Just Fucking Ship

No outside solution will "fix" you

And it's not just that THE SOLUTION LIES IN YOU! or some other catchphrase. No amount of books, blogs, courses, tools, or pep talks will do it for you. Equally, no amount of self-determination, or feeling that this time you'll really do it, is going to help.

But you're experiencing reality. A reality you don't like. A reality, in fact, you want to change, or you probably wouldn't be reading this.

You want to learn more about the art and science of shipping. That qualifies as changing reality.

But you can't create change without knowing both where you want to go (shipping masterhood! no more procrastination! no more self-administered beeatings!), and where you're coming from.

No, where you're REALLY coming from.

Ask yourself...

• What are your absolute true feelings on the projects you're working on?
• Do you really, really really want to do them, on their own, even if you never made a penny off of them?
• After years of being "shown the way" by others, are you masterfully applying the "shoulds" to yourself?
• What is the real thing (or things) holding you back?
• Are you still feeling guilty about past failures?
• Do you trust yourself?
• Have you forgiven yourself?
• Can you tell when you're bullshitting yourself?

These are not easy questions. They require lots of thought, and a hard (but gentle) look at yourself. And ongoing checkups.

This is the hard work you must do to learn to just fucking ship.

And, bonus, it makes you a better human being.

What's the worst thing that can happen?

ENGINEER 1: You know, I don't know what I'm so worked up about. What's the worst thing that could happen?

ENGINEER 2: Well, we ship the LEM to NASA. We never get it to fly. Russians beat us to the moon. Ten years later, we're all living under the iron thumb of Communism.

ENGINEER 1: Exactly.

On being in love with the idea of a thing

I knew, even as a little kid, that I wanted to be a writer.

I burned for it. I read books about writing. I wrote—a lot. I wrote for web sites. I wrote for a couple ezines and magazines.

I dreamed of being a published author.

Then I had an opportunity to write a book. Not a great book, mind you; it was a formulaic how-to technical book, for a fixed price, but on a topic I was very familiar with.

I accepted. (They didn't know the person signing the contract was 16.) I wrote the outline. I wrote to the outline. I was about 80% done when the publisher was acquired, and they canceled all contracts. Including mine.

Well, that sucked, thought I. But it wasn't a real book. My dream was not diminished.

Justification and without justification

Flash forward, 4 years later. I had two other failed books under my belt. Real ones, this time, with royalties, and a format I chose.

One failed catastrophically when the publisher tried to give me an ultimatum: "you can't cancel and you can't slip [on the deadline]," when I was 450 pages in. Of course, I told them where to stick it. I had slogged long and hard to get to that point, and it was hell. It was a relief to have it off my back.

The other failed just because I didn't have enough passion to keep me going.

I finally had to admit: I was in love with the idea of writing a book, not the actual writing of the book.

I was in love, and I wasn't in love

I was in love with the idea of holding a thick sheaf of paper in my hands, bound and glossy, with my name on the cover. Of seeing my own name on the bookshelf, and not because of one of those cute spell-your-name-in-jigsaw-puzzle-letters novelty gifts, either.

I wasn't in love with the writing.

I wasn't in love with the editorial process.

I wasn't in love with the months of struggling with my own perfectionism, writing to please the editor rather than my audience, and struggling with Co-author Issues.

I wasn't in love with the feeling that I was always running after external validation and approval, that my own validation and approval wasn't filling up this cup I held in my hands.

I wasn't in love with having to spend my vacation locked in the little den off my living room that passed for an office, knocking back can after can of ever-more powerful stimulant drinks, avoiding friends and hating on everyone for daring to have more free time than me.

Nor was I in love with the long nights with the burning of midnight oil, and 2am oil, and 3am oil (which is hard to find at the local hardware store, lemme tell you).

But I was in love with what I thought being a published author said about me.

I was in love with the idea of shaking a book—my book—in the face of that stupid English teacher I had in 9th grade who gave me a B for the semester because I never got to homeroom on time, despite the fact that I was clearly the best student there.

I was in love with uttering the phrase "working on my book," or even "the book," even though I also felt like a self-indulgent asshole simply letting those words pass my lips.

I was in love with my vision of people thinking how smart, clever, dedicated, accomplished I was.

On gaining clarity

Yeah. I learned to see all that. It was hard come by—3 failed books, remember, and countless hours of stress and hyperventilation and guilt. But I sure learned that lesson.

