Tim Ferriss

STEP 1 — THE WILSON LETTER AND BEYOND

Hi Friends,

Here is the first “real” chapter of THE NO BOOK, the book I am currently writing with Neil Strauss. As you’ll see, it’s a STEP comprised of a few pieces of writing.

Please leave your thoughts and results in the blog comments! I deleted all social media apps from my phone, but I will read all of the blog comments here.

And if you missed the first two chapters, the introductions from both me and Neil, you can find them here.

Enjoy!

Tim


CORE CONCEPT: THE WILSON LETTER

If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete.
— Jack Kornfield

I can’t give you a sure-fire formula for success, but I can give you a formula for failure: try to please everybody all the time.
― Herbert Bayard Swope, three-time Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist

Edmund Wilson, recipient of both the Presidential Medal of Freedom and the National Medal for Literature, was one of the most prominent social and literary critics of the 20th century.

His writing, honed at Vanity Fair, The New Yorker, and The New Republic, played a large role in introducing F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, and William Faulkner to the mainstream.

He realized, like most uber-productive people, that, while there were many practices needed to guarantee high output, there was one behavior guaranteed to prevent all output:

Trying to please everyone.

He had a low tolerance for distraction and shunned undue public acclaim. In response to almost all letters, he would respond with the below, putting a check mark next to whatever had been requested:

Edmund Wilson regrets that it is impossible for him…

…without compensation to:

read manuscripts

contribute to books or periodicals

do editorial work

judge literary contests

deliver lectures

address meetings

make after-dinner speeches

broadcast.

…under any circumstances to:

contribute to or take part in symposiums

take part in chain-poems or other collective compositions

contribute manuscripts for sales

donate copies of his books to libraries

autograph books for strangers

supply personal information about himself

supply photographs of himself

allow his name to be used on letter-heads

receive unknown persons who have no apparent business with him.

Ahead of his time not just in his literary taste, Wilson was also a trailblazer with his auto-response. It is an example of one of the most time-saving forms of no there is: The Pre-Emptive No. And the first step in your no journey is to understand the incredible, time-saving power of answering no before a request has even been made. 

In brief, the pre-emptive no is a form of batch request processing. It involves creating iron-clad policies of what you will say no to in an automated message, whether it be a form letter, autoresponse email, voicemail, website contact page, or otherwise. This type of blanket response allows you to ignore any incoming messages that fall in the pre-announced no pile. If handled correctly, this can change how you approach your entire life.

Note that you don’t have to be as accomplished as Edmund Wilson to have a pre-emptive no. Every one of us is in the process of growing out of something we used to do. For some, like Wilson, that means signing books and giving free lectures. For someone else, it might simply be going to destination weddings, taking babysitting jobs, or doing shots when a friend is buying for the table. 

Despite the length and severity of Wilson’s pre-emptive no, he was not a hermit or loner. He had a keen sense of what mattered. With good friends and good boundaries, he was able to get more done in a few years than most people get done in their lifetimes.


Okay, here is where we take a very deliberate pause:

Slow down and check in with yourself. How are you feeling after reading his letter and learning about the pre-emptive no? What is your inner voice saying, if anything? Really take a minute. 

If I suggested that you use something similar, how would you reply to me right now? Close your eyes and take stock.

I’ve found the Wilson Letter serves like a Rorschach inkblot test. Someone’s reaction to it tells me a lot, very quickly, about their comfort or resistance to this type of no—and their psychology behind it.

There are two emotional responses to the Wilson auto-response that are, by far and away, most common, which I’ve seen over and over again. Broadly speaking, they are:

1) I’m not successful enough to do that.

Language like the following frequently shows up, often accompanied by resignation, dismissal, or scoffing:

“Must be nice.”

“You can’t do this if you’re just starting out.”

“If I did that, offers would dry up. I’d stop getting opportunities.”

