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    Education

    Derek Sivers podcast

    Derek Sivers very short articles and audiobook chapters, read by Derek Sivers. Transcripts at https://sive.rs/blog

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    Copyright: © 2022 Derek Sivers

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    Latest Episodes:
    It’s hard to get off stage Jan 16, 2018
    Show notes

    Being a songwriter is weird. You dig deep inside yourself. You extract and explain your emotions. Then you broadcast your innermost feelings to the biggest possible audience.

    It’s a life that demands a deep focus on yourself. It’s all you, you, you. It’s a one-way road that goes from inside of you out to the audience.

    Because of this, it’s hard for you to turn that off, switch directions, and just listen to others.

    The essence of marketing is looking at everything from the other person’s point of view. So it’s no surprise that musicians find it hard to switch into that mode.

    It’s OK. Have some compassion for your situation. It’s a side-effect of the craft. Don’t beat yourself up over it.

    But first, before you begin marketing, get off the stage. Pause your habit of broadcasting. Turn the spotlight on your audience. And get ready to listen.


    “Marketing” just means being considerate Jan 15, 2018
    Show notes

    Don’t confuse the word “marketing” with advertising, announcing, spamming, or giving away branded crap.

    Really, “marketing” just means being considerate.

    Marketing means making it easy for people to notice you, relate to you, remember you, and tell their friends about you.

    Marketing means listening for what people need, and creating something surprisingly tailored for them.

    Marketing means getting to know people, making a deeper connection, and keeping in touch.

    All of these are just considerate — looking at things from the other person’s point of view, and doing what’s best for them.

    A lot of musicians say, “I hate marketing!” So, yeah, if you thought marketing meant turning off your creativity, spending lots of money, and being annoying, then it’s a good thing you don’t like that. Nobody likes that.

    Just find creative ways to be considerate. That’s the best marketing.


    Repeatedly follow-up to show you care Jan 14, 2018
    Show notes

    I knew a music publicist in New York City when she was at the peak of her success. A few of her clients had hits, so everyone wanted to work with her. She was flooded with new music.

    Here’s how she dealt with the flood:

    Whenever someone sent their music, it would go into an inbox. That inbox was completely ignored.

    Whenever someone contacted her to follow-up the first time, to ask if she’d received it, she would take their music out of that first inbox, and put it in a second inbox. That second inbox was also ignored.

    Then if they followed-up with her a second time, asking again if she’d had the chance to listen, she would take their music out of the second inbox, and put it in a third inbox. That third inbox would get a listen if she had some spare time.

    Finally, if they followed-up a third time, she would take their music out of the third inbox, and make it a priority to give it a real listen.

    She saw the shocked look on my face, as she described her system. So she explained:

    “I can’t listen to everyone, so I can’t know who’s got the best music. But the ones who follow-up show they’ve got the tenacity and drive to succeed. As long as their music is also good, then those are the ones I want to work with.”

    It wasn’t ego. It was just a practical way to deal with a flood, and a pretty good filter for choosing new clients.

    Maybe nobody else has an official system like this. But un-officially, they do. Overwhelmed people don’t have time for all the random first-contacts. Patience and persistence separate you from the rest, and show how much you care.


    Unlikely places and untangled goals Dec 11, 2017
    Show notes

    I once went without food for ten days, and that was fine. But the two things I can’t do without for long are solitude and silence. (Freedom from people and their noises.)

    I was on a holiday in Ireland with seven members of my family, all packed into a van, exploring the country. A week after they left, I had to be at a conference in Dublin. So in-between those two events, I wanted nothing but solitude and silence.

    An Irish friend suggested that I stay at Mount Melleray Abbey, home of the Cistercian Trappist monks, known for their silence. They provide a guest room that’s free for whoever asks. That sounded perfect, so I emailed and asked. They said yes, so I prepared for a solid week of silence. I took my family to the airport, and drove to the abbey.

    When a monk met me at the door and showed me the way to my room, I was surprised when he spoke. I thought we’d all just be silently gesturing. He told me meals would be served twice a day down the hall.

