Don McMinn

When I was growing up…

• As a child, on Saturday mornings I often left the house in the morning, explored Five Mile Creek during the day, and returned at supper-time. 
• A bully at school intimidated me on the playground. I worked through that, unassisted by adults, and learned a lot. 
• In middle school I would take the city bus to the YMCA in downtown Dallas to take karate lessons, returning by bus after dark. I encountered all types of people, learned how to navigate the bus system, got lost a few times, but lived to write this post.  
• In high school three of my friends and I decided at the last minute to go to Mexico for Christmas. We drove 38 hours straight, through the interior of Mexico to Acapulco, then camped out on the beach for five days and drove back. Perhaps that’s why I love to travel and know how to navigate complicated trips. 

Were my parents uncaring and neglectful? No. They simply allowed me to experience things that strengthened and shaped me. 

We often over-protect and over-supervise our children, which is stunting their mental, emotional, and social development. 

I just read The Coddling of the American Mind by Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt. I highly recommend it. They present a compelling case that we are harming our children, college students, and fellow adults by constructing “too-safe” environments. Our coddling is counterproductive.

In June 2017, John Roberts, Chief Justice of the United States, gave the commencement address at his son’s graduation from middle school. (Note, not Yale or Harvard…middle school.) Here is an excerpt from his speech.

“From time to time in the years to come, I hope you will be treated unfairly, so that you will come to know the value of justice. I hope that you will suffer betrayal because that will teach you the importance of loyalty. Sorry to say, but I hope you will be lonely from time to time so that you don’t take friends for granted. I wish you bad luck, again, from time to time so that you will be conscious of the role of chance in life and understand that your success is not completely deserved and that the failure of others is not completely deserved either. And when you lose, as you will from time to time, I hope every now and then, your opponent will gloat over your failure. It is a way for you to understand the importance of sportsmanship. I hope you’ll be ignored so you know the importance of listening to others, and I hope you will have just enough pain to learn compassion. Whether I wish these things or not, they’re going to happen. And whether you benefit from them or not will depend upon your ability to see the message in your misfortunes.” 

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The “curse of knowledge” occurs when a person has such mature and advanced knowledge in a specific area that he cannot remember what it’s like to not have this knowledge. This makes it harder to identify with people who don’t have this knowledge base. It also inhibits our ability to explain things in a manner that is easily understandable to someone who is a novice.

Some examples will help.

• I learned to read music when I was 18 years old. Forty-eight years ago. Currently, when I direct an amateur choir I sometimes get frustrated at mistakes the singers make because I have forgotten what it’s like to not be able to read music. 
• When I turned 60 my personal physician told me to start taking a baby aspirin every day. I asked, “What is a baby aspirin?” He looked at me like I had just fallen off the back of a turnip truck. He knew what a baby aspirin is, but I didn’t.
• In graduate school I took a course in statistics. The professor was a well-known expert, but he was a bad teacher. He knew the material so well and had for so many years, he just couldn’t fathom what it was like to not know principles of statistics. I ended up dropping the course.

When you suffer from the curse of knowledge you assume that other people know what you know, which causes you to think that people understand you a lot better than they really do.

In an article published in the Harvard Business Review, December 2006, Chip and Dan Heath wrote: 

“In 1990, a Stanford University graduate student in psychology named Elizabeth Newton illustrated the curse of knowledge by studying a simple game in which she assigned people to one of two roles: ‘tapper’ or ‘listener.’ Each tapper was asked to pick a well-known song, such as ‘Happy Birthday,’ and tap out the rhythm on a table. The listener’s job was to guess the song.

“Over the course of Newton’s experiment, 120 songs were tapped out. Listeners guessed only three of the songs correctly: a success ratio of 2.5%. But before they guessed, Newton asked the tappers to predict the probability that listeners would guess correctly. They predicted 50%. The tappers got their message across one time in 40, but they thought they would get it across one time in two. Why?

“When a tapper taps, it is impossible for her to avoid hearing the tune playing along to her taps. Meanwhile, all the listener can hear is a kind of bizarre Morse code. Yet the tappers were flabbergasted by how hard the listeners had to work to pick up the tune.

“The problem is that once we know something—say, the melody of a song—we find it hard to imagine not knowing it. Our knowledge has ‘cursed’ us. We have difficulty sharing it with others, because we can’t readily re-create their state of mind.”

