The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck

*Mark Manson*

There is a tombstone in Los Angeles that reads "Don't Try." It belongs to Charles Bukowski---poet, novelist, alcoholic, gambler, and by almost every conventional measure, a spectacular failure. He spent his twenties and thirties drinking heavily, working dead-end jobs at the post office and dog biscuit factories, and collecting rejection letters from publishers by the fistful. He was not handsome. He was not charming. He did not hustle or network or pour himself into a ten-year vision board. He just drank and wrote and sent his work out into the world, and the world mostly sent it back with a polite no. For decades, that was his life.

And then, at age fifty, something shifted. A small publisher took a chance on him. His first novel, *Post Office*, appeared. Then more books. Then more. By the time he died, Bukowski had published over sixty books of poetry and prose, had a cult following across the world, and had become one of the most recognizable voices in American literature. His dedication in *Post Office* read simply: "to nobody." His epitaph---chosen by him, etched into the stone at his own direction---was: "Don't try."

This is a strange beginning for a self-help book. Most books in the genre open with a story about someone who tried very hard, succeeded through sheer willpower, and now wants to teach you the eleven-step formula they used. Bukowski's story points in exactly the opposite direction. He did not succeed by trying harder. He succeeded because he stopped trying to be something he was not. He accepted that he was a drunk and a loser, and he wrote about it with devastating honesty, and that honesty turned out to be worth something. He did not pursue success. Success found him because he stopped pretending.