I'm not always perfect, but I try to do things because I really want to do them, not because of the imagined reward. Intrinsic, not extrinsic. Extrinsic is tempting, but in the end, it's so rarely worth it.

Now I am nearly done with a book of my own, born of a desire to write something, to teach, and to free myself from the manic-depressive cycle of consulting. Done my way, on my own schedule, with no supervision. Selling to, and interacting with, my readers directly. No buffer... no authority figure ordering me to write... no set deadline.

And I'm in love with it. It's not always easy to love, but there's no one forcing me to love it, and that means that I have room in my heart to do so.

What are you in love with?

Your life is not a bento box.

If you believe in The Myth of Work-Life Separation, you think that your life looks like this:

The Myth of Work-Life Separation.

You believe that your life has friendly little dividers made of lacquer bamboo (or plastic, if you swing that way), and these dividers keep your work life that you hate (the questionable jiggly salad and orange goo) away from the rest of life which you want to be wonderful (delicious rice and fried animal):

But that's not true. We can't really separate our work life and home life. The very idea that there is a "work life" and a "home life" is unrealistic. The stress from work bleeds into your time at home and vice versa is certainly also true.

Real Life

So instead, your life is more like a KFC Famous Bowl. Which advertising tells us looks like this:

But really, life—and the KFC Famous Bowl—looks like this:

Your life's an amorphous blob, all areas bleeding into all areas, with questionable (but delicious) lumps floating here and there.

There's no way to shield the rest of your life from one bad area. It can't be done. The rough area can be dealt with, it can be understand, and it can be integrated, but it can't be cordoned off and treated as if it's not there.

Denial, unfortunately, is not only a river in Egypt, it's also one of the fastest paths to burn-out.

Isolate a quantum of ship. And do it.

Just fucking shipping, like exercise and all other good-for-you things, is a matter of practice. That is, establishing a practice. Like a meditation practice, or a writing practice. Not only a habit, but something you set aside time to strive towards every day. You have to adopt it into your life in a million little ways.

If you don't know where to start with your big projects, pick something small.

It doesn't matter what type of thing. It doesn't matter where this thing falls in your life. It doesn't matter if it furthers larger goals, or adds to your bottom line, or even if it's important at all in any way. It could be as exciting or as mundane as you choose.

By solving a problem, you are taking a weight off yourself. By following through, you are fulfilling a contract with yourself. Shipping little things help you heal. Especially if you've not been so good about fulfilling those contracts with yourself in the past.

These things will always make you feel better.

Not sure where to start?

Here's something I shipped lately: solving the problem of missing socks.

I've got a real bad sock-buying habit because I keep losing one of the pair. It's only once or twice a week that I can carry off "Look at me, I'm wearing quirky mismatched socks! I'm so quirky!" I'm just not that cool.

Are you sick of missing socks, too?

How about shipping a solution today?

I did this, and here's how:

1. Get a small tub, box or other hamper-like thing. Keep it only for socks.
2. Put socks in it immediately after removal.
3. Buy a laundry wash bag for delicates (e.g. women's pantyhose) at any home store.
4. Wash socks in bag.
5. Dry socks in bag. (Or hang up to try together in pairs. It takes just a moment and makes a big difference.)

Voila. I'd just like to see those suckers try to escape now.

Of course, my suggested solution is not exactly one-size-fits-all. Maybe you swore an oath as a young man or woman to never allow a delicates wash bag into your life, a story too dark to tell. Maybe you have an allergic aversion to the laundry aisle. Maybe you don't have 3 pairs of argyle socks in pink, purple, and green, and so your missing sock issue isn't quite so... visually striking.

If my plan doesn't work for you, come up with your own plan. I mean, we're talking missing socks here, not rocket science or solving your home problems for once and for all.

Just do this one small thing. Or some other small thing. I don't care, and you won't care either, because afterwards you're gonna feel great.

You're a terrible manager.

How do you motivate somebody?

F Answer: Threats.

C Answer: Rewards.

B+ Answer: Neither work really well.

A+ Answer: How do you motivate somebody else? You can't, not really.

But how do you motivate yourself?

Tell me about your childhood...