Applications

1. When you’re functioning in your area of expertise—particularly if you’re relating to people who are not expert in your field—don’t fall prey to the curse of knowledge. Try to communicate to them as if you had just learned the subject.
2. Periodically, enter into situations in which you’re the beginner, and remember what it’s like to be the neophyte.
3. Our understanding of the “curse of knowledge” syndrome should inform our approach to communication, reminding us of how very difficult it is to communicate well (“What I’m saying is clear in my mind; why aren’t you getting it?”). 

The first step to avoiding the curse is to recognize that it exists and how difficult it is to overcome. Psychologist Steven Pinker said, “Anyone who wants to lift the curse of knowledge must first appreciate what a devilish curse it is. Like a drunk who is too impaired to realize that he is too impaired to drive, we do not notice the curse because the curse prevents us from noticing it.”

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Lee Iacocca was an iconic leader in the American car manufacturing industry. When he was at Ford Motor company he introduced the Mustang (1964). Good decision. When he took over the failing Chrysler Motor company (1979), bold designs and decisions were needed. He introduced the minivan – a practical vehicle never seen before. Another bold and wise decision.

Here’s my favorite Iacocca story:

During the time that Chrysler was crawling back from the brink of bankruptcy, Iacocca felt that consumers would respond well to a convertible. He asked his head of engineering how long it would take to make a convertible for him to test-market; the engineer told Iacocca—three years.  Iacocca wanted it immediately so he told his engineers to go to the assembly line, pull a car off the line, take a saw, and cut the top off. That only took about four hours. That afternoon, Iacocca drove the topless sedan around town. It got so much attention and so many favorable comments that Iacocca was convinced that bringing back a convertible would be a huge boost to Chrysler profits. It was.

There are several lessons to learn from this story (for example, leaders make bold decisions) but the one I want to home in on is: leaders have a bias toward action.

We’ve all heard the adage—ready, aim, fire—which sounds like a logical sequence of events, but sometimes we get transfixed on the aim element. Some organizations (and individuals) get bogged down by over-analyzing and over-thinking details and options. Paralysis by analysis sets in; nothing gets done. 

Perhaps we should consider: ready, fire, aim.

Often, there’s value in acting–just do something. Then you can learn from your actions and make course corrections as problems arise. Sometimes it’s better to do something, even if it is wrong, than get trapped in passivity. It’s difficult to steer a stationary bike; start pedaling and then negotiate direction.

Critics of this approach would warn against the dangers of being impulsive, reckless, and careless. I understand.

As usual, the best path is probably somewhere in the middle: avoid both impulsiveness and inaction. But my suggestion is to have a bias toward action. 

Consider again, Iacocca’s insistence on having a convertible to test-drive—immediately. I can’t see any downside. Just cut off the top of a car so the concept can be tested–immediately.

Note to leaders: Through the years I’ve observed that good leaders share a common trait: they take initiative. They have an agenda. They like forward motion. They are bothered by lethargy. They envision a better future and are impatient about getting there. They have a bias toward action. 

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I recently read a Q&A on quora.com, a website where people ask questions and anyone can answer. Someone asked: “What can we learn about driving a car from professional drivers?”

An insightful answer was: “My wife gave me the two-day Porsche Driving School course for an anniversary present. It was a fun experience and I learned a lot of things. 

“One lesson that stuck with me was the idea of looking where you want to go (in the distance) rather than immediately in front of you. Most drivers focus on the space 10–30 feet in front of their car where the immediate action is, but then you’re not prepared for major changes. The instructors told us to focus about 100–300 feet or more in front of where you are and drive to that moving destination. While looking into the distance, our peripheral vision will naturally pick up what is happening closer in.”

There’s a good life-lesson in this anecdote. 

In life, we’re often short-sighted. Instead of “looking farther down the road” we focus on the immediate. Activities that demand our attention (alleged emergencies) get it, and they distract us from more important thoughts, like planning our future. 

• On a regular basis, take the time to think about the future. What do you want to do and be six months from now? Two years from now? Ten years? Spend time thinking about long-term goals instead of just negotiating short-term issues.  
• In your conversations, notice where the conversation is and where it should go. Then steer the discussion toward that destination. 
• Instead of getting stuck in the moment, continually think about the near-future. Even projecting 4-6 hours in the future is beneficial. 

For more on this topic, I recommend Steven Johnson’s book titled Farsighted. It is a terrific, engaging book that gives practical advice about how to “look farther down the road.”

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