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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:
    Why I gave my company to charity Dec 04, 2009
    Show notes

    Two friends were at a party at a billionaire’s extravagant estate. One said, “Wow! Look at this place! This guy has everything!” The other said, “Yes, but I have something he’ll never have: enough.”

    When I decided to sell my company, I already had enough.

    I live simply. I don’t own a house, a car, or even a TV. The less I own, the happier I am. The lack of stuff gives me the priceless freedom to live anywhere anytime.

    So I didn’t need or even want the money from the sale of the company. I just wanted to make sure I had enough for a simple comfortable life. The rest should go to music education, since that’s what made such a difference in my life.

    I created a charitable trust called the Independent Musicians Charitable Remainder Unitrust. When I die, all of its assets will go to music education. But while I’m alive, it pays out 5% of its value per year to me.

    A few months before the sale, I transferred the ownership of CD Baby and HostBaby, all the intellectual property like trademarks and software, into the trust.

    It was irreversibly and irrevocably gone. It was no longer mine. It all belonged to the charitable trust.

    Then, when Disc Makers bought it, they bought it not from me but from the trust, turning it into $22 million cash to benefit music education.

    So instead of me selling the company — (getting taxed on the income, and giving what’s left to charity) — that move of giving away the company to charity then having the charity sell it saved about $5 million in taxes. (That means $5 million more going to music education.)

    Also, the move of giving it away into a trust now — instead of holding on to it until I die — means its investments get to grow and compound tax-free for life, which again means more goes to musicians in the end.

    I’m only writing this because many people have asked why I gave it away, so I thought I’d write my long explanation once and for all.

    It’s not that I’m altruistic. I’m sacrificing nothing. I’ve just learned what makes me happy. And doing it this way made me the happiest.

    I get the deeper happiness of knowing the lucky streak I’ve had in my life will benefit tons of people — not just me.

    I get the pride of knowing I did something irreversibly smart before I could change my mind.

    I get the safety of knowing I won’t be the target of a frivolous lawsuit, since I have very little net worth.

    I get the unburdened freedom of having it out of my hands so I can’t do something stupid.

    But most of all, I get the constant priceless reminder that I have enough.


    There’s no speed limit Dec 01, 2009
    Show notes

    Whether you’re a student, a teacher, or a parent, I think you’ll appreciate this story of how one teacher can completely and permanently change someone’s life in only a few lessons.

    I was seventeen and about to start my first year at Berklee College of Music.

    I called a local recording studio with a random question about music typesetting.

    When the studio owner heard I was going to Berklee, he said, “I graduated from Berklee and taught there, too. I’ll bet I can teach you two years of theory and arranging in only a few lessons. I suspect you can graduate in two years if you understand there’s no speed limit. Come by my studio at 9:00 tomorrow for your first lesson, if you’re interested. No charge.”

    Graduate college in two years? Awesome! I liked his style. That was Kimo Williams.

    I showed up at his studio at 8:40 the next morning, super excited, though I waited outside before ringing his bell at 8:59.

    He opened the door. A tall man in a Hawaiian shirt and a big hat, with a square scar on his nose, a laid-back demeanor, and a huge smile, sizing me up, nodding.

    (Recently I heard him tell the story from his perspective. He said, “My doorbell rang at 8:59 one morning and I had no idea why. I run across kids all the time who say they want to be a great musician. I tell them I can help, and tell them to show up at my studio at 9:00 if they’re serious. Nobody ever does. It’s how I weed out the really serious ones from the kids who just talk. But there was Derek, ready to go.”)

    After a one-minute welcome, we were sitting at the piano, analyzing the sheet music for a jazz standard. He was quickly explaining the chords based on the diatonic scale — how the dissonance of the tri-tone in the 5-chord with the flat-7 is what makes it want to resolve to the 1. Within a minute, he started quizzing me.

    “If the 5-chord with the flat-7 has that tri-tone, then so does another flat-7 chord. Which one?”

    “Uh… the flat-2 chord?”

    “Right! So that’s a substitute chord. Any flat-7 chord can be substituted with the other flat-7 that shares the same tri-tone. So reharmonize all the chords you can in this chart. Go.”