As much as it pains me to say so, I think a lot of people's motivational issues go back to childhood. Try these on for size:

• threat, outright: "If you don't clean up your room, I'm going to go in there and clean it myself—with a trash can"
• threat, implied: "If you don't pass this class, you won't get good grades, you won't get into a good college, and you'll never get a good job."
• bribe, outright: "Do your chores and you'll earn an allowance of 5 dollars a week"
• reward, implied: "A summer job will teach you the value of hard work"
• value judgment, direct: "I'm really disappointed in you." or "I'm so proud of you!"
• value judgment, indirect: "Only bad kids, lazy kids and stupid kids don't do their homework"
• denial: "You just need a fire lit under your ass"

Sound familiar? Notice a trend?

Self-talk doesn't spring fully-formed out of nowhere

We learn how to talk to ourselves through the way people talk to us. We treat ourselves how a few select others have treated us in the past.

And with motivators like those above—which every parent, no matter how saintly, has relied on from time to time—we learn that our action comes only from fear or desire.

We learn how to use the carrot, or more often the stick, on ourselves because that's what others have done. We learn that we act solely for external reasons: we perform for somebody else's approval, to achieve their vision of our future, meet their standards, and to avoid their wrath or displeasure. We learn to chase after carrots we don't even want because that's what someone else wanted for us and told us was good.

And we learn to feel bad when we don't live up to their wishes or demands for us.

Even when "they" is really "us."

So then we try to figure out why we don't act, even when we "want" to:

• perfectionism
• fear
• lack of confidence
• need for pressure to act

We're just too dedicated to perfection to stop noodling around with ideas and act. Or we're afraid of failure (or success). Or we just don't know where to start. Or we don't have the skills to break things down and find a foothold, so we freak out and do nothing. Yes, that's it. Those are all it.

But it's a load of bullshit.

Well, it is, and it isn't. Yes, maybe you are a perfectionist, maybe you're afraid, maybe you don't have the skills.

But why does that stop you? Where does that come from?

It comes from the way somebody once talked to you, and now the way you talk to yourself. The way you're judging yourself. The way you set up the goals for yourself from the start.

How about considering some alternative reasons?

Maybe...

• you just think the project is stupid and worthless.
• you're bored as hell.
• you don't really want to do whatever-it-is any more (programming, fixing bugs, whatever)
• you never really wanted whatever-it-is for yourself to begin with (the big house, the degree, the lifestyle)
• you hate the friend / family member / boss / team

Maybe there's something about the project that you don't want to think about: unfulfilled obligations, uncomfortable social stuff, or what it makes you think about yourself.

Maybe you're just flat-out burnt out from constant GO GO GOing.

Maybe your perfectionism, your fear, your anxiety, your lack of confidence are a cover for something more innate to the situation. Maybe you just really don't want to do it. Maybe you're coming up with other reasons to shield yourself from that truth.

Maybe you've forgotten what it's like to really want something for yourself so badly that you'll do anything to achieve it.

How do you motivate yourself?

It's a good question. I can't answer that in one essay. But I can tell you that self-abuse and shaming never works.

It doesn't work when parents use it on their children (when our parents use it on us), but we grow older and believe that somehow they will work when we use them on ourselves. If anything, if that’s how we approach dealing with our mistakes, then the shame and self-abuse seem to draw us nearer to the thing we hate because we are used to the feeling of being loathed, the feeling of being disappointed—by others and by ourselves.

And it’s what we think we deserve so we go about getting it however we can. And so the cycle perpetuates itself.

How do you stop?

Quitting this cycle requires nothing less than full frontal honesty. It doesn't take another psychology book telling us we're OK, or somebody telling us it's normal to procrastinate.

What we need to do is to look at ourselves straight-on in the mirror, literally, be truthful and speak about ourselves to ourselves (and others) with integrity and gentleness.

We need to admit when our heart's not in it. We need to pick goals and projects for ourselves, not for what somebody else thinks—and not that version of somebody else that lives on in our head, either.

The lesson of "What the Fuck?"

MILES: Sometimes you gotta say "what the fuck," make your move...

JOEL: That's easy for you to say... I mean you're all set, you're probably going to Harvard. Me, I don't wanna make a mistake, jeopardize my future—

MILES: Joel, you wanna know somethin?

JOEL: What?

MILES: Every now and then, say "what the fuck?" "What the fuck?" gives you freedom. Freedom brings opportunity. Opportunity makes your future.

— Risky Business

What future?

Procrastination has many levels.