    At dinner time, I went down the hall, again expecting silent gesturing. But instead, there was a room full of thirty other guests from around the world, all chattering away. I tried to sit alone, but there was no way to do it.

    One loud American latched on to me and bombarded me with shallow questions. I gave vague one-word answers, but that wasn’t enough to stop him. I quickly ate and retreated to my room again. I thought about how I’d avoid this chatter for the next six days.

    The next morning, I tried to get to breakfast early, but I wasn’t early enough. The loud American was there with follow-up questions about my religious beliefs. He started to introduce me to everyone.

    I guess they came here for different reasons than I did.

    I went back to my room, packed up, and left a thank-you note for the monks, before driving off into the unknown.

    I realized I could get more silence at a hotel, so I went to Lyrath Estate in Kilkenny. It was off-season, half-price, spacious, and mostly empty. I hung around all their various sitting rooms and balconies, writing for six silent days, speaking only one sentence a day if I ordered dinner. It was just what I wanted.

    It made me think about all the unlikely places we can get what we want.

    Some people think they need to go all the way to Thailand to meditate, or to India to learn yoga. But of course these are things they can do for free at home.

    Some people think they need to travel to a country to learn its language. But check out Moses McCormick learning more than a dozen languages from Ohio, or Benny Lewis learning Arabic from Brazil.

    Some people think they need to pay a fortune to a university for a great education. But the top schools have all their courses online for free.

    And this idea isn’t just about locations. Some people think they need expensive equipment to start a new hobby, certain clothes to look the part, or for everything to be just right. But resourceful people know they don’t.

    It’s so important to separate the real goal from the old mental associations. We have old dreams. We have images we want to re-create. They’re hard to untangle from the result we really want. They become excuses, and reasons to procrastinate.


    What are the odds of that? Jul 03, 2017
    Show notes

    Three true stories:

    In 1992, in Tokyo, I dated a girl named Masako. After our month together, she moved to London. We lost touch.

    In 2008, I was in London for a few days. I wondered if Masako still lived there, sixteen years later.

    A minute later, she walked by.

    “Masako!”

    “Derek?!”

    In 1993, I had a pen-pal from Argentina named Lucia. She was studying Norwegian and planned to move to Oslo, Norway, some day. We lost touch.

    In 2007, my band was on tour in Oslo for a few days. I was sitting in a park, wondering if Lucia ever moved there.

    A minute later, she walked by.

    “Lucia!”

    “Derek?!”

    Today I’m in Singapore. I went to the library to write. It was very busy, with nowhere to sit, so I walked from room to room before I finally found the last free seat.

    I noticed that the guy next to me was reading a book I recommend often: Ego Is the Enemy.

    I said, “Great book!”

    He said, “I got it because of you. You’re Derek, right?”

    His name is Thomas. We had emailed a few days ago.

    Some people like to think that there are no coincidences. They say, “What are the odds of that?” as if to mean that it can’t be chance. Life feels more amazing to them if it all has meaning. (Seeking patterns in randomness is called apophenia.)

    I like to think that everything is a coincidence. Life feels more amazing to me if it has no meaning. No secret agenda. Beautifully random.

    What are the odds of winning the big lottery? Fifty million to one? Ah, but that’s if you’re being egocentric and thinking only of yourself! Someone always wins it. So what if you look past yourself and ask, “What are the odds that this rare thing will happen to someone?” Almost 100 percent.

    That’s a nice reminder when the odds seem impossible. Amazingly rare things happen to people every day.


    Parenting : Who is it really for? Jun 26, 2017
    Show notes

    Since my son was born five years ago, I’ve spent at least thirty hours a week with him, just one-on-one, giving him my full attention. But I’ve never written about parenting before because it’s a touchy subject — too easily misunderstood.

    So why am I writing about it today? Because I realized that the parenting things I do for him are also for myself. And that’s an idea worth sharing.

    Here are the things I’ve been doing for my son since he was born:

    Cultivating a long attention span

    Whatever he’s doing right now, that’s the most important thing. So I encourage him to keep doing it as long as possible. I never say, “Come on! Let’s go!”

