The main error is to wait around doing nothing, holding your pen, or with your life on hold. Patience is a virtue, but there is a negative form of expectation—namely, expecting too much of yourself. Nothing grows through that kind of waiting. If you don’t know how you can get out of this kind of stagnation, do what Stendhal did: borrow your first sentence or your first action from someone else, and continue it. Continuing allows you to ride on other people’s momentum instead of having to use your own. In cycling they talk about “drafting,” or, more commonly, “slipstreaming.” In life, as in writing, you first need to get into the wake of someone or something else. We start off learning a language by imitating others, learning by rote. Bit by bit, without realizing it, we end up creating our own slipstream and speaking the language. We write, we pedal, we gallop. We’re off! We never actually had to start and now that all we have to do is keep on going, it’s a whole lot easier. A sculptor needs clay or stone to model or sculpt; he can’t do it out of thin air, from nothing, ex nihilo. Perhaps when Giacometti gives himself over to what he calls an obsession, content just to fiddle around with clay without actually achieving anything, he hasn’t really begun yet, but that doesn’t stop him from carrying on. He may always feel he’s failed to do what he was trying to, but his work gives him great pleasure. Here, in an interview given at one of his exhibitions to the insightful documentary maker Jean-Marie Drot, he has the final word: This is the heart of it: to give the impression that you’re simply going for a walk, easy does it, when in fact you’re walking on a rope 110 floors up. You’re a metaphor, an inspiration, a dream come true. You’re living the dreams that are dormant in those humans down below. To accomplish a dream, you need the lightness of a dream. So be very careful with that first step. Why ten years, when by working ten hours a day you’d get to 10,000 hours in a thousand days, which is less than three years? Because it’s not enough to accumulate hours of practice; the practice has to be deliberate, it has to represent an effort to achieve a specific goal, ability, or gesture that as yet eludes you. To put it another way, you need to feel the time passing, it needs to not be easy. This is quite different from the so-called ten hours a day spent by Zola or Flaubert, who seem like workaholics when in fact they spent most of their time dreaming of the right word, “fiddling around” with their sentences like Giacometti fiddling around with his clay; in short, doing what they liked best, which takes a lot of deliberately wasted time and a certain kind of nonchalance. Nothing to do with continuous effort, in any case. Three or four hours a day of deliberate practice, preferably spread out over several sessions, would therefore be a maximum, because the effort of all that attention is exhausting. The rest of the day should be spent resting, or in comparatively less intense activities: reading, reflection, strategy, associated leisure activities, and so on. Three to four hours a day with one day of rest a week, and two weeks of holiday a year, gets you to 1,000 hours a year, or 10,000 hours in ten years. Noah is lost in the deliciousness of the memory too, and his conclusion is the same as Zidane’s: there just aren’t any words; “those moments really are rare.”

