When I go through times of personal turmoil, I reach for self-help books the way some folks reach for whiskey. I’ll initiate a gratitude practice or take up box breathing or read 21 books on autism or six books on relationships. Seriously, I think it began with Michael Pollan’s “How to Change Your Mind” back in 2018, but it might go back even further than that.
My latest project has been to become more effective, more productive, but also more zeroed in on my lifetime goals and to that end I’ve finally gotten around to a book written by my friend Stephen Kotler called The Art of Impossible. Full disclosure: Kotler is a friend, which means I came to this book predisposed to like it—and also predisposed to notice if it didn’t deliver. Regular readers will know his name as the guy who is arguably the world’s foremost expert on flow states. He wrote West of Jesus, The Rise of Superman and Gnar Country among many other amazing books, many of them New York Times Best Sellers.
The Art of Impossible is about redefining what you’re capable of. It addresses what he calls both small i impossible, which are those limits we don’t think we can overcome as well as capital I impossible, which are those things that seem so impossible that when someone does transcend them blowing past those old limits can transform whole societies.
It’s a remarkable book for just how relentlessly well-researched it is and the depth of Kotler’s reach. He’s interviewed everyone from Elon Musk (before he lost his mind) to Laird Hamilton.
What Kotler is especially gifted at doing is connecting the way chasing flow can feed excellence in other parts of our lives. He shows how simple daily practices can help you reach larger goals that feed purpose and how that leads to satisfaction in life.
The book has spurred me to re-order my days. We have a finite amount of energy to spend each day. He advocates doing the hardest thing in your day first, followed by the second hardest thing, then the third hardest. And for him, he has an upward limit of about eight discrete tasks he can accomplish in any day, and once he does, he gives himself permission to begin recovery for the next day. That’s just one tiny slice of the book.
One thing Kotler notes repeatedly is how theory is universal, but application is personal. He always shares what his practice is, but then layers in enough humility to prevent any whiff of dogma. He shorthands this with, “But that’s just me.”
More broadly, it tackles big concepts such as grit, ferocity and intention. I’d need a white board in my room and probably a tutor to tackle all the practices I could start in response to it, but the book has had the remarkable effect of filling me with the conviction that I’m capable of accomplishing more than I’ve believed. There’s no doubt that I get more done each day, and somehow, I think this book has contributed to me experiencing less stress as I go about my day.
That said, reading this book once won’t have much effect. I’m planning to reread it soon and I expect that trying to implement everything Kotler asks of his readers will prove to be a years-long project.
Like Kotler’s other books, The Art of Impossible benefits from his ultra-dry wit. His humility could stun the Dalai Lama, but when he does call someone out—like 20-year-old yoga gurus—he does so with wisdom and humor.
The Art of Impossible is published by Harper (2021) and is available in hardcover, paperback, electronic and audio. Buy the electronic version because it is searchable and that will speed revisiting certain chapters or passages. But as Kotler notes, repeatedly, that’s just me.
TBR pile gonna grow again!