The usual problem with “How do I stay awake?” is that people try to produce a state. They strain, concentrate, become solemn, monitor themselves—and pretty soon they’re sound asleep while working extremely hard at being awake.

I’d turn it around:

Don’t try to wake up. Act as if you’re already awake.

If you were awake right now, what would be different? Not tomorrow. Not after twenty years of work. Right now.

You’d know you’re sitting in a chair. You’d see what’s actually in front of you. You’d hear the room. You’d notice the body. You’d know other people are present. You’d notice thoughts occurring without automatically becoming those thoughts.

And here’s the trick we just discovered:

You cannot successfully imitate awareness without producing awareness.

“Pretend to notice your left hand.” Oops. You noticed your left hand.

“Pretend to hear the sounds in the room.” Gotcha again.

Staying awake

It’s less about maintaining one heroic three-hour state and more about returning.

Awake. Gone. Return. Gone again. Return.

The victory isn’t never falling asleep. The practical skill is shortening the interval between disappearing and coming back. You could even make a game of it. Every so often during the workshop, without warning, say:

“Where were you?”

Not “Are you awake?” That’s too easy; everybody immediately wakes up and says yes.

Where were you? requires them to look at what was happening just before the question.

And I’d offer several doors to perception:

• Body: Feel the physical organism from inside.
• Sight: Actually look at one thing.
• Sound: Hear the whole room for a moment.
• Other: Remember that the person you’re looking at is actually there.
• Choice: Before doing the next automatic thing, notice that you could do something else.
• Return: Notice the instant you realize you were gone.

For the next five minutes, intentionally and emphatically don’t try to awaken, and  stop trying to stay awake. Just behave exactly as you would if you had already succeeded.

Act awake.
Notice.
Disappear.
Notice that you disappeared.
Return.
Repeat.

And eventually the distinction between practicing being awake and being awake becomes awfully difficult to locate.

That last point, I think, is where this method could get very interesting.

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About Pizza:

How Many Pizza Places Does New York Need?

Walk three blocks in New York City and you begin to suspect that the principal industry of Manhattan is making pizza for people who have just walked past another pizza place.

There’s one on this corner.

Another across the street.

One halfway down the next block.

Two more around the corner.

And, astonishingly, they’re all still in business.

This raises an interesting economic question:

How many pizzas are these people eating?

In most towns, opening a pizza shop fifty yards from an existing pizza shop would seem mildly psychotic. In New York, apparently the reasoning is:

“There’s a pizza place next door. Excellent. This must be a good location for a pizza place.”

And it seems to work. There is no such thing as an empty pizza parlor.

Part of the answer is sheer population density. There are an enormous number of mouths passing any given storefront every day. But that doesn’t quite explain the feeling you get walking around Manhattan—that pizza isn’t merely food there. It’s part of the transportation system.

You don’t necessarily decide to go out for pizza.

You’re going somewhere else.

Then pizza happens.

You see the slices through the window. You smell them. You’re slightly hungry. You’ve got five minutes. Somebody is already standing at the counter.

Two minutes later you’re back on the sidewalk holding a folded slice.

The genius of the New York slice is that it requires almost no commitment. No reservation. No menu consultation. No waiter. No ceremony. Often no chair.

It is food at walking speed.

And that may explain why proximity isn’t necessarily a disadvantage. The pizza places aren’t merely competing with one another. Collectively, they create a pizza environment.

One shop has the better crust. Another has the dollar-ish bargain slice—or whatever inflation has done to that ancient institution. Another stays open late. Another has enormous slices. Another has the good Sicilian. Another happens to be twelve feet closer when hunger strikes.

And twelve feet can apparently be decisive. If you get hungry every twelve feet of walking, this could be just right for you.

It reminds me of something larger about cities.

We tend to imagine competition means that businesses should spread themselves out. But human beings don’t always work that way. Bookstores gather near bookstores. Jewelers gather near jewelers. Restaurants gather near restaurants.

And New York pizza gathers near New York pizza until eventually you have what appears to be a naturally occurring pizza deposit.

Perhaps that’s the real explanation. Nobody actually built Manhattan.

Millions of years ago, tremendous geological pressures forced molten mozzarella upward through cracks in the earth’s crust.

New Yorkers merely discovered it.

And put pepperoni on top.

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Hey, presto! Here’s the Bardo bus now!

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See You At The Top!!!

gorby