    The pace was intense, and I loved it. Finally, someone was challenging me — keeping me in over my head — encouraging and expecting me to pull myself up quickly. I was learning so fast, it felt like the adrenaline rush you get while playing a video game. He tossed every fact at me and made me prove that I got it.

    In our three-hour lesson that morning, he taught me a full semester of Berklee’s harmony courses. In our next four lessons, he taught me the next four semesters of harmony and arranging classes.

    When I got to college and took my entrance exams, I tested out of those six semesters of requirements.

    Then, as Kimo suggested, I bought the course materials for other required classes and taught myself, doing the homework in my own time. Then I went to the department head and took the final exam, getting full credit for those courses.

    By doing this in addition to completing my full course load, I graduated college in two and a half years. I got my bachelor’s degree when I was twenty.

    Kimo’s high expectations set a new pace for me. He taught me that “the standard pace is for chumps” — that the system is designed so anyone can keep up. If you’re more driven than most people, you can do way more than anyone expects. And this principle applies to all of life, not just school.

    Before I met Kimo, I was just a kid who wanted to be a musician, doing it casually. Ever since our five lessons, I’ve had no speed limit. I owe every great thing that’s happened in my life to Kimo’s raised expectations. A random meeting and five music lessons showed me that I can do way more than the norm.

    Twenty years later, Berklee invited me to give the opening keynote speech to incoming first-year students. Go to sive.rs/berklee to see it. Kimo knows how much he means to me, and we’re friends to this day.


    Trust, but verify Nov 24, 2009
    Show notes

    In 2005, CD Baby’s main business was doing digital delivery of music to all the digital music retailers: iTunes, Amazon, Napster, Rhapsody, MSN, Yahoo!, and fifty more.

    This role was life-or-death important to the company because it was the main reason most of our new clients signed up. And there were lots of competitors in this field, so it was crucial that we did everything well.

    I built a system that did most of the work, but it still required someone to run the outputs, connect hard drives, and ship them to the retailers.

    I hired a guy who seemed good. I sat side by side with him for a week, showing him the system, running it myself, and explaining how it all works. He got it.

    The key point was that we had to get every album delivered to every company, every week, no matter what. He signed a contract with me that said, in huge letters, “EVERY ALBUM, TO EVERY COMPANY, EVERY WEEK, NO MATTER WHAT.” We talked a lot about how absolutely crucial that was — that it was really his only job requirement because it was that important. He agreed.

    His first few weeks, I watched closely to make sure everything was going well. It was. So I turned my attention back to other things.

    A few months later, I started hearing a lot of complaints from musicians, saying that their music hadn’t been sent to these companies.

    I logged into the system to see what was wrong. It turns out that we hadn’t sent any music to Napster, Amazon, or some other companies in months. Months!

    I called the guy in charge of it and asked what was going on. He said, “Yeah, I’ve been really backed up. It’s been really busy.”

    I said, “What’s rule number one? The sole mission of your job?“

    He said, “I know. Every album to every company every week no matter what. But I’ve been swamped.”

    I flew up to Portland and let him go. I’ve never fired someone so fast, but this was extreme. Our company’s reputation was permanently hurt. This job was so crucial to the company’s survival that I decided to do it myself for a while. Not just do it, but build a system that wouldn’t let mistakes go unnoticed again. So for the next six months, I lived at the warehouse in Portland, and my sole job was digital deliveries. It took fifteen-hour days to catch up on months of backlog, but eventually we had a smooth system again.

    I learned a hard lesson in hindsight:

    Trust, but verify.

    Remember it when delegating. You have to do both.


    Let pedestrians define the walkways Nov 23, 2009
    Show notes

    A new college campus was built, but one thing was still debated:

    Where in the grass should we put the paved walkways?

    Some people thought the walkways should go around the grass, to leave it green. Some thought the walkways should cut across diagonally.

    One professor had the winning idea: Don’t make any walkways this year. At the end of the year, look where the grass has worn away. That shows where the students are walking. Then just pave those paths.

    Brilliant.

    I think about this idea applied to life plans or business plans.

