The Joy of Writing and Speaking

I love being a writer and speaker. When my wise friend Vinod Rangra read my book on Steve Jobs, Socrates in Silicon Valley, he told me that he drew from it an important lesson. He said something like: The problems that we confront and grapple with throughout our lives form us; the problems we choose to tackle along the way in part define us. Steve Jobs chose problems that were as big as his passions.

I remember thinking, "Wow." Vinod showed me something in the book I had not even been explicitly aware of. And he was right. That's a part of the joy of writing and speaking. I can put something out into the world to be pondered by wise people who may see a side of what I'm saying that I had never consciously recognized. It's almost like the quarterback who throws the ball downfield. A talented receiver has to catch it and often run with amazing moves of his own in order to get the touchdown that the quarterback alone could not have attained. And then Joe Montana, or whoever, celebrates it all, arms in air. And I can tell you that Joe isn't celebrating his nice pass, but what happened after the ball was out of his hands. I feel the same when the idea is out of my hands and some wise friend or reader or audience member takes it across the line to score a great insight or achievement as a result.

Of course, when you share thoughts with a smart friend, you can have the same sort of experience to enjoy. Wise partners help us understand the world better and more deeply. Write that note, share that thought, have that conversation, and you may end up celebrating a score you didn’t anticipate.

For the book, click here.

What I Learned at Yale

When I was a graduate student at Yale, I quickly came to realize that everyone around me was very busy pretending to know more than they actually knew. And once you realized how the pretense worked, you could see that they were investing a lot of energy in the deception. Intellectual posturing, or posing, in service to pretending, was one of the main activities on campus - at least, among my fellow graduate students at the time. No one would ever say, in class, "I'm not sure what you mean. Could you say more about that?" No brave soul would ask for a repetition or an elucidation or an explanation. Everyone made it seem as if he, or she, understood everything perfectly, on a first hearing, or even before. There was an enveloping fear of asking questions and thus revealing a weakness or gap in knowledge or understanding, which, of course, merely perpetuated every such weakness or gap there was.

And I came to realize, quickly, that one of the best things anyone concerned with excellence can do is to ask questions. It sometimes takes courage. It can be a heroic act of bravery in certain situations. But questions are breadcrumbs to truth and real understanding.

The most important thing I learned at Yale was to ask questions when everyone else was afraid to do so. And that's when I started to learn lots more.

So, ask. And ask again. Boldly, bravely ask, without a care as to what others think of you for asking, and thereby improve what you're able to think.

Today.

First Thoughts

First thoughts, initial ideas, can be great, or they can be dangerous. Often, we find ourselves in a situation where we're trying to make sense of something and figure out what to do next. The first thing that occurs to us can sometimes be right, as a deliverance of intuition or instinct, or as a gift of the unconscious mind. But there are other times when our first thoughts are due to fear, or habit, or some other extraneous factor that actually gets in the way of discovering the truth.

I was speaking yesterday at the downtown Hyatt Regency in Indianapolis, a great urban hotel. And right before I was to give my presentation inside the Regency Ballroom, I was wandering the nearby hallway and came across a sign. I took out my iPhone and snapped it, posting the photo to start this blog, above. Theory A.

And then I walked a few feet and saw the following, of course.

Every philosopher likes to initially have more than one theory available, when attempting to understand something new. The same thing holds true in business, and even in our personal lives. Theory A. Theory B. Sometimes, even more of a selection of possibilities helps. What's important is not to rush to judgment. Don't let your first thought necessarily dictate all subsequent rumination. Reconsider. Open up to the possibility of something new. We can always be learning. It may be that your second, or third idea is the best, and the one you need to run with. Test whatever comes to mind. Then act.

And even when you find that your first theory was right, your exploration of other possibilities will help you understand how others might think about the situation, and might even give you clues into how to implement your favored approach. What's important is to broaden your thinking and keep open to something new.

Try this if you can, in any new situation you might face. Whenever Theory A occurs to you, conjure a Theory B, to help you think better about it all. Then choose which is best.

Keep your mind open and flexible, always able to contemplate the new.

Today.

Or Tomorrow.

Are You Wise, or Otherwise?

Questioner: Are you a wise man?

Answerer: I'm only a few short steps down the path, and it's a very long road.

Questioner: You respond in the best way.

Answerer: And you.

Your Deepest Resource

The conscious mind is a high walled fortress, with only a few small gates, all under guard. Those guards are your prior beliefs, attitudes, interests, and fears. It's amazing how little of anything new these strong sentries will ever let through.

The unconscious mind, by contrast, is a vast garden surrounded by only a short and open fence. It absorbs energy and intelligence and deep truth from all around it.

The fortress is cut off and isolated. The garden is wonderfully connected. Hordes of small flying envoys tend its flowers and pollinate its plants. The radiance of something greater comes into it and elicits its growth. And it's always open to the rains that come down to nurture it and wash it clean.

You live in the fortress, but need what's in the garden. Without it, you'll never thrive. The good news is that there's a secret door to the garden. The bad news is that it's normally blocked by the clutter and debris of a noisy and busy life. The realization that you need to live with, every day, is that you can sweep aside the clutter. You can reduce the chatter of the conscious mind, and get beyond it, and open the secret door, not just in quiet meditation by a stream or in a dojo or in a closed room alone, but at your desk, in your car, or on the treadmill at the gym.

But there's a lot to let go, a lot to release. Guards will rush into the room and try to block the door, and they will tell you that it's for your own protection, but nothing could be farther from the truth. You need what's out there. And when you dismiss the guards, quiet the chatter, and remove the clutter, the door will open itself.

And then the light will shine in and you can find yourself suddenly, wonderfully, able to move into that wild garden of insight, and energy, and hope, and that distinctive form of love that alone connects us to the best we can be and do.

When I walk in the garden, I'm refreshed and inspired and emboldened to do something new. I grow. I see in new ways. I hear quiet whispers. And I connect up with so much that, for too long, I've let the clutter and the chatter and well-meaning guards keep from me.

How do you get into the garden? What happens when you're there?

I have a story about this that I'll tell soon.