There's the ordinary, everyday level of procrastination—let's call it Level 1—where we know what we "should" do but aren't doing it: taking the car to get repaired, calling our boss about that email, resealing the deck, writing that article. Whatever.

There's the higher level above that—Level 2—where we know what we aspire to do, on a grander scale, but make no moves to do it: learning to swing dance, leveling up our design or writing skills, taking a trip to Europe, remodeling the house, changing careers. Or even bigger dreams.

Then there's one last level, the critical Level 3. When we procrastinate in Level 3, we procrastinate on even figuring out what our real Level 2 aspirations are. We don't have the framework view of our lives to know what kinds of Level 2 dreams slot in to fill out the whole. We resist taking that long, hard look at our lives and determining which way we want to be heading—instead, we keep on staring at the ground, placing one foot in front of the other.

We're suffering with aspiration constipation.

And, paradoxically, this is when we are most afraid of change, the most grasping and cling to our trudging progress towards... nothing, in particular, that we want. Even though we're not happy. Even though we don't even know—or won't admit—what will make us happy. We're defaulting through life and nobody will convince us otherwise, goddammit, and entertaining thoughts to the contrary would be risking our future. We don't have a choice.

Bullshit. The heroic option is to admit that our lives are currently "wrong," and seek to find out what it means to be right.

It's true that that's a tall order.

But what we are risking is worth risking: a life of decisions made through the abstention from choice. By not choosing, we are still making choices, but telling ourselves that we had none.

If you were on your deathbed tomorrow, would you look at your life and feel regret?

This is not a question that ends with the pat answer of "live every day as if it were your last." This is serious. There's a lot to be learned in contemplating your own death. Imagination is power: when we imagine things, it's almost neurologically identical to those things actually happening. So, project your imagination to a grim end for just a moment. If nothing else will get your gut feelings talking to you again, this can.

What if you learned, tomorrow, that you had six months to live? How much of those six months would be spent in regret? Could you die believing that you lived the hell outta life? That you did what was right for you? That you tried your best? That you were surrounded by people you'd do anything for, whom you understand and who understand you?

Would you be really feel deeply content that you religiously crossed other people's shit off your to-do list?

Have you read The Death of Ivan Illyich?

Risks make your future.

This is the level of procrastination that most people just don't deal with. They focus on doing the work. They focus on being productive. They rarely ask: what does productive mean to me?

It's too easy to focus on what's easily fixable: Level 1 tasks, right in front of us and always with us, and Level 2 dreams, living on in a dream we visit, hold and touch, every so often.

It's fairly easy to convince somebody to eat what's already on their plate. It's hard to help someone—even yourself—dream. Putting a to-do item on our list to "figure out what I want to do with my life" is simply not going to cut it.

But it's also the most important. Level 3 is what makes your life, gives you the purpose to work on Level 2 to fill out your life, the power of which feeds into things you have to act on at Level 1. It's trickle-down motivation—but unlike the economic kind, it works. And it's the only thing that does work.

Sometimes you just gotta say "What the fuck?"

You need a vacation

In order to do good work, in order to be able to complete things, your brain needs rest. Not only psychologically, but physiologically.

Remember that every decision you make drains a little bit more of your limited daily allowance of Executive Function, aka decision-making ability.

You're probably already running on a deficit, which continues day after day and continues to take its toll until you hit bottom. And that's what we call burnout.

To avoid burnout, you need rest. You need time off. You need to do less in order to do better. You need to do less in order to have the energy to do at all.

A real vacation is critical for your mental health and perspective.

"Time off" and "vacation" are not the same thing

Time off is time away from your job so you can do the things you want or need to do and don't normally have the time for. For example, catching up on the news in your field or hobby, working on projects, learning a new language, doing repairs or building things around the house, visiting your relatives, gardening, and so on.

Vacation is a word that has, as its root, a word that means "[to be] unoccupied." That means you gotta get gone. Mentally, and preferably physically.

You need a real vacation

The value of vacation time is lost if it's not a "real" vacation.

