Another trick is to encourage people to play. “Some of the
best ideas come out of joking around, which only comes when you (or the boss)
give yourself permission to do it,” Pete [Docter] says. “It can feel like a
waste of time to watch YouTube videos or to tell stories of what happened last
weekend, but it can actually be very productive in the long run. I’ve heard
some people describe creativity as ‘unexpected connections between unrelated
concepts or ideas.’ If that’s at all true, you have to be in a certain mindset
to make those connections. So when I sense we’re getting nowhere, I just shut
things down. We all go off to something else, Later, once the mood has shifted,
I’ll attack the problem again.”
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Saturday, January 30, 2016
iterative trial and error
While the process was difficult and time consuming, Pete and his crew never believed that a failed approach meant that they had failed. Instead, they saw that each idea led them a bit closer to finding the better option. And that allowed them to come to work each day engaged and excited, even while in the midst of confusion. This is key: When experimentation is seen as necessary and productive, not as a frustrating waste of time, people will enjoy their work – even when it is confounding them.
The principle I’m describing here – iterative trial and error – has long-recognized value in science. When scientists have a question, they construct hypotheses, test them, analyze them, and draw conclusions – and then they do it all over again. The reasoning behind this is simple: Experiments are fact-finding missions that, over time, inch scientists toward greater understanding. That means any outcome is a good outcome, because it yields new information. If your experiment proved your initial theory wrong, better to know it sooner rather than later. Armed with new facts, you can then reframe whatever question you’re asking....
There is an alternative approach to being wrong as fast as you can. It is the notion that if you carefully think everything through, if you are meticulous and plan well and consider all possible outcomes, you are more likely to create a lasting product. But I should caution that if you seek to plot out all your moves before you make them – if you put your faith in slow, deliberative planning in the hopes it will spare you failure down the line – well, you’re deluding yourself. For one thing, it’s easier to plan derivative work – things that copy or repeat something already out there. So if your primary goal is to have a fully worked out, set-in-stone plan, you are only upping your chances of being unoriginal. Moreover, you cannot plan your way out of problems. While planning is very important, and we do a lot of it, there is only so much you can control in a creative environment. In general, I have found that people who pour their energy into thinking about an approach and insisting that it is too early to act are wrong just as often as people who dive in and work quickly. The overplanners just take longer to be wrong (and, when things inevitably go awry, are more crushed by the feeling that they have failed). There’s a corollary to this, as well: The more time you spend mapping out an approach, the more likely you are to get attached to it. The nonworking idea gets worn into your brain, like a rut in the mud, It can be difficult to get free of it and head in a different direction. Which, more often than not, is exactly what you must do.
Friday, January 29, 2016
scapegoating
There’s a quick way to determine if your company has
embraced the negative definition of failure. Ask yourself what happens when an
error is discovered. Do people shut down and turn inward, instead of coming
together to untangle the causes of problems that might be avoided going
forward? Is the question being asked: Whose fault was this? If so, your culture
is one that vilifies failure. Failure is difficult enough without it being
compounded by the search for a scapegoat.
Thursday, January 28, 2016
the politics of failure
Rejecting failure and avoiding mistakes seems like
high-minded goals, but they are fundamentally misguided. Take something like
the Golden Fleece awards which were established in 1975 to call attention to
government-funded projects that were particularly egregious wastes of money.
(Among the winners were things like an $84,000 study on love commissioned by
the National Science Foundation, and a $3,000 Department of Defense study that
examined whether people in the military should carry umbrellas.) While such
scrutiny may have seemed like a good idea at the time, it had a chilling effect
on research. No one wanted to “win” a Golden Fleece Award because, under the
guise of avoiding waste, its organizers had inadvertently made it dangerous and
embarrassing for everyone to make mistakes.
The truth is, if you fund thousands of research projects
every year, some will have obvious, measurable, positive impacts, and others
will go nowhere. We aren’t very good at predicting the future – that’s a given –
and yet the Golden Fleece Awards tacitly implied that researches should know
before they do their research whether or not the results of that research would
have value. Failure was being used as a weapon, rather than as an agent of
learning. And that had fallout: The fact that failing could earn you a very
public flogging distorted the way researchers chose projects. The politics of
failure, then, impeded our progress.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
think about failure differently
For most of us failure comes with baggage – a lot of baggage
– that I believe is traced directly back to our days in school. From a very
early age, the message is drilled into our heads: Failure is bad; failure means
you didn’t study or prepare; failure means you slacked off or – worse! – aren’t
smart enough to begin with. Thus, failure is something to be ashamed of. This
perception lives on long into adulthood, even in people who have learned to
parrot the oft-repeated arguments about the upside of failure. How many
articles have you read on that topic alone? And yet, even as they nod their heads
in agreement, many readers of those articles still have the emotional reaction
that they had as children. They just can’t help it: That early experience of
shame is too deep-seated to erase. All the time in my work, I see people resist
and reject failure and try mightily to avoid it, because regardless of what we
say, mistakes feel embarrassing. There is a visceral reaction to failure: It
hurts.
We need to think about failure differently. I’m not the
first to say that failure, when approached properly, can be an opportunity for
growth. But the way most people interpret this assertion is that mistakes are a
necessary evil. Mistakes aren’t a necessary evil. They aren’t evil at all. They
are an inevitable consequence of doing something new (and, as such, should be
seen as valuable; without them, we’d have no originality). And yet, even as I
say that embracing failure is an important part of learning, I also acknowledge
that acknowledging this truth is not enough. That’s because failure is painful
and our feelings about this pain tend to screw up our understanding of its worth.
To disentangle the good and the bad parts of failure, we have to recognize both
the reality of the pain and the benefit of the resulting growth.
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