In Praise of Slow

by Carl Honore

  For many companies, the long-term benefits of work-life policies, such as higher productivity and staff retention, can be overshadowed by the pressure to keep costs down in the short term. Benefit schemes often make it cheaper to overwork the few rather than hire more staff. Competition also persuades many bosses to put work before life. One British manager puts it bluntly: “We’re in a cut-throat business, and if our rivals are getting seventy hours per week out of their staff, then we have to get at least that to stay in the game.” Legislation may be the only way to stop the arms race in work hours.

  Yet working less is just part of the Slow blueprint. People also want to decide when they work. They want control over their own time—and businesses who grant it to them are reaping the benefits. In our time-is-money culture, giving workers dominion over the clock goes against the grain. Ever since the Industrial Revolution, the norm has been to pay people for the hours they spend on the job rather than for what they produce. But rigid timetables are out of step with the information economy, where the boundary between work and play is much more blurred than it was in the nineteenth century. Many modern jobs depend on the kind of creative thinking that seldom occurs at a desk and cannot be squeezed into fixed schedules. Letting people choose their own hours, or judging them on what they achieve rather than on how long they spend achieving it, can deliver the flexibility that many of us crave.

  Studies show that people who feel in control of their time are more relaxed, creative and productive. In 2000, a British energy company hired management consultants to streamline the shift system at its call centre. Almost overnight, productivity nose-dived, customer complaints shot up and staff began leaving. By denying employees a say in when they worked, the new regime had ruined morale. Realizing its mistake, the company promptly gave staff more control over their shifts, and soon the call centre was more productive than ever. Many of the workers said that having “time autonomy” at work helped them feel less hurried and stressed both on and away from the job. Domaratzki bears witness to that at RBC: “When you have control over your own time, you feel more calm in everything you do.”

  I know this to be true from my own experience. In 1998, after years of freelancing, I joined the staff of a Canadian newspaper as the London correspondent. In an instant, I lost control of my time. Because I had no set working hours, I was, in theory, available 24/7. Even when my editors did not call, there was always the chance that they might. The difference in time zones meant that assignments often landed on my desk in the afternoon, leaving me just a few hours before it was time to help put my son to bed. This meant a mad dash to finish, or reading Dr. Seuss with work hanging over me. It was miserable. At the time, I found other reasons to explain why a job I had loved so much had become such a millstone. My editor was small-minded. The paper covered stories in the wrong way. The hours were too long. When I began investigating the Slow movement, however, it became clear to me that the underlying problem was that I had lost the power to decide when to work. So why did I stick with it for nearly three years? My reasons were the same as those that prevent many of us from leaving jobs that make us unhappy: the fear of losing a good salary, of damaging my career, of disappointing others. Eventually, the decision to leave was made for me. When the paper announced mass layoffs, I was on the list—and over the moon.

  Things are so much better now. I still work the same number of hours, sometimes even more, but my relationship with time is healthier. Now that I control my own schedule, I move through the working day feeling less hurried and resentful. And away from my desk, whether reading bedtime stories or preparing the evening meal, I am less liable to seek a shortcut. Sure, my earnings are down, but that is a small price to pay for enjoying my work—and my life—again. My only regret is that I did not go back to freelancing sooner.

  Of course, giving people control over their own time in the workplace will require a seismic shift in thinking. But where practical, it can, and should, be done. If deployed in the right spirit, information technology can help us do it. Instead of using Blackberrys, laptops and cellphones to extend the workday, we can use them to rearrange it. Many companies are already ceding more time autonomy to their staff. In the UK, for example, British Telecom, Bayer and Lloyds TSB now allow employees to customize their own schedules: to work from home, say, or to come in and leave the office at more convenient hours. Though it naturally lends itself more to white-collar work, time autonomy is also making inroads in the blue-collar world. Some Swiss watch factories have rearranged production to allow workers on a single shift to vary their start and finish times by up to three hours. In Gloucestershire, a nylon factory lets staff set their own hours as long as at least two workers are on duty at all times.

  The benefits of working less, and working when it’s convenient, are clear enough, but now let’s consider why it sometimes makes sense to work more slowly. In the just-in-time, modern workplace, speed seems to be all-important. Email and cellphones demand an instant response, and a deadline lurks round every corner. A 2001 survey conducted by the European Foundation for the Improvement of Living and Working Conditions found that EU workers were under much greater time pressure than a decade ago. A third now spend all or almost all of their time rushing to meet deadlines. Of course, speed has a role in the workplace. A deadline can focus the mind and spur us on to perform remarkable feats. The trouble is that many of us are permanently stuck in deadline mode, leaving little time to ease off and recharge. The things that need slowness—strategic planning, creative thought, building relationships—get lost in the mad dash to keep up, or even just to look busy.