A real vacation is most easily defined by what it does not include:

• being in contact with "the office" at all (not even a little!)
• cleaning or other things you "should" do
• projects of any kind
• being productive!
• running around trying to fit a hundred touristy things into each day
• being constantly reminded of things you haven't done (e.g. by looking at the dirty laundry pile or cabinets that need repainting)
• guilt about what you should be doing
• daydreaming about what you could be doing
• alarm clocks, preferably
• tons of social obligations
• lots of partying (unless that makes you feel more energetic)

A real vacation is best spent:

• enjoying a change of scene
• getting lots of sleep
• doing absolutely nothing useful
• reading (but not with a professional/career-minded purpose!)
• people watching
• hiking
• swimming
• looking at beautiful scenery
• staying in

You can get away.

Real vacations don't have to be expensive, especially if you enjoy camping or other kinds of adventures.

Even if you can't physically get away, you can prep for a real vacation at home by planning ahead: do a good solid clean first, before your vacation starts, and hide away things that remind you of tasks you (think you) must get to later. Tell people you're having a "weekend away at home," and ask them to pretend you're not there. Get somebody to take the kids and/or dog.

Plan out your time with big unspecific blocks, doing only a very few things each day. For example, one day, plan to have breakfast (or lunch) at a favorite restaurant. Then go to the park. Maybe read a novel, maybe play some Frisbee, or watch the leaves rustle in the wind. Have no other plans until dinner, if not later. Don't dress up. Order in. Take a long bath or hit up a sauna or pool, or in colder months, see if you can find some place to enjoy a fire, a warm blanket, soft pillows and cup of cocoa. Or whatever it is that floats your boat... as long as it's not something you do to create value, of any kind.

Don't answer the phone—better yet, turn it on silent, or off. Don't watch or read the news. Don't use the computer. Don't hop on the internet for "just one thing." Pretend you're on a desert island.

Force yourself to stay away from the normal tasks and chores you use to fill up time off.

Do it again the next day. And the next, if you can.

See how idle you can be.

When you can really get away.

If you can take a week or more off, so much the better.

The very best vacation is one that is physically away from your home and your workplace, physically distant from looking at things that will remind you of perceived obligations, no contact with the office, no email, nothing that will suck you in. Don't worry yourself with complex agendas. Don't try to do all that much. Just enjoy being someplace else, ideally where someone else makes up your bed every day and fluffs your pillows. Do one or two things a day and then just chill.

The longer you are on vacation, the more perspective you get. The feelings you normally silence about your job and daily life stuff, in order to function, start to unravel and surface. This will bring clarity and help you determine what you need to do to be happy and productive—in the way you want—in life.

If you're quiet, you can hear your gut speaking to you about what will make you happy. But first you have to find that quiet.

If you can't get away.

If you can't take a vacation right now because of job- or family-related constraints... first question if that's really true.

If you've got a day job, and you do at least a moderately good job or are even slightly important to the organization, ask for some additional time off. Tell them you're burnt out and just need a couple days to recupe. Or pitch it a different way, if you think that would suit the situation better. But do ask. Make a deal.

Don't give up. Taking care of yourself is incredibly important and nobody else will do it for you. Figure out a way to make it happen, even if only for a day or two of peace.

Remember that the leading reason that people don't receive raises, bonuses or extra vacation is because they don't ask. (Only a very few organizations think it's in their interest to hand these things over to employees.)

And keep it up every day.

Once you've experienced a real vacation, you'll notice how daily life is different. You can bring a little bit of the peace into every day, but it takes work.

Cut down on the external responsibilities you take on. See what tasks you can outsource or leave undone. Work shorter hours. Choose your projects very carefully. Start with less. Take plenty of breaks. Unwind, take a bath, read a trashy novel, go for a bicycle ride, take a yoga class, learn to knit, stare at the clouds (but wear sunglasses!).

Select just a few things to devote your time to. Don't fall into the trap of believing you have to work all the time to be productive. Don't let yourself slip into the habit of doing everything that comes across your desk.

These steps are all critical in preserving your most valuable resource and what is literally your most critical faculty.

Being more productive may be counterproductive

You're reading this because you want to learn to just fucking ship.

Why?

Why does "just fucking ship" appeal to you? Is it because you want to do more? Or is it because you long for the energy and dedication to turn your dreams into action?

A lot hinges on your answer, but you should read the rest of this article before making your decision.

GTD

Raise your hand if you've tried Getting Things Done (aka GTD).

Raise another hand if you've still got problems with motivation and finding the time to work on the projects you love.

Raise another hand if you've decided that your continuing problems are just a sign that you're not committed enough to the system.

What, don't have a third hand?