Interestingly, the “not successful enough” response has no correlation to someone’s actual wealth. I’ve heard this type of response from people making $50,000 per year, and I’ve heard the same from people making $10,000,000+ per year. 

More material abundance doesn’t fix this default response, but a few new frameworks will. 

2) I’m too nice/kind to do that.

Language like the below frequently pops up, often accompanied by anger or righteous indignation:

“I would/could never do something like that.”

“He is so rude.”

”I value kindness and generosity.” 

“I bet many people helped him become so successful, and now he’s refusing to help anyone.”

For the record, I do believe it is possible to be both successful and nice. Kindness can be your companion. But it is not possible to be successful while running around trying to please everyone. 

And, if you learn anything from this book, I hope it’s that being constantly accommodating when you don’t want to is not being nice. It’s insincere, enabling, and manipulative. It also breeds long-term resentment. That’s not nice; it’s a time-bomb.

We all exist on a spectrum between being pure people-pleasers, who bend to everyone else’s wishes, and being complete psychopaths, who accommodate no one (e.g., Gordon Gekko). Most of us err on the side of people-pleasing, because we want to avoid the discomfort and possible consequences of them being unhappy. 

The majority of you reading this book, who say yes too often, will benefit by pushing closer to the midpoint of the spectrum through this exercise. Rather than a 100 percent overhaul of your life, all you need to consider is a ten percent shift of your default responses in the other direction. 10% more Gordon Gekko will give you a great dose of extra agency, not arrogance.


How much more could you get done—and how much happier would you be—if you refused even one type of request you commonly receive? Or an infrequent request that nonetheless causes you headache or heartache?

“Is it time for you to craft your own Wilson letter?”  

I put quotation marks around the above question, as I posed that challenge rhetorically to some readers many years ago.

Much to my surprise, a bunch of people actually did it.  Slightly edited for length, here is one fantastic example from a reader named Maggie:

Writing this out was cathartic. It was hard to stop once I got started, and the deeply-rooted sick little people-pleaser in me is scared to put it out there at all, but what a thrill:

As I am joining the exodus from Brooklyn to a quiet, productive, groovy life upstate, I would be remiss not to inform you that I will no longer be able to:

– Respond to any email including the words “pick your brain” or “would love to get coffee sometime.”

– Continue using any glitchy online service that demands more than 5 minutes to take care of a minor account change or basic function

– Have the same conversations again & again at the same next party

– Read or listen to ANYTHING about any guy you heard from on match.com

– Wait lugubriously for the F train on the weekend. HAHAHAHA! See ya!

– “Catch up” with you on your sketchy cell phone when you are also filling up your gas tank/in line at the deli/talking in thinly veiled code while driving home with the guy you want to break up with

– Read ANYTHING you want to publish, under any circumstances, unless the entire thing makes me nearly pee my pants laughing

– Cheerily & spontaneously offer a fully formed, bulletproof, and complimentary PR plan for you when I bump into you outside the Tea Lounge mid-afternoon & we get to chatting about your projects

– Chat about your projects

– Listen to job complaints and either bite my tongue or get my head bitten off for suggesting a change might be possible

– Listen to any sentence regarding how many calories breast feeding/your new cardio plan burns

– Somehow mysteriously spend 60 dollars the minute I walk out my door every day, sort of like I exhaled it without even knowing

Sincerely and with love,

Maggie

Go, Maggie, go! 

Let us call this type of bullet list a “selfishness manifesto,” which is what another reader named it. It’s the perfect flippant name for this exercise, as folks who say yes too often tend to believe it’s selfish to prioritize their own needs. 

But as Arianna Huffington has said, “You have to put your own oxygen mask on first before helping others.” Compassion begins with yourself. Without self-compassion, your projected compassion is a fraud. 

Drafting your own selfishness manifesto will allow you to vent, laugh, and uncover truths that wouldn’t surface if you were taking things seriously. It’s a workaround.