  Erwin Heller, a member of the Society for the Deceleration of Time, enjoys the benefits of working more slowly at his law firm in Munich. Like many attorneys, he used to rush through get-to-know meetings with clients—ten minutes to suss out the brief and then straight down to tackling the case. After a while, though, he noticed that he was always placing follow-up calls to clients, and would sometimes set off in the wrong direction and have to backtrack. “Most people come to lawyers with goals that they tell you about, like money, and goals that they don’t, like being acknowledged or getting justice or revenge,” he says. “It takes time to get through to the hidden wishes that motivate clients, but you have to know these to do the best job for them.” These days, his initial meetings last up to two hours, during which he develops a thorough grasp of the client’s personality, circumstances, values, aims and fears. As a result, Heller, a lively fifty-six-year-old with a goatee and a mischievous grin, works more efficiently, and his business is booming. “Clients are always telling me that with other lawyers you get five minutes to explain what you need, you hand over the papers and you’re out the door,” he says. “Though it may seem very slow and old-fashioned, listening is the best policy. The worst thing is to rush into action.”

  Many companies are now trying to strike a balance between fast and slow at work. Often this means recognizing the limits of technology. Email, for all its speed, cannot capture irony, nuance or body language, which leads to misunderstandings and mistakes. Slower methods of communication—walking across the office and actually talking to someone face to face, for instance—can save time and money, and build esprit de corps, in the long run. That is one reason that companies have started urging staff to think hard before they hit the send button. In 2001, Nestlé Rowntree became the first of many UK firms to introduce email-free Fridays. A year later, British Airways ran a series of TV commercials with a “slower is better” theme. In one, a group of businessmen think they have won an order from a US firm by faxing across a proposal. Their rivals end up stealing the deal by taking the time to fly over and make the pitch face to face.

  Companies are also moving to make work less of a 24/7 treadmill. Ernst & Young, the accountancy firm, recently told its US employees that it was okay not to check email and voice mail over the weekend. In a similar vein, stressed-out executives are taking the heretical step of turning off their cellphones
outside the office. Jill Hancock, a go-getting investment banker in London, used to take her chic, chrome-plated Nokia everywhere, and even answered calls on vacation or in the middle of a romantic dinner. She paid the price, though, in depression and chronic fatigue. When a psychologist diagnosed “mobile phone addiction” and urged her to switch off from time to time, Hancock was appalled. But eventually she gave it a try, first silencing the Nokia during her lunch break, and later on evenings and weekends when an urgent call was unlikely. Within two months, she was off the anti-depressants, her skin had cleared up and she was getting more work done in less time. At the bank, her colleagues accept that Hancock is no longer reachable around the clock. A few have even followed her example. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but the fact that I was always available, always on, was grinding me down,” she says. “We all need time to ourselves.” Decelerating at work also prompted Hancock to make more room for Slow pursuits in the rest of her life. She has taken up yoga and now cooks a real supper, instead of a microwaved meal, at least two evenings a week.

  To avoid burnout, and to promote creative thinking, business gurus, therapists and psychologists increasingly prescribe doses of slowness for the workplace. In his bestselling 2002 book, How to Succeed in Business Without Working So Damn Hard, Robert Kriegel suggested taking regular fifteen- to twenty-minute timeouts during the day. Dr. Donald Hensrud, director of the Mayo Clinic Executive Health program, advises, “Try shutting your office door and closing your eyes for fifteen minutes. Lean back and breathe deeply.”

  Even in high-speed, high-pressure industries, companies are taking steps to help their staff slow down. Some grant sabbaticals in the hope that an extended period away from the office will refresh employees and stir their creative juices. Others offer on-the-job yoga, aromatherapy and massage, or encourage workers to eat lunch away from their desks. Some firms have installed chill-out rooms. At the Tokyo office of Oracle, the software giant, staff have access to a soundproofed meditation room with a wooden floor bordered by smooth pebbles and Oriental objets d’art. The room’s lighting is soft, and a hint of incense hangs in the air. At the flick of a switch, the soothing sounds of a babbling brook tinkle from the stereo system.

  Takeshi Sato is a big fan of the eighth-floor sanctuary. As manager of the CEO’s office, he works a twelve-hour day, juggling emails, meetings, phone calls and budget reports. When the pace becomes too frenetic, he leaves his desk to spend ten minutes in the meditation room. “At times in the day, I suddenly feel like I need to be slow, to relax, to let my mind become still and quiet,” he tells me. “Some people might think of that as ten minutes of lost time, but I see it as ten minutes well invested. It is very important for performance to be able to switch on and off, between fast and slow. After I have been in the meditation room, my mind is sharper and calmer, which helps me make good decisions.”

  Other people are taking deceleration to its ultimate conclusion and actually catching forty winks during the working day. Though sleeping on the job is the ultimate taboo, research has shown that a short “power nap”—around twenty minutes is ideal—can boost energy and productivity. A recent study by NASA concluded that twenty-four minutes of shut-eye did wonders for a pilot’s alertness and performance. Many of the most vigorous and successful figures in history were inveterate nappers: John F. Kennedy, Thomas Edison, Napoleon Bonaparte, John D. Rockefeller, Johannes Brahms. Winston Churchill delivered the most eloquent defence of the afternoon snooze: “Don’t think you will be doing less work because you sleep during the day. That’s a foolish notion helped by people who have no imagination. You will be able to accomplish more. You get two days in one—well, at least one and a half.”

