1. RESEARCH TRIPS

I was once in a conference room at Disney in which two directors were pitching the latest version of a film they were developing. The walls of the room were covered with large corkboards, which were filled with illustrations of what happens in each act, as well as drawings of characters and collages of inspirational artwork. To give a sense of the overall flavor of the film, the directors had posted dozens of images from well-known movies that they felt were in a similar visual and contextual vein: panoramic shots they hoped to mimic, landscapes they found inspiring, character studies that showed costumes like the ones they planned to use. While they had hoped to convey the sense of their movie idea by displaying examples from other films, every single board was based on these iconic references, with the unintended result that everything presented felt terribly derivative. In one way, this made sense - every director gets into this business because they love movies; it is inevitable that references to other movies often pop up when talking about filmmaking. (At Pixar, we joke that only one mention of Star Wars is allowed per meeting.) References to movies, both good and bad, are part of the vocabulary of talking about filmmaking. And yet if you rely too much on the references to what came before, you doom your film to being derivative.

We like to think that we can leap directly from a desire for change to a single insight or decision that will complete our reinvention. As a result, we remain naive about the long, essential testing period when our actions transform (or fail to transform) fuzzy, undefined possibilities into concrete choices we can evaluate.

Unexpected events often provoke insights that allow progress toward a solution after a period of being stuck. They allow us to reframe our stories. For John, the revelation was not that he should become a writer. It was that he could not live in two worlds and that he would have to come to terms with letting go of the old identity that was slowing him down. John had never stopped to challenge his basic assumption that he could maintain his old social and financial status while moving into a realm that would allow him greater artistic expression.

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What To Make of a Life— Jim Collins

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1. A Life Transformed

Gradually at first, then in cascading waves, I noticed that the research was not just changing my brain; it was changing me. The sign of good research is that you end up in places you never expected. If after years of research all you do is reconfirm your own preconceptions, then what is the point of doing research? The whole point is to discover, to be surprised, to come to see the world and how it works differently than you did before.

After this study, I will never look at life the same ever again, and I will never look at other people the way I used to.

Experience can tell us important things about how to make good ideas work— for example, that how something is done can be as important as what is done. A cues audit can yield information that is invaluable to the life of a setting. Look at how dramatically it changed 3M. But experience with such efforts tells us something else too: to avoid a heavy hand in implementing it. It shouldn’t become a tyranny. I suspect you know what I’m saying. We shouldn’t use relatively small violations of emerging mores to morally condemn or socially ostracize a person— to “cancel” them. Terms or behaviour that degrade the humanity of other groups— mortal sins— have to be off-limits. But experience suggests it’s wiser to treat venial sins with more latitude. Reacting too strongly to them can undermine the very goal we’re after— a setting with a climate of greater trust and lower churn. Remember the manager who keeps talking to his staff about his European cathedral tour when many of them can't afford an out-of-town vacation.