The essentialist
Sam Elliot* is a capable executive in Silicon Valley who found himself
stretched too thin after his company was acquired by a larger,
bureaucratic business.
He was in earnest about being a good citizen in his new role so he said
yes to many requests without really thinking about it. But as a result he
would spend the whole day rushing from one meeting and conference
call to another trying to please everyone and get it all done. His stress
went up as the quality of his work went down. It was like he was
majoring in minor activities and as a result, his work became
unsatisfying for him and frustrating for the people he was trying so hard
to please.
In the midst of his frustration the company came to him and offered
him an early retirement package. But he was in his early 50s and had no
interest in completely retiring. He thought briefly about starting a
consulting company doing what he was already doing. He even thought
of selling his services back to his employer as a consultant. But none of
these options seemed that appealing. So he went to speak with a mentor
who gave him surprising advice: "Stay, but do what you would as a
consultant and nothing else. And don't tell anyone." In other words, his
mentor was advising him to do only those things that he deemed
essential—and ignore everything else that was asked of him.
The executive followed the advice! He made a daily commitment
towards cutting out the red tape. He began saying no.
He was tentative at first. He would evaluate requests based on the
timid criteria, "Can I actually fulfill this request, given the time and resources I have?" If the answer was no then he would refuse the
request. He was pleasantly surprised to find that while people would at
first look a little disappointed, they seemed to respect his honesty.
Encouraged by his small wins he pushed back a bit more. Now when a
request would come in he would pause and evaluate the request against
a tougher criteria: "Is this the very most important thing I should be
doing with my time and resources right now?"
If he couldn't answer a definitive yes, then he would refuse the
request. And once again to his delight, while his colleagues might
initially seem disappointed, they soon began to respect him more for his
refusal, not less.
Emboldened, he began to apply this selective criteria to everything,
not just direct requests. In his past life he would always volunteer for
presentations or assignments that came up last minute; now he found a
way to not sign up for them. He used to be one of the first to jump in on
an e-mail trail, but now he just stepped back and let others jump in. He
stopped attending conference calls that he only had a couple of minutes
of interest in. He stopped sitting in on the weekly update call because he
didn't need the information. He stopped attending meetings on his
calendar if he didn't have a direct contribution to make. He explained to
me, "Just because I was invited didn't seem a good enough reason to
attend."
It felt self-indulgent at first. But by being selective he bought himself
space, and in that space he found creative freedom. He could
concentrate his efforts on one project at a time. He could plan
thoroughly. He could anticipate roadblocks and start to remove
obstacles. Instead of spinning his wheels trying to get everything done,
he could get the right things done. His newfound commitment to doing
only the things that were truly important—and eliminating everything
else—restored the quality of his work. Instead of making just a
millimeter of progress in a million directions he began to generate
tremendous momentum towards accomplishing the things that were
truly vital.
He continued this for several months. He immediately found that he
not only got more of his day back at work, in the evenings he got even
more time back at home. He said, "I got back my family life! I can go
home at a decent time." Now instead of being a slave to his phone he resources I have?" If the answer was no then he would refuse the
request. He was pleasantly surprised to find that while people would at
first look a little disappointed, they seemed to respect his honesty.
Encouraged by his small wins he pushed back a bit more. Now when a
request would come in he would pause and evaluate the request against
a tougher criteria: "Is this the very most important thing I should be
doing with my time and resources right now?"
If he couldn't answer a definitive yes, then he would refuse the
request. And once again to his delight, while his colleagues might
initially seem disappointed, they soon began to respect him more for his
refusal, not less.
Emboldened, he began to apply this selective criteria to everything,
not just direct requests. In his past life he would always volunteer for
presentations or assignments that came up last minute; now he found a
way to not sign up for them. He used to be one of the first to jump in on
an e-mail trail, but now he just stepped back and let others jump in. He
stopped attending conference calls that he only had a couple of minutes
of interest in. He stopped sitting in on the weekly update call because he
didn't need the information. He stopped attending meetings on his
calendar if he didn't have a direct contribution to make. He explained to
me, "Just because I was invited didn't seem a good enough reason to
attend."
It felt self-indulgent at first. But by being selective he bought himself
space, and in that space he found creative freedom. He could
concentrate his efforts on one project at a time. He could plan
thoroughly. He could anticipate roadblocks and start to remove
obstacles. Instead of spinning his wheels trying to get everything done,
he could get the right things done. His newfound commitment to doing
only the things that were truly important—and eliminating everything
else—restored the quality of his work. Instead of making just a
millimeter of progress in a million directions he began to generate
tremendous momentum towards accomplishing the things that were
truly vital.
He continued this for several months. He immediately found that he
not only got more of his day back at work, in the evenings he got even
more time back at home. He said, "I got back my family life! I can go
home at a decent time." Now instead of being a slave to his phone he shuts it down. He goes to the gym. He goes out to eat with his wife.
To his great surprise, there were no negative repercussions to his
experiment. His manager didn't chastise him. His colleagues didn't
resent him. Quite the opposite; because he was left only with projects
that were meaningful to him and actually valuable to the company, they
began to respect and value his work more than ever. His work became
fulfilling again. His performance ratings went up. He ended up with one
of the largest bonuses of his career!
In this example is the basic value proposition of Essentialism: only
once you give yourself permission to stop trying to do it all, to stop
saying yes to everyone, can you make your highest contribution towards
the things that really matter.
What about you? How many times have you reacted to a request by
saying yes without really thinking about it? How many times have you
resented committing to do something and wondered, "Why did I sign up
for this?" How often do you say yes simply to please? Or to avoid
trouble? Or because "yes" had just become your default response?
Now let me ask you this: Have you ever found yourself stretched too
thin? Have you ever felt both overworked and underutilized? Have you
ever found yourself majoring in minor activities? Do you ever feel busy
but not productive? Like you're always in motion, but never getting
anywhere?
If you answered yes to any of these, the way out is the way of the Essentialist