Non-attachment and Tenacity
This week I was interviewed, and it got me thinking about the puzzling coexistence of non-attachment and relentless effort. I don't know whether I managed to explain it well, so I am writing it now.
I can sleep even when the world is on fire. While 74% of adults say stress keeps them awake at least some nights, I have not missed a single night's sleep in the 11 years since founding my company.
Why? Sometimes people suspect apathy in me, but I don't think that's the reason. It's because I am not attached to things. Psychologists define non-attachment as the ability to engage fully with goals while remaining unentangled with any single outcome. Non-attachment is linked to greater resilience. Meta-analyses of mindfulness programs such as meditation—a practical path to non-attachment—report moderate improvements in sleep quality across clinical and non-clinical samples. To me, ultramarathon has been a practice of non-attachment. Japanese Zen Buddhists do a practice called Kaihogyo, where monks climb mountains every day despite all the pain, believing that they can achieve enlightenment from the pain.
Non-attachment doesn't mean that we don't work hard. It's working hard without clinging. Non-attachment leads to resilience, and resilience leads to tenacity and perseverance. That aligns with my own experience: during my cross-Honshu run, I covered the final 1,000 km on an Achilles tendon that burned with every step, yet finished because the task mattered more than my discomfort.
It's not only me. Thomas Edison was known to doze on workshop benches in the middle of make-or-break experiments. On the eve of D-Day, Eisenhower lay down in the back of his staff car and slept, having already accepted that success or failure was now beyond his control.
Non-attachment is not resignation. Buddhist scholarship emphasizes that letting go of fixation does not mean abandoning ambition; it simply redirects attention from the outcome to the process. My rule of thumb mirrors that teaching: control the inputs, honor the process, and accept the rest. When the result arrives—good or bad—I am already moving on to the next stride.
I tried to convey this to the interviewer, but explaining it is like teaching balance on a bicycle: the words help, yet mastery lives in the muscles. If even Buddha resorted to parables to teach his ideas, I will not pretend to do better; I can only point to the data above—and to the quiet confidence that comes from closing my eyes at night, trusting both the future and the pillow.