But instead, I got a lecture on fun. “Well, Jim, if you don’t love doing it, you won’t stay with it long enough to ever really get good at it.” Then he added, “Life is just too short not to enjoy what you’re doing. If we can’t make this fun, we should stop doing it!

And yet, candor could not be more crucial to our creative process. Why? Because early on, all of our movies suck. That’s a blunt assessment, I know, but I make a point of repeating it often, and I choose that phrasing because saying it in a softer way fails to convey how bad the first versions of our films really are. I’m not trying to be modest or self-effacing by saying this. Pixar films are not good at first, and our job is to make them so—to go, as I say, “from suck to not-suck.” This idea—that all the movies we now think of as brilliant were, at one time, terrible—is a hard concept for many to grasp. But think about how easy it would be for a movie about talking toys to feel derivative, sappy, or overtly merchandise-driven. Think about how off-putting a movie about rats preparing food could be, or how risky it must’ve seemed to start WALL-E with 39 dialogue-free minutes. We dare to attempt these stories, but we don’t get them right on the first pass. And this is as it should be. Creativity has to start somewhere, and we are true believers in the power of bracing, candid feedback and the iterative process—reworking, reworking, and reworking again, until a flawed story finds its throughline or a hollow character finds its soul.

I’ve known some geniuses who were such a pain to work with that we had to let them go; then again, some of our most brilliant, delightful, and effective people were let go by previous employers for being none of those things. It would be nice if there were some magic bullet that turned difficult people into success stories, but there isn’t. There are just too many unknowns and immeasurable personal characteristics involved for us to pretend that we have figured out how to do that. Everyone says they want to hire excellent people, but in truth we don’t really know, at first, who will rise up to make a difference. I believe in putting in place a framework for finding potential, then nurturing talent and excellence, believing that many will rise, while knowing that not all will.

7. Jargon Monoxide: On the Drawbacks and (Limited) Virtues of Hollow and Impenetrable Babble

“We have no idea what leaders mean by “let’s leverage our core competencies to create synergies that move the needle.” When you ask them to explain what it means for how people ought to act, it becomes clear they have no idea what they are talking about either. We also don’t know what consultants from places such as McKinsey mean by “the helix organization,” “squad-to-squad meetings,” or “fit-for-purpose accountable cells.” Of course, professors are not immune from such crimes against clarity—many of us take perverse pride in baffling our students and colleagues with highfalutin language.

What Wiseman noticed that day can be seen as a vital element of TPS: a deeply ingrained belief that problem-solving is a team sport. Failures are opportunities for improvement. Competent professionals are expected to successfully execute most of their tasks, so successes are not seen as worthy of colleagues’ valuable time. Hence the “puzzled” look on Mr. Cho’s face. Puzzlement occurred because an expected behavior (share your problems so we can work on them together) didn’t happen, while an unexpected one (bragging) did. What I love most about this story is that Wiseman’s boasting would not have raised an eyebrow in 99 percent of work environments I’ve studied. We are socialized to share accomplishments and good news in front of the boss. Nothing puzzling about it! The most impressive result of TPS in my view is that the system normalizes failure—bad news, requests for help, and problems alike. It creates a community of scientists. Not incidentally, the essence of failing well is thinking like a scientist.