Chop Wood, Carry Water: Scott Berkun on Finding Amazement in Ordinary Life

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At some point in our lives, and maybe throughout our lives, we might believe that enough success, or even enough spiritual seeking, will somehow insulate us from the ordinary work of being human. Author Scott Berkun confronts this illusion in his latest book, How to Live: Rules for People Who Don’t Like Rules. A philosophy and computer science student turned tech veteran who has spent two decades writing about creativity and the human condition, Berkun has written twenty-six sharp, honest principles in his book for navigating the messiness of being alive.

In this excerpt, he unpacks the classic Zen koan, “Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.” Reading it, I was struck by his stories of chasing achievements across the globe, only to realize that arriving at a peak never excused him from washing the dishes, folding the laundry, or tending to grief. I like how he reframes the situation: that true presence isn’t an escape from the daily grind, but the ability and even willingness to find meaning and amazement right in the middle of it.

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When I was young, I spent years chasing life’s secrets. I wanted to answer the big questions, from the meaning of life to why the universe exists. I was curious about everything, including why more people weren’t curious about the same things. It’s no surprise I majored in philosophy in college. For my first-year Eastern philosophy class, I did tai chi, meditated regularly, and started a journal (that I’ve kept for 30 years). Since then, I’ve traveled to more than 40 countries, read hundreds of books, and have conversed with wise people around the world about how to live. To my surprise, most of these experiences only raised more questions. I wondered: was I reading the wrong books? Visiting the wrong places? Talking to the wrong people? I had faith there was an answer somewhere and I just had to find it. Eventually I did, but it wasn’t until years after I found it that I realized it was something I read in that first-year class. Here it is:

Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.

This is probably disappointing to you, and it was disappointing to me at first too. This quote is what’s called a koan, or a riddle. It feels like a paradox, or a brain teaser, which you probably want to avoid. Your brain thinks: “Come on, can’t you just tell me the answer?” But the idea is that if you are told, you will not believe it. You have to struggle, for years if needed, and do the work yourself to understand what it means to you. And when you do, your mind will open. The koan transforms you and you wake up. The world never looks the same again, but only because you did the work yourself.

But since you paid good money for this book, I will give you the secret this one time. “Chop wood, carry water” means if you get everything you’ve ever wanted from life, winning the lottery, getting an Academy Award, even discovering the secrets of the universe, you would still have to find food to eat. You’d still have to find a safe place to sleep. You’d still have to deal with annoying coworkers, neighbors, or family members. You’d still have some days of sadness, depression, and disappointment, and you’ll eventually deal with the loss of loved ones and your own death. In other words, life goes on no matter how enlightened you are. There is no escape from being a person in a body with all that it entails. You must do the work on how you relate to yourself; only then can you sort out how to relate to the world.

Part of why I can give you this secret is that I know you won’t believe it. I didn’t either. When I first came across it, I found it interesting, but I still faithfully chased achievements for years. I had debts to pay, I wanted independence, and I had something to prove to the world (but I’d realize later this was actually proving something to myself). We think that if we make enough money, or achieve enough things, we can escape the parts of life we don’t like. That’s what our movies and media tell us about successful people: they’ve made it, and we should be so lucky to make it too. But what is the “it” exactly? They never quite say.

After fame, wealth, and achievements there is a painful realization: you can get the thing you’ve been chasing and still be miserable. I’ve read countless biographies of famous artists, musicians, and entrepreneurs who were sad and unfulfilled. Their ambition came from trying to fill a hole inside that they didn’t know how to fill. The most famous and wealthy people are often the most insecure and unhappy. Their success is superficial. They need the constant attention of fame, or a giant house, or a fleet of yachts just to escape themselves, to feel OK. It’s terribly sad.

“Chop wood, carry water,” tells us they were looking in the wrong place to find fulfillment. If you are at peace with yourself, in any moment, what more could you need? Chop wood, carry water (CWCW) doesn’t mean to be lazy or not to have goals. It means that you can love being alive while doing your everyday work. It tells us new achievements and possessions are temporary distractions. Our brains like problems to solve. Solving all your problems won’t make you happy in the way you think, since your survival brain will just find new ones. So stop fighting it. Instead of wishing every moment to be amazing, do the work to find the amazement or meaning in every moment.

You’ve certainly heard the platitude, “The journey is the destination,” and that’s one way to think of CWCW. I’d expand on this to say that both the journey and the destination are worthy. It doesn’t have to be one or the other, so why not enjoy both? I’ve been a high achiever for most of my life. I’ve written books, worked at prestigious places, and had my share of fame. I don’t regret chasing these things, and if you also want them, I wouldn’t argue with you. But now, looking back, I see more clearly that learning to enjoy every moment is the real work in cultivating a great life, not grinding toward rare moments to celebrate.

Enlightenment is funny. We’re so preoccupied with getting it that, when it arrives, we’re certain it’s not what we’re looking for. CWCW tells us that doing the dishes, walking the dog, or folding laundry are meaningful. Or helping a friend move. Or even watching bad movies and eating pizza with your favorite person. It’s simple things that we can choose to take pride in and make worthwhile, even if they are small, everyday activities. Why? It turns out most of life is ordinary, everyday activities. That’s the lesson. As Robert Pirsig wrote, in the misleadingly titled Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, “The truth knocks on the door, and you say, ‘Go away, I’m looking for the truth,’ and so it goes away.”

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