COMFORT CHALLENGE: YOUR SELFISHNESS MANIFESTO

I was always ashamed to take. So I gave. It was not a virtue. It was a disguise.
— Anaïs Nin

As promised, welcome to your first assignment. It may be tempting to simply read the Comfort Challenges that recur throughout this book and imagine doing them.

Don’t be that person. That person won’t get anything from this book. This is a workbook. It is easier to act your way into a new way of thinking than it is to think your way into a new way of acting.

By analogy, no PhD in soccer by itself will help you play soccer. If you want skills that work under pressure (which you do), you have to get off the bench of passivity and develop a love affair with action: get on the field, kick the ball, do the drills, and play against live opponents who thwart your attempts. The little actions aren’t hard, and the little actions add up surprisingly quickly.

So, let’s get on the field.

Start by getting a notebook, opening your favorite notes app, or creating a new document on your computer. Title it something like: Comfort Challenges, THE NO BOOK, or if bad puns are your thing, My NO-tebook. You will be adding all future Comfort Challenges to this workbook as well, so make it something that you have easy access to—and that can hold all your work in one place. 

And then begin:

  1. At the top of the page, write the words My Selfishness Manifesto as a header. This will be your new operating manual. Keep in mind that what we are calling “selfishness” is really just a playful way of saying that from now on, you will be taking better care of yourself and your time. If that phrasing throws you off, make it My Self-Preservation Manifesto or My Wilson Letter.
  1. Either use Edmund’s format below or write your own version of his pre-emptive no statement:

[Your name] regrets that it is impossible for him/her/pronoun …

…without compensation to:

[LIST]

…under any circumstances to:

[LIST]

  1. In the spirit of the examples in this chapter, draft the most honest and direct rejection page that you’ll never actually use. Have fun with it. Be brutal and 100% selfish. Unlike Edmund Wilson, there is no need for you to ever show your letter to anyone. So let loose. 

Because this is just for you, there’s no need to play nice. Consider throwing a few elbows instead. Name names, tell them how you really feel, and draw that line in the sand. Resist the impulse to soften anything. Let all the annoyance out. That’s the whole point of the exercise.  

Also, keep in mind that this is a rough draft. Don’t get bogged down with second-guessing things or considering exceptions. Just let it rip.

  1. If you’re having any trouble coming up with your lines in the sand, consider working on this with a good friend over a meal or bottle of wine. This is a great team sport. Ask your friend questions like, “What kinds of things annoys the &%$* out of me? What do I complain about?” 
  1. Now that your list is complete, let your Wilson Letter be your internal compass. Read it each morning for a week. Before saying yes to a request, wait a moment. Check your list and see if the item is there. If it is, then it’s a no

Don’t yet be concerned with how you’re going to say no. We’ll get there. Just don’t say yes. Deflect. If you can’t muster a clear no, say “Maybe. Let me check my calendar and I’ll get back to you if I can do it.” Note that this is a default no and closes the door unless you reopen it. Just don’t say yes off-the-bat.

  1. Keep your Wilson Letter as a living document that grows as you do. Over the next weeks, as various texts and emails come in, you may find yourself wanting to add items you overlooked to your list. Inspiration can come from unexpected places.

NEIL’S STRUGGLE JOURNAL

People are frugal in guarding their personal property; but as soon as it comes to squandering time, they are most wasteful of the one thing in which it is right to be stingy.
— Seneca, On the Shortness of Life

Tim assigned me this first comfort challenge, and it was an unexpected struggle for me. What I told myself is that I couldn’t find the time because I was so busy. But the truth was that I wasn’t making the time. Everything else seemed urgent—work deadlines, time with my children, dates with random people from random apps.  Besides, I understood the general idea of the letter, so I didn’t feel like I actually needed to write it all out.

Fortunately, after a conversation with a disappointed Tim, the people-pleaser in me found a good way to keep myself accountable.