    We’ll go to the beach or forest, and make things with sticks and sand for half a day before he’s ready to switch.

    Other families come to the playground for twenty or thirty minutes, but we stay there for hours.

    Nobody else can play with us like this. Everyone else gets so bored.

    Of course my adult mind wanders to all the other things we could be doing. But I let it go, and return to that present focus.

    Entering his world

    I’m very ambitious and try to do a lot with my life. But when I’m with him, I stop everything else. Phone off. Computer off.

    I try to see things through his eyes — to put myself into his mind. When he gets upset, I try to remember what it was like to be his age and relate at that level.

    When he makes up stories, I enter his invented world. If he says we’re cats in Paris, we’re cats in Paris. The minotaur is chasing us? We both run.

    Of course I’m tempted to check my phone. Most of us have that addiction now. But I ask myself, “What’s more important?” and leave it off.

    Broadening his inputs

    I want him to have a wide range of inputs into his senses.

    We go play in as many different forests, beaches, mountains, and towns as possible, touching and smelling everything we can.

    I play very diverse music in the background. When we play at home, he’s listening to Persian traditional, Indian classical, ’60s jazz, glitch, Bartok, Stevie Wonder (from ’72 to ’76), lots of Bach, Bulgarian choir, or whatever.

    We’ve had season tickets to the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra since he was three, and never miss a concert. I took him to the opera Carmen, and he was riveted from start to finish.

    We get a few new books from the library every week and read together for an hour every night.

    We watch a huge variety of movies, but always from start to finish without interruption, so he gets the full story arc. For the big Disney blockbusters, we watch the Portuguese or Chinese translations.

    And now, my point:

    The reason I’m finally writing about this is because I realized that I’m doing all these things for myself as much as for him.

    By cultivating his long attention span, I’m cultivating my own.

    By entering his world, I’m letting go of my own, like meditation.

    By broadening his inputs, I’m broadening my own.

    I thought I was being selfless. But actually, like most things we consider selfless, they benefit me as much as him.

    P.S. You won’t find his name or face online. I don’t think it’s right to put someone online without their permission. He’ll put himself online when he’s ready.


    Actions, not words, reveal our real values Jun 16, 2017
    Show notes

    I told my old coach that I really wanted to start my new company.

    He said, “No, you don’t.”

    I said, “Yes, I do! This is really important to me!”

    He said, “No, it’s not. Saying it doesn’t make it true.”

    I said, “You can’t ignore what I’m saying. I know myself well. I’m telling you what’s important to me.”

    He said, “Yes, I can ignore what you’re saying and just look at your actions. Our actions always reveal our real values.”

    I thought about that, but it sounded wrong to me. What about people who want to learn languages, or create businesses, but haven’t started yet? What about people who want to quit smoking or quit their jobs, but haven’t been able to yet?

    He said, “If they really wanted to do it, they would have done it. You’ve been talking about this new company idea since 2008, but never launched it. Looking at your actions, and knowing you, I’d say that you don’t really want to start another company. You actually prefer the simple life you have now, focused on learning, writing, and playing with your kid. No matter what you say, your actions reveal the truth.”

    Wow. Yep. He was right.

    I had been fooling myself for years, telling myself I wanted to do this, but my actions proved otherwise. Yes, I wanted it a little bit, but I wanted something else more.

    Now I’ve been sharing this thought with friends who talk about wanting something, but aren’t making it happen. Each time, they have the same reaction I did.

    No matter what you tell the world or tell yourself, your actions reveal your real values. Your actions show you what you actually want.

    There are two smart reactions to this:

    1. Stop lying to yourself, and admit your real priorities.
    2. Start doing what you say you want to do, and see if it’s really true.

    Think like a bronze medalist, not silver Mar 13, 2017
    Show notes

    Imagine the Olympics, where you have the three winners of a race standing on the podium: the gold, the silver, and the bronze.