    As time goes on, we get smarter. We learn more about ourselves or our customers — what we or they really want. Therefore, we’re at our dumbest at the beginning, and at our smartest at the end.

    So when should you make decisions? When you have the most information, when you’re at your smartest: as late as possible.

    Like the college campus, you can do without walkways for a year.

    Resist the urge to figure it all out in advance. Realize that now, in the beginning, is when you know the least.

    When people expect you to make these decisions in advance, get used to saying, “We don’t know yet.” Then tell this simple story about walkways to show them how wise you are.


    If you think you haven’t found your passion… Oct 16, 2009
    Show notes

    I hear so many people say, “But I haven’t found my true passion!”

    It’s dangerous to think in terms of “passion” and “purpose” because they sound like such huge overwhelming things.

    If you think love needs to look like Romeo and Juliet, you’ll overlook a great relationship that grows slowly.

    If you think you haven’t found your passion yet, you’re probably expecting it to be overwhelming.

    Instead, just notice what excites you and what scares you on a small moment-to-moment level.

    If you find yourself diving into a book about programming and playing around with it for hours, go for it! Dive in deeper. Maybe that’s your new calling.

    If you keep thinking about doing something big, and you find that the idea both terrifies and intrigues you, it’s probably a worthy endeavor for you.

    You grow by doing what excites you and what scares you.


    Learning the lesson, not the example. Oct 14, 2009
    Show notes

    Learning how to read metaphorically was a major turning point in my life.

    When I was nineteen, attending Berklee College of Music, I had no interest in anything but music. Then a teacher made us read the book Positioning, which is a straight-up business book. I thought, “Business? Yuck! I’m at music school, not business school! I just want to be a musician, not some corporate suit!”

    Then he showed us how we could apply that book’s business lessons to our music. Even though the book makes no mention of music, he told us to translate the examples to whatever we’re doing.

    In other words: Don’t focus on the example itself. Use it as a metaphor, and apply the lesson to my situation. It sounds obvious now, but I’d never looked at it that way before.

    I realized I could advance my music career by reading books that make no mention of music. In fact, I’d have a competitive advantage by doing so, since most musicians won’t!

    Now here I am, twenty years later. I write little articles to share the lessons I’ve learned. But in the comments, I notice that people sometimes focus on my random example, instead of on the greater lesson.

    Nobody else knows your exact situation. So learn to see past the example, focus on the lesson, and apply it to your own life. Think in metaphors.


    How I knew I was done with my company Oct 13, 2009
    Show notes

    I thought I would never sell my company. When National Public Radio did a story about me in 2004, I said I’d stick it out until the end, and I meant it.

    In 2007 I did a ground-up rewrite of the website software from scratch. And man, it was beautiful code. The proudest achievement of my life at that time was that software. Wonderfully organized, extensible, and efficient: the culmination of everything I’d learned about programming in ten years.

    After a successful relaunch and Christmas rush, I was looking at my plan for 2008 and beyond. All my plans needed a huge effort for little reward, but were required for future growth. I had broken it into about 20 projects, each taking 2 to 12 weeks.

    But I wasn’t excited about any of them.

    I’d taken it far beyond my goals, and realized I had no big vision for it being much else.

    The next week, I got calls from three companies, each asking if I’d be interested in selling. I said no, as usual, since I’d been giving the same answer for ten years.

    But just to be open-minded, that weekend I opened my diary and started answering the question, “What if I sold?”

    I had done this a few times in previous years, but the answer had always been, “No way! There’s so much more I want to do! This is my baby. There’s no way I could let go.”

    This time it was different. I thought how nice it’d be to not have 85 employees and all that responsibility. I wrote about how nice it’d be to get outside a bit and feel free from all that. I got excited about all the cool new projects I could do instead.

    I realized the bigger learning and growing challenge for me was letting go, not staying on.

    Surprised by this, I asked Seth Godin’s advice. All he said was, “If you care, sell.”

    I think his point was that my lack of enthusiastic vision was doing a disservice to my clients. It’d be better for everyone if I put the company in more motivated hands that could help them all grow.

