since then I have spoken to quite a few people about this. It turns out that I am not the only person who fills the kettle with exactly the amount of water I need, but there are enough people who have never even given it a thought for me to tuck this advice into the book. Small note: It’s not that I measure the water in the kettle exactly, but from years of experience I know how heavy the kettle feels when it has enough water in it for one person.

The other day I went to visit a friend with two small children. After an hour, I had had enough and was about to leave when I realized that this had been a very small respite in her day. It was possible for me to offer something I had completely overlooked. She was exhausted but hadn’t mentioned it, so I asked if she would like to take a nap while I entertained the small boy (the baby was already asleep). I had been so caught up with my own agenda (did you know that this Latin word means “doing”?) that I hadn’t spotted how depleted she was.

Asking yourself what is truly necessary can make an enormous difference in your life. Ask it in all kinds of circumstances—when you are tempted to criticize or gossip but also when whoever you are with is silently crying out for something and you are not noticing it because you are filled with your own thoughts.