    Imagine what it’s like to be the silver medalist. If you’d been just one second faster, you could have won the gold! Damn! So close! Damn damn damn! Full of envy, you’d keep comparing yourself to the gold winner.

    Now imagine what it’s like to be the bronze medalist. If you’d been just one second slower, you wouldn’t have won anything! Awesome! You’d be thrilled that you’re officially an Olympic medalist and get to stand on the winner’s podium.

    Comparing up versus comparing down: Your happiness depends on where you’re focusing.

    The metaphor is easy to understand, but hard to remember in regular life. If you catch yourself burning with envy or resentment, think like the bronze medalist, not the silver. Change your focus. Instead of comparing up to the next-higher situation, compare down to the next-lower one.

    For example, if you aim to buy “the best” thing, you may feel like gold when you get it, but when the new “best” thing comes out next year, you’ll feel that silver envy. Instead, if you aim to buy the “good enough” thing, it will keep you in the bronze mindset. Since you’re not comparing to the best, you’ll feel no need to keep up.

    I’ve met a lot of famous musicians. The miserable ones were upset that they weren’t more famous, because they’d bitterly compare themselves to the superstars. The happiest ones were thrilled to be able to make a living making music.

    On the other hand, when you’re being ambitious, trying to be the best at a specific skill, it’s good to be dissatisfied, like that silver medalist focusing on the gold. You can use that drive to practice and improve.

    But most of the time, you need to be more grateful for what you’ve got, for how much worse it could have been, and how nice it is to have anything at all. Ambition versus gratitude. Comparing up versus comparing down.

    For funnier thoughts on this, search the web for Louis C.K.’s “everything is amazing and nobody is happy” and Jerry Seinfeld’s “silver medal” routines.


    Art is useless, and so am I Mar 10, 2017
    Show notes

    Art is useless by definition. If it was useful, it would be a tool.

    For the past twenty years, I was obsessed with being useful. That one measure drove all of my daily decisions: “How can I be the most useful to the most people today?”

    That question served me well but had its downsides. It kept me from playing and doing things just for me. It’s no coincidence that I stopped making music twenty years ago. It didn’t qualify as the most useful thing I could be doing.

    A few months ago, I decided to stop trying so hard to be useful. I needed a little more me-time. I stopped spending hours per day answering strangers’ emails.

    I started seriously learning my first foreign language. It’s totally useless to anyone else, but I love it. Now I realize why all my previous attempts to learn a language didn’t happen. It was always a lower priority under all of my useful goals.

    I started playing music again, for the first time in twenty years. Not trying to be famous this time. No care whether anyone else ever hears it or not. This is just for me — just playing for its own sake and loving it.

    It’s hard to relax into this mindset, after twenty years of the opposite. It’s such a luxury to not think about you, out there, and how you might value me.

    At the top of every page of my website, I used to have a sentence that describes what I do — another way of saying how I might be useful to the stranger browsing my site. But I erased it last week.

    For now, I’m nobody’s tool.


    Quitting something you love Dec 30, 2016
    Show notes

    Personal change needs some space to happen. To bring something new into your life, you need somewhere to put it. If your current habits are filling your day, where are these new habits supposed to go?

    The English word “quit” comes from old French, meaning “to free” or “to release”.

    We know about quitting something that’s bad for you, or something you hate. But what about quitting something you love?

    I rebel against anything that feels like addiction. When I hear myself saying “I need this,” I want to challenge that dependency and prove my independence.

    It’s usually something tiny. For example, I used to keep mints in the car. One day when I ran out, I thought, “Oh no! I need more!” But as soon as I felt that need, no — time to quit. No mints in the car since that day.

    Sometimes it’s something big. I used to have an awesome job. I loved it so much that I became too comfortable. So I made myself quit. That made me figure out how to be a full-time musician.

    Ten years ago, I felt addicted to America. It was my comfort zone. I loved it too much. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. So I made myself quit. I haven’t lived there in ten years, and probably never will again. People often ask if I miss it. Any regrets? Not at all.

    I still love everything I quit. But not as much as I love all this room for change.


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