Our contributing editor Layla Parast writes in praise of “glorious, unapologetic” email deletion:

Do you ever spend an entire morning, or even an entire day, just dealing with email? I hate that feeling. If you’ve read any of my previous columns, it may not surprise you that I’m a fan of Cal Newport’s book, A World Without Email, where he convincingly argues that email is a primary culprit in the erosion of intellectual work. After reading it, I couldn’t help but wonder: How much better could my own work be—more thoughtful, more creative, more satisfying—if I weren’t constantly managing my inbox?

Over the past few years, I’ve tried to answer that question in practice. In doing so, I’ve learned a new skill. It wasn’t easy. It went against my instincts. But it’s been liberating. My husband (also a professor) first suggested it, and I eventually realized: everyone else was already doing it.

The skill? Deleting emails. Glorious, unapologetic deletion.

If the email isn’t addressed to me directly—delete.

If a student asks a question clearly answered in the syllabus—delete.

If the email asks about research opportunities and the font changes midway through the message—delete.

If the email is from someone in another department asking me to work on an NIH grant proposal with them, and by the way, the grant is due tomorrow, and all they need is a power calculation—delete.

If the email annoys me even a little—delete.*

(Side note: I do not delete emails requesting that I review a paper. I either accept or decline. As an associate editor myself, please don’t delete those emails.)

Yes, this has backfired. I once deleted an invitation from the interim president’s office for a small faculty gathering at the University of Texas Tower (trust me, this was an important one). They followed up with my department chair, who emailed me, and I was genuinely embarrassed. Another time, a new student introduced himself in person and mentioned he had emailed me over the summer to ask about my research—and never heard back. Oops. I admitted that I must have deleted it and I apologized. But I also said that if I answered every email like his, there would be no research to discuss.

I wasn’t always like this. I prided myself on responsiveness. I was that person who would answer your email, promptly and thoroughly. But here’s the thing: there are no prizes for prompt email replies in academia. The only “reward” is often more email—and more work that may not align with the work you actually want to do.

Sure, I still respond when I truly need to. If I reply and say I’ll take care of something, I will. But there is a non-negligible probability that I won’t respond at all. And I cannot tell you how good that feels. Is it sad that deleting emails brings me joy? Maybe. But it’s better than feeling like a hamster on an ever-spinning wheel of inbox triage.

Another comforting truth: if it’s really important, they’ll probably email you again.

I’ve experimented with other email management philosophies. There was my Inbox Zero phase—each day ending with a clean inbox, achieved through a mix of archiving, to-do lists, and magical thinking. I now recognize when other people are Inbox Zero devotees: they write things like, “I’ll put this on my list. Please email me again in a week if I haven’t responded,” which is essentially them outsourcing follow-up to you. I now delete such emails.

Then there was the Twice-a-Day Email Check phase: one session at 8 am, one at 4 pm, no peeking in between. That… didn’t work for me.

These days, I also try to be more thoughtful in my own emails. Do I really need to send this, or can I stop by someone’s office? Can I combine it with something I need to say tomorrow? Can I write it better to avoid unnecessary follow-up?

Take, for example, two options for proposing a meeting:

Option A: “Do you want to meet to talk about that paper idea sometime next week?”

Option B: “It would be great to meet about our paper idea. Are you available next Tuesday at 2 pm CT in my office? If not, could you send a few other times next week that work for you?”

Option B, at worst, leads to two emails. Option A? Guaranteed back-and-forth. Now, if your response to Option B includes something like: “I can do 2 pm for ten minutes, then Zoom from my car at 5:30 pm, unless a meeting ends early Wednesday…” I might delete that email. Unless we’re already good friends, we’re probably not going to be collaborators.

Ultimately, everyone finds their own email workflow. But if I may offer one plea: don’t leave your email open all day. And please turn off the sound notifications.

If you haven’t tried it, I recommend experimenting with email deletion. It’s not just a tool. It’s a gift. It won’t solve everything, but it just might bring a little more clarity, calm, and joy to your day.

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* Of course, if you have a job outside of academia, this practice may get you fired. In that case, take this column as a playful opportunity to roll your eyes at academics.