    I called a friend and asked him to grill me upside down about this big decision. “What other ways can you achieve the freedom you want, without selling?” After an hour of questions like this, we both came to the conclusion that I was really done.

    As with any breakup, graduation, or move, you emotionally disconnect, and it all feels as if it were in the distant past.

    I felt like I was already on the highway with a little box of stuff, moving cross-country, with my old home long gone, never to be seen again.

    By the end of that day, I was no longer derek@cdbaby.com.

    Unfortunately, like a divorce, the paperwork took another seven months. I let two companies bid, and ended up choosing the one with the lower bid, but that I felt understood my clients better.

    But it was never about the money. The decision was done in that one introspective day of writing in my diary and talking with friends. I was completely unconflicted, and knew it was the right decision.

    I went to bed that night (January 18, 2008) and slept longer than I had in months. Then I woke up full of detailed ideas for my next company, but that’s a different story.

    The reason I’m telling all this is because I’ve been asked the question a few times by other entrepreneurs, “How do you know when it’s time to sell?”.

    My answer is, “You’ll know”, but I hope this detailed story helps illustrate that feeling.


    You should feel pain when unclear Oct 12, 2009
    Show notes

    Email blasts are the best training for being clear.

    At CD Baby, I had about 2 million customers.

    When writing an email to everyone, if I wasn’t perfectly clear, I’d get 20,000 confused replies, which would take my staff all week to reply to, costing me at least $5000 plus lost morale.

    Even if I was very clear but took more than a few sentences to explain something, I’d get thousands of replies from people who never read past the first few sentences.

    Writing that email to customers — carefully eliminating every unnecessary word, and reshaping every sentence to make sure it could not be misunderstood — would take me all day.

    One unclear sentence? Immediate $5000 penalty. Ouch.

    Unfortunately, people writing websites don’t get this kind of feedback. Instead, if they’re not clear, they just get silence. Lots of hits but no action.

    I see new websites trying to look impressive, filled with hundreds of puffy unnecessary sentences.

    I feel bad that the people behind those sites haven’t felt the pain of trying to email that text to thousands of people, to directly see how misunderstood or ignored it is.


    How do you grade yourself? Oct 09, 2009
    Show notes

    We all grade ourselves by different measures:

    For some people, it’s as simple as how much money they make. When their net worth is going up, they know they’re doing well.

    For others, it’s how much money they give.

    For some people, it’s how many people’s lives they can influence for the better.

    For others, it’s how deeply they can influence just a few people’s lives.

    For me, it’s how many useful things I create, whether songs, companies, articles, websites, or anything else. If I create something that’s not useful to others, it doesn’t count. But I’m also not interested in doing something useful unless it needs my creative input.

    How do you grade yourself?

    It’s important to know in advance, to make sure you’re staying focused on what’s honestly important to you, instead of doing what others think you should.


    Not happy with existing venues? Make a new one Oct 07, 2009
    Show notes

    Gary Jules is a singer/songwriter from California. When he lived in Los Angeles he wished there was a venue more friendly to musicians. A place where people would come to listen, not talk over the music. A place to play, not showcase for labels.

    Instead of complaining, he decided to do something about it.

    He noticed a little coffee shop in a perfect location on Cahuenga Boulevard, but they had no music.

    He asked if he could play there on Tuesday nights, and bring his own crowd and sound system. They let him.

    Soon he was inviting his favorite artists as opening acts, and hosting a weekly songwriter’s circle, too.

    It was going well, so he left his PA system there full-time, and started booking great artists every night.

    There was one big rule: no talking during playing. Audiences were warned not to talk, and performers would even stop the show if someone did. (Performers would say, “You can go anywhere else in LA to talk over the music. Not here.”)

    Within a couple months, the coffee shop didn’t even open during the day anymore. It is now one of the best music venues in Hollywood, The Hotel Café, and world-famous artists play there every night.

    To be clear: Gary did this in 2002. By the end of 2003, he had a #1 UK hit with the song “Mad World”. The Hotel Café owners, Marko and Max, deserve all credit for the growth after that.

    Anyway, the real point is not Gary or Hotel Café, but this:

    If you’re not happy with the way things are, don’t just complain. Go make things how they should be.


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