  Napping can be especially helpful nowadays, when so many of us are not sleeping enough at night. Backed by pro-sleep groups, from the World Napping Organization to the Portuguese Association of Friends of the Siesta, snoozing in the middle of the workday is enjoying a renaissance. At its six factories in the United States, Yarde Metals encourages staff to doze during breaks. The company has built special “nap rooms” and once a year holds a collective napping session complete with buffet lunch and silly costumes. Vechta, a small city in northern Germany, urges its civil servants to take a post-prandial snooze in their office chairs or at home. From the American factory floor to the German town hall, the results are the same: happier staff, better morale, higher productivity. More on-the-job napping may be in the pipeline. In 2001, Sedus, a leading European manufacturer of office furniture, unveiled a new chair that opens up to a horizontal position to allow people to catch a few zee’s at their desks.

  In Spain, meanwhile, the siesta is coming back with a modern twist. Since most Spaniards no longer have time to go home at lunch for a big meal and a nap, Masajes a 1000 (Massages for 1000), a nationwide network of “siesta salons,” now offers everyone from bankers to bartenders the chance to grab twenty minutes of sleep for four euros.

  At the branch in Barcelona’s Mallorca Street, every detail is designed to relax. The walls are painted a soothing shade of peach, and the rooms are warm and softly lit. New Age music whispers from hidden speakers. Fully clothed and kneeling facedown in ergonomically designed chairs, the customers enjoy head, neck and back massages. Once they drift off to sleep, the masseur drapes a thick woollen blanket over them and moves on. As I settle into my chair, at least three people in the room are snoring gently. A couple of minutes later, I join them.

  Afterwards, on the sidewalk outside, I fall into conversation with a young salesman called Luis, who is straightening his tie after a fifteen-minute snooze. He looks as refreshed as I feel. “This is so much better than going to the gym,” he says, snapping his briefcase shut. “I feel totally energized. I feel ready for anything.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  LEISURE: THE IMPORTANCE OF

  BEING AT REST

  To be able to fill leisure intelligently is the

  last product of civilization.

  —BERTRAND RUSSELL

  IN A WORLD OBSESSED WITH WORK, leisure is a serious matter. The United Nations declared it a basic human right in 1948. Half a century later, we are inundated with books, websites, magazines, TV shows and newspaper supplements dedicated to hobbies and having fun. Leisure Studies is even an academic discipline.

  How to make the best use of free time is not a new concern. Two thousand years ago, Aristotle declared that one of the central challenges facing man was how to fill his leisure. Historically, the elites, sometimes known as the “leisure classes,” had more time than anyone else to ponder that question. Instead of toiling to make ends meet, they indulged in games, socializing and sport. In the modern era, however, leisure is more democratic.

  During the early part of the Industrial Revolution, the masses worked too hard, or were too poor, to make the most of what free time they had. But as incomes rose, and working hours fell, a leisure culture began to emerge. Like work, leisure became formalized. Many of the things with which we fill our spare time today came into being in the nineteenth century. Football, rugby, hockey and baseball turned into spectator sports. Cities built parks for the public to stroll and picnic in. The middle classes joined tennis and golf clubs and flocked to the new museums, theatres and music halls. Better printing presses, coupled with rising literacy, fuelled an explosion in reading.

  Even as leisure spread, people debated its purpose. Many Victorians saw it chiefly as an escape from work, or a means to working better. But others went further, suggesting that what we do with our free time gives texture, shape and meaning to our lives. “It is in his pleasure that a man really lives,” said Agnes Repplier, an American essayist. “It is from his leisure that he constructs the true fabric of self.” Plato believed that the highest form of leisure was to be still and receptive to the world, a view echoed by modern intellectuals. Franz Kafka put it this way: “You don’t need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Don’t even listen, simply wait. Don’t even wait, be quit
e still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked. It has no choice. It will roll in ecstasy at your feet.”

  With so many predicting the “end of work” in the twentieth century, pundits wondered how people would cope with so much free time. Some feared we would become lazy, corrupt and immoral. John Maynard Keynes, the economist, warned that the masses would fritter their lives away listening to the radio. Others were more sanguine. In 1926, William Green, president of the American Federation of Labor, promised that shorter working hours would free men and women to pursue a “higher development of (their) spiritual and intellectual powers.” Bertrand Russell, the British philosopher, predicted that many would use the extra free time for self-improvement; they would read and study, or take up gentle, reflective hobbies such as fishing, gardening and painting. In his 1935 essay, In Praise of Idleness, Russell wrote that a four-hour workday would make us “more kindly and less persecuting and less inclined to view others with suspicion.” With so much leisure, life would be sweet, slow and civilized.

  Seven decades later, though, the leisure revolution remains the stuff of fantasy. Work still rules our lives, and when we do have free time, we seldom use it to moon around in a Platonic reverie of stillness and receptivity. Instead, like earnest disciples of Frederick Taylor, we rush to fill up every spare moment with activity. An empty slot in the diary is more often a source of panic than pleasure.