Read the first two chapters and then save yourself! This book could have been a great 3000 word essay. But as it stands as a whole is shit. It is wordy and repetitive, the same point being made in each chapter with different sporting analogies. Also there are some misogynistic undertones. I know nothing of the sports men talked about in this novel, so can't offer an opinion there, however, I can speak on the two artists that we're mentioned. Ollivier (who claimes to be well versed) idolises the lifestyles of both Rodin and Picasso who are known to have actively abused women and children in their lifetimes. It is one thing to talk about their art and talent, it is another to uphold them as great men whose way of life and philosophies are what we should strive to achieve in our own lives, completely ignoring the harm their actions and lifestyles had on those around them. There is no excuse for this. Ollivier later goes on to spend a whole chapter diminishing a teen girl he tutored to make himself look intelligent. It has the exact same vibe of those Tumblr stories that end with 'everybody clapped'. This chapter may be based on a real interaction but the dialogue definitely is not real, I feel so bad for the girl he was writing about, she was reduced to a 'sexy lampshade'. Evident - to see. What happens when you see something with the minds eye, to understand it. Attention should focus on only one point at a time. Consider a torch, with a narrow beam of light and limited 'illuminated' focus. A laissez-faire guide to self-help. This is a book for those who aspire to the déshabillé, Serge-Gainsbourg-and-Jane-Birkin-morning-after look and the studied negligence of the Parisian Bobo (bourgeois-bohemian).”― The Times(London) When the Chinese painter Zao Wou-Ki first set foot in Paris in 1948, he knew only one word of French, one open-sesame that he gave to the taxi driver: “Montparnasse.” He didn’t mean the train station, he meant the mythical place that all aspiring painters dream of. He spent the rest of his life there in a studio very close to Giacometti’s. Chinese by chance, but French by the dictate of his heart. Understanding can't be focused. Distraction can make the work easier, it builds momentum. Distraction helps you to not think about what you are doing, so you are content with doing it. There are two ways to clean a burnt pan: taking considerable time and effort to scrub it, or to simply let it soak and return to it later. The first is based on effort, and the second on ease. Postponing action and letting things look after themselves is a win-win. When you're a hammer, everything looks like a nail. Hyper specialization can cause a sort of blindness to the broader picture of what is, based on the view we have of the world and how we operate within it. Don't think about solutions, think about the problem as if the problem were a person, let it speak for itself. Do not confuse preparation with practice. Excessive practice makes you stale.

The French Art of Not Trying Too Hard

Enumeration - An overview. A naming of parts. A panorama. Regularly widen your gaze so that you do not miss the big picture, the grand scheme. Keep a macro and micro view all at once. Make sure that everything is included. An] amusing and interesting read; even Pourriol’s description of his approach to the material is a lesson in the laissez-faire outlook. Is this likely to change readers’ lives? Peut être pas, but it is fun to think that it might.”― Booklist Identifiers: LCCN 2020022658 (print) | LCCN 2020022659 (ebook) | ISBN 9780143135494 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780525507161 (ebook)

Take cooking, for example. Think of the times you’ve been chatting away to a friend, enjoying yourself, and forgot to turn down the gas on the stove. Oh well, those onions will be nicely caramelized now. It even holds true for washing up: when you burn a pan the best thing is to let it soak, rather than to scrub at it like a maniac. I’m not saying you should never scrub, but that you need to know when there’s no point in scrubbing. Letting time do its work doesn’t mean you’ll never do any yourself. It just means working more efficiently. OK. Place your left foot delicately on the rope. Your weight should remain on your supporting leg, the straight one, that’s still planted on the solid ground of the south tower, safely on the building. Now you have to shift the weight of this leg onto the other one, taking the first step onto the rope. There comes a moment where you have to decide. The first step is a point of no return. To put your whole foot on the wire all at once produces a sure though heavy kind of walking, but if you first slide your toes, then your sole, and finally your heel onto the wire, you will be able to experience the intoxicating lightness that is so magnificent at great heights. And then people will say of you: “He is strolling on his wire!” Loved this book. It is insanely thought provoking and far more philosophical than I first thought. Some of the stories sort of go on too long, but there is incredible depth and coherence in the chapters themselves and throughout the chapters.when it “takes off” it’s like a well-oiled machine that functions to perfection. It’s like when you see someone run one hundred meters in ten seconds. You see the miracle of sentences mounting up, and your mind functions almost outside itself. You become a spectator of yourself. When that happens, I write really easily, and I just can’t stop. And when it works it’s fantastic. They’re really blessed moments. Yes, sometimes, you feel just like the queen of words. It’s extraordinary, it’s paradise. When you believe in what you’re writing it’s an incredible pleasure. You feel like queen of all the earth. In the realm of love, what could be less seductive than someone who's trying to seduce you? Seduction is the art of succeeding without trying, and that's a lesson the French have mastered. This book came about as the result of a conversation with my publisher and friend, Elsa Lafon. It’s important to specify “friend” because we weren’t working at the time, we were just having dinner. It wasn’t a professional discussion; I wasn’t there to outline a project or negotiate a contract. It was just a conversation for conversation’s sake, over a simple family meal and a good bottle of wine. In fact, I can’t even remember what we were talking about—maybe about the children, who were still running around and should have been in bed. What effort we expended—to no avail—trying to get them to do what we wanted! Maybe it would have been best just to ignore them and wait for them to tire themselves out. Sooner or later they’d go to sleep. After all, that night was slightly special: there was no school the next day. What greater pleasure, for a child, than to end up falling asleep on the sofa, lulled by the adults’ conversation? Late to bed, happy to bed—it makes for sweet memories. “How right you are,” Elsa said. “Why struggle? Let’s have another glass of wine.” Ollivier Pourriol is a philosopher, writer, and novelist. He lives in Paris, where his lectures mixing philosophy and cinema are widely attended, and where he puts his ideas into practice over aperitifs with friends.