Managing your to-dos isn't enough. There are some things you just can't solve with processing.

The Semi-Sacred Cow

Getting Things Done is based on the simple premise that clutter is your enemy. David Allen claims that when you litter your brain with unfulfilled obligations ('open loops' as he calls them), you cut down your ability to think. If you have a proper system to manage those open loops, he writes in Getting Things Done, you can clear out all that psychic detritus and rest easier knowing that things are under control (or at least accounted for).

It makes sense: to remain sane you must put yourself in the best possible position to get something done; and if you still can't do it, you have to delegate it or let it go. Fair enough. And this system has helped a lot of people with that aspect of productivity.

But there's something still missing from David's GTD equation.

Diminishing Returns and the Executive Function

What Allen doesn't mention is that it's not just worrying and fretting and guilting about not doing that slowly bleeds your will to do great work (and maybe live). Doing successfully has adverse effects on your mental function.

As Henry Ford once said, "Thinking is the hardest work there is, which is probably the reason why so few engage in it."

He was (at least partly) right: thinking is hard work. Focusing, making decisions, and exerting self-control all draw on the mental capacity called executive function. And this capacity isn't infinite.

"It turns out..." writes Om Amir in Scientific American, "that use of executive function—a talent we all rely on throughout the day—draws upon a single resource of limited capacity in the brain.

Imagine this scenario: you have to choose between two very different job offers. And earlier, you were tempted by a plate of delicious cookies—tempted, yes, but you didn't succumb.

What if just that simple act of cookie denial had a measurable effect on your decision-making ability? Even though the self-control involved was garden variety, and the decision was a major one that would affect your whole life.

Research suggests that it's just so:

[S]tudents who had to mark preferences about the courses they would take... were much more likely to procrastinate on preparing for an important test. Instead of studying, these "tired" minds engaged in distracting leisure activities.

On Amir, Scientific American (referencing a study by Kathleen Vohs, et al., University of Minnesota)

That goes for all decisions, no matter how small. Self-control, no matter how meaningless in the scheme of things. Oh, and focus, too.

Even making the switch from theoretical consideration of a decision (e.g. comparing apples to oranges) to the actual execution (going to eat the orange) is tiring.

And the outcome is clear:

Subjects with overtaxed brains made worse decisions.

On Amir, Scientific American (referencing a study by University of Maryland psychologist Anastasiya Pocheptsova)

The Only Logical Conclusion

As creative people—who write, paint, sculpt, read, learn, synthesize, code, design, retool, instruct, lead—just about everything we need to do involves making decisions. You have to decide on your topic, your goals, your angle of attack, not to mention all the decisions you have to make to actually move forward.

Doing (or trying to do) too much...

• sucks up all your time
• sucks up your mental energy e.g. joy de vivre (or joy de ship)
• diminishes your ability to make good decisions
• increases the likelihood of procrastination

Those of us with a passion for producing have to take advantage of everything we can learn about doing. And this one's a biggie!

With systems like GTD, to-dos only fall off your list when you realize you'll probably never do them—they're relegated to the Someday Maybe context, and thence to oblivion.

But shipping ninjas must be more proactive than that.

Everything on your to-do list has a consequence—as the cynics say, no good deed goes unpunished. Even if a given task is hardly a tax on your full intelligence, there are consequences that affect the things that are.

Better than gorging on cookies, better than resisting the cookies, is avoiding being in the same room with the cookies altogether.

Shipping more requires first shipping less.

The root of all productivity lore is the classic "write things down," which has since been used as the basis for all sorts of more sophisticated systems.

So, you write stuff down. Maybe you prioritize, or stick things in context. Has it turned you into a shipping ninja?

A list itself is rarely enough, even with all the techniques, tricks and hacks out there that purport to clean up your act.

The real trick, unfortunately, an easy one to learn:

DO LESS.

Be ruthless with what you take on and commit yourself to.

Write it all down. Then cut away half of it. Then cut away half again.

You can take the advice for your writing (aka William Zinser, Thoreau, EB White, and Mark Twain, among other august personages)... why not for your life?

Most other "techniques" work only because they turn your attention to your process. And most of them don't work for long, either. But that's another article.

Doing less isn't just a technique, it's a way of life. And it's the only way to guarantee you the time to do what you burn to do.

It is the true first step on the path to becoming a shipping ninja.