Precautions Before You Begin

Now that I have succeeded (if succeeded I have) in persuading you to admit to yourself that you are constantly haunted by a suppressed dissatisfaction with your own arrangement of your daily life; and that the primal cause of that inconvenient dissatisfaction is the feeling that you are every day leaving undone something which you would like to do, and which, indeed, you are always hoping to do when you have "more time"; and now that I have drawn your attention to the glaring, dazzling truth that you never will have "more time," since you already have all the time there is—you expect me to let you into some wonderful secret by which you may at any rate approach the ideal of a perfect arrangement of the day, and by which, therefore, that haunting, unpleasant, daily disappointment of things left undone will be got rid of!

I have now persuaded you, if indeed I have succeeded, to admit something to yourself. You are constantly haunted by a suppressed dissatisfaction with how you arrange your daily life. The main cause of that troublesome dissatisfaction is the feeling that every day you leave something undone. You would like to do it, and you are always hoping to do it when you have "more time". I have also drawn your attention to a glaring, dazzling truth. You will never have "more time", since you already have all the time there is. Now you expect me to reveal some wonderful secret. With it, you may at least approach the ideal of a perfectly arranged day. And so you will be rid of that haunting, unpleasant, daily disappointment over things left undone!

I have found no such wonderful secret. Nor do I expect to find it, nor do I expect that anyone else will ever find it. It is undiscovered. When you first began to gather my drift, perhaps there was a resurrection of hope in your breast. Perhaps you said to yourself, "This man will show me an easy, unfatiguing way of doing what I have so long in vain wished to do." Alas, no! The fact is that there is no easy way, no royal road. The path to Mecca is extremely hard and stony, and the worst of it is that you never quite get there after all.

I have found no such wonderful secret. I do not expect to find it, and I do not expect anyone else ever will. It remains undiscovered. When you first began to understand what I was getting at, perhaps you felt hopeful again. Perhaps you said to yourself, "This man will show me an easy way to do what I have wanted to do for so long without success. And it won't tire me out." Alas, no! The fact is, there is no easy way, no royal road. The path to Mecca is extremely hard and rocky. And the worst of it is that you never quite get there after all.

The most important preliminary to the task of arranging one's life so that one may live fully and comfortably within one's daily budget of twenty-four hours is the calm realisation of the extreme difficulty of the task, of the sacrifices and the endless effort which it demands. I cannot too strongly insist on this.

Before you try to arrange your life so that you can live fully and comfortably within your daily budget of twenty-four hours, you must calmly recognize how difficult the task is. It demands sacrifices and endless effort. I cannot stress this strongly enough.

If you imagine that you will be able to achieve your ideal by ingeniously planning out a time-table with a pen on a piece of paper, you had better give up hope at once. If you are not prepared for discouragements and disillusions; if you will not be content with a small result for a big effort, then do not begin. Lie down again and resume the uneasy doze which you call your existence.

If you think you can achieve your ideal by cleverly drawing up a schedule on paper, you might as well give up now. You must be prepared for setbacks and disappointment. You must be willing to accept a small result for a great effort. Otherwise, do not begin. Lie down again and return to the uneasy doze you call your existence.

It is very sad, is it not, very depressing and sombre? And yet I think it is rather fine, too, this necessity for the tense bracing of the will before anything worth doing can be done. I rather like it myself. I feel it to be the chief thing that differentiates me from the cat by the fire.

It is very sad, isn't it? Very depressing and gloomy? And yet I think there is something rather fine about it, too. We must make a determined effort of will before we can do anything worthwhile. I rather like that myself. I feel it is the main thing that sets me apart from the cat by the fire.

"Well," you say, "assume that I am braced for the battle. Assume that I have carefully weighed and comprehended your ponderous remarks; how do I begin?" Dear sir, you simply begin. There is no magic method of beginning. If a man standing on the edge of a swimming-bath and wanting to jump into the cold water should ask you, "How do I begin to jump?" you would merely reply, "Just jump. Take hold of your nerves, and jump."