Like many people on Instagram with a following of more than 23 people, I have a coaching group. Every one of my students also struggles with saying no, people pleasing, and setting boundaries. 

So I asked them if they would be open to doing these Comfort Challenges with me, and they agreed. At the beginning of each monthly session, we dove into an exercise together. This not only gave me the accountability to do the challenges myself, but the opportunity to fine tune them based on how they resonated with others with different experiences. 

After finally creating my Wilson Letter, I had a revelation that affected how I thought about everything else in this book: For me personally, there was an important category missing.

As instructed, I wrote down the behaviors I would no longer accept: 

*People I met once who text me for years after just to stay in touch *”Friends” who think my social media is their personal promotion service.

*And especially people who pester me about going to lunch, then, after I reluctantly accept, end the meal by inviting me to lunch again and immediately start texting to “lock a date in.”

As I wrote all this, I realized something. In each of these cases, the problem wasn’t really other people. They were just being themselves. They enjoyed staying in touch. They enjoyed going to lunch. They were completely innocent requests. The problem was me.

I was responding to them.

I was agreeing to their requests.

I was enabling the behavior that I didn’t want.

So, I added an additional section to the Wilson Letter: Behaviors I will no longer accept from myself. 

They included:

  1. Feeling like I have to respond to the stay-in-touch people because they’ll be upset.
  2. Offering a social media promo when I can’t do a book blurb because I feel people will be hurt and feel unsupported.
  3. Thinking I have to read someone’s book or book proposal if someone has done me a favor.
  4. Saying yes to lunch if I like someone but don’t have the time for a one-on-one lunch.
  5. Working in a room with the door open and the phone next to me. That’s just inviting interruptions.
  6. Doing someone’s podcast if I don’t have a new project to discuss. I don’t need to hear myself talk.
  7. My nine-year-old who is reading over my shoulder as I write this wants me to add: “I will no longer play Mario Wonder with my son instead of writing this book.” And he’s right. 

As Tim pointed out when I shared these results with him (except for the last one), “You’re directing the airplane traffic badly, then blaming it on the pilot when there’s a crash.”

One of Tim’s favorite questions, borrowed from Reboot by Jerry Colonna, is “How am I complicit in creating the conditions I say I don’t want?”

So if you’re finding yourself complicit in your own misery, and I believe this is almost always the case to some degree, then consider adding my category to your Wilson Letter as an experiment. 

When I did this with the rest of the people in my coaching group, which I’m going to start calling a test group because I’m sure countless Wilson Letters mention something like “block any asshole who says he or she has a coaching group,” not only did they find this helpful, but they discovered something powerful.

When the exercise ended, I felt like they were still waiting for some kind of conclusion or takeaway, so I asked: “If you had to estimate the amount of your total time you spend doing, resenting, or being annoyed by the things on your list, what percentage of each week would that be?”

The average answer was 30 percent! One person, who was in the midst of a divorce, said it was 60 percent. 

That’s a lot of time and attention you can recover by acting on your Wilson Letter.

If you’re anything like me, you may not be ready to act on all these items in your Wilson Letter. But it all starts with self-awareness. Knowledge alone might help cut these things down by 10-20 percent, and, as I learned later, the tactics for tackling the remaining 80 percent will come in future Comfort Challenges. 

So keep your letter handy.


ANATOMY OF A NO: Life Tetris

While writing this book, I invited best-selling author, coach, and Harvard-trained sociologist Martha Beck to an event. Her brief, eloquent response was an instant addition to my No Swipe File. Here is my favorite line:

“I would LOVE to come and participate, but I can’t make it happen in the next couple of months due to life Tetris.”

WHY IT WORKS: It’s short, direct, positive, and clever.  I included this because “but I can’t make it happen due to life Tetris” can be used for practically anything and doesn’t provide specifics someone can attempt to negotiate around.


Missed the first two chapters? Find them here.

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