The most profound aspect of the book is how it starts, with the famous quote and ultimate take away of the work: "The whole doctrine of action can be expressed in two chapters, each of which contains a single word. Chapter one, continue. Chapter two, start. The other which people find surprising, espresso almost the whole idea" (Alain). When the Chinese painter Zao Wou-Ki first set foot in Paris in 1948, he knew only one word of French, one open-sesame that he gave to the taxi driver: "Montparnasse." He didn't mean the train station, he meant the mythical place that all aspiring painters dream of. He spent the rest of his life there in a studio very close to Giacometti's. Chinese by chance, but French by the dictate of his heart. Do without thinking. Do not focus on the goal, on the aim, simply release the arrow, as it knows where to go. Be satisfied with being, and allow the work to come. The more you focus on something, the more you can cause yourself to make mistakes. When you think, you are focusing, you are judging, and therefore are thinking and not acting. When thinking, you are the antithesis of acting, and therefore, when firing an arrow can never hit a target. Express your pride through your posture, Pretend to be proud. Start by miming. "Man is formed through struggle, his true pleasures must be won, must be served. He must give before he receives. That is the law." (alain). Certain goals can only be achieved if we do not aim at them.

Summary

Taking the first step: anxiety of all lovers, nightmare of all tightrope walkers. “I wouldn’t be able to walk on that wire if I wasn’t sure before taking the first step that I could do the last . . . It’s very close to religious faith.” Who’s saying this? Philippe Petit. Who’s Philippe Petit? The best way of introducing him would be to make you feel what he does. So let me suggest a little thought experiment. At the end of this paragraph I want you to close your eyes, count to ten, and open them again. Here we go. Remember Malcolm Gladwell? He’s a writer at the New Yorker, and I love reading his books. In Outliers, which here is used to mean “exceptional successes,” Gladwell gives a precise answer to that question “how many?” Ten thousand hours, according to him, is the “magic number of greatness.” You want to become exceptional in any given domain? It’s “easy”: you just have to devote 10,000 hours to it, or ten years, to become an expert or perform at a high level. Strangely enough, this is exactly the conclusion Stendhal arrived at: “Write every day for an hour or two. Genius or not.” Ten years of writing for one or two hours a day, somewhere between 3,652 and 7,304 (counting leap years) gets you close to 10,000 hours. You’d only need to write between two and three hours a day to get there. Stendhal seems to be saying, like Gladwell, that what we mistake for genius is simply the result of hard work; ten years’ hard work, to be precise. My heart is so forcibly pressed against that wire, each beat echoes, echoes and casts each approaching thought into the netherworld. But let’s ask ourselves simply and honestly: if you really think about it, who actually believes, without doubting the virtue of trying, that with 10,000 hours they could, if not become world champion, then at least reach the top level in their discipline of choice? For anyone who’s hesitating about the answer, here’s another question, which we should all be able to agree on: Who thinks that 10,000 hours of training would give them the courage to walk on a wire 400 meters off the ground? Or, more modestly, just to start small, between the towers of Notre-Dame?