"Well," you say, "let's assume I'm ready for the battle. I've carefully considered and understood your weighty remarks. How do I begin?" Dear sir, you simply begin. There is no magic way to start. Suppose a man stands at the edge of a swimming pool, wanting to jump into the cold water. If he asked you, "How do I begin to jump?" you would simply reply, "Just jump. Steady your nerves, and jump."

As I have previously said, the chief beauty about the constant supply of time is that you cannot waste it in advance. The next year, the next day, the next hour are lying ready for you, as perfect, as unspoilt, as if you had never wasted or misapplied a single moment in all your career. Which fact is very gratifying and reassuring. You can turn over a new leaf every hour if you choose. Therefore no object is served in waiting till next week, or even until to-morrow. You may fancy that the water will be warmer next week. It won't. It will be colder.

As I said before, the great beauty of the constant supply of time is that you cannot waste it in advance. The next year, day, and hour are ready for you. Each is as perfect and unspoiled as if you had never wasted or misused a single moment in your life. That is very pleasing and reassuring. You can make a fresh start every hour if you choose. So there is no point in waiting until next week, or even until tomorrow. You may imagine the water will be warmer next week. It won't. It will be colder.

But before you begin, let me murmur a few words of warning in your private ear.

But before you begin, let me whisper a few words of warning in your ear.

Let me principally warn you against your own ardour. Ardour in well-doing is a misleading and a treacherous thing. It cries out loudly for employment; you can't satisfy it at first; it wants more and more; it is eager to move mountains and divert the course of rivers. It isn't content till it perspires. And then, too often, when it feels the perspiration on its brow, it wearies all of a sudden and dies, without even putting itself to the trouble of saying, "I've had enough of this."

Above all, let me warn you against your own enthusiasm. Enthusiasm for doing good is misleading and treacherous. It cries out for something to do. At first, you can't satisfy it. It wants more and more. It is eager to move mountains and change the course of rivers. It isn't content until it breaks a sweat. Then, too often, when it feels the sweat on its brow, it suddenly grows tired and dies. It doesn't even bother to say, "I've had enough of this."

Beware of undertaking too much at the start. Be content with quite a little. Allow for accidents. Allow for human nature, especially your own.

Be careful not to take on too much at first. Be content with doing very little. Allow for accidents. Allow for human nature, especially your own.

A failure or so, in itself, would not matter, if it did not incur a loss of self-esteem and of self-confidence. But just as nothing succeeds like success, so nothing fails like failure. Most people who are ruined are ruined by attempting too much. Therefore, in setting out on the immense enterprise of living fully and comfortably within the narrow limits of twenty-four hours a day, let us avoid at any cost the risk of an early failure. I will not agree that, in this business at any rate, a glorious failure is better than a petty success. I am all for the petty success. A glorious failure leads to nothing; a petty success may lead to a success that is not petty.

A failure or two would not matter in itself, if it did not cost us self-esteem and confidence. But just as nothing succeeds like success, nothing fails like failure. Most people who are ruined are ruined by trying to do too much. So, as we begin the enormous task of living fully and comfortably within twenty-four hours a day, let us avoid an early failure at all costs. In this undertaking, at least, I do not agree that a glorious failure is better than a small success. I am all for the small success. A glorious failure leads nowhere. A small success may lead to a success that is not small.

So let us begin to examine the budget of the day's time. You say your day is already full to overflowing. How? You actually spend in earning your livelihood—how much? Seven hours, on the average? And in actual sleep, seven? I will add two hours, and be generous. And I will defy you to account to me on the spur of the moment for the other eight hours.

So let us begin by looking at how you spend your time each day. You say your day is already overflowing. How? How much time do you actually spend earning a living? Seven hours a day, on average? And seven hours actually sleeping? I will be generous and add two more hours. And I challenge you to tell me on the spot how you spend the other eight hours.