HONEST INDIRECTION

…aiming away…

…so, years ago, I wrote a letter in response to Max Ventilla, the founder of AltSchools and Altitude Learning, about education. In the final letter, I wrote about Zen archery and the idea of changing schools. In it, I made this point:

“I think some of the best learning happens indirectly and stealthily… If schools took learning more seriously and aimed indirectly but intentionally, like a Zen archer, then I think they might be in quite different places.”

That idea has stayed with me.

When we think about productivity, progress, and how we organize our work and our lives, we tend to idealize logical progression—a linear movement forward, something resembling a straight railway line across an arid plain, with stations appearing at regular intervals. This metaphor is everywhere. But I increasingly wonder whether this view of progress and goal-setting is actually helpful.

It gives us the impression that directness—rather than indirectness—is automatically the most efficient and effective way to achieve a goal.

But what if that assumption is wrong?

What if we would be better served by thinking like a Zen archer about our goals, our purpose, and our sense of meaning? Instead of imagining progress as a straight line, what if we imagined it as the curved arc of a trajectory—one that takes into account the wind, the humidity, the subtle bend of the bow, and the elasticity of the string in order to reach its target? What if we need to “aim off” in order to hit the bullseye.

I often thought about this when I was working in schools. At times, it seemed that the interstitial spaces—corridors, stairwells, edges—allowed for a kind of informality and indirectness that made learning in those spaces more remarkable than what happened in more structured settings like the classroom (ARO did a great job of designing the corridors in one of my school’s buildings). The same is true of conversations that meander, that follow diversions and detours. They can lead to immense learning and quiet shifts in assumption, often more so than tightly structured discussions in formal meetings where there is little leniency.

This may be why analogous situations and experiences can be so instructive. IDEO recommends exploring analogous situations or experiences as part of the design thinking process in order to open up one’s thinking. Indirectness creates a kind of magical space—one in which assumptions and firmly held beliefs can be gently suspended, making room for new thoughts to emerge. Sometimes going off on a tangent is more productive than addressing something head-on.

This is also the quiet strength of metaphor. Metaphors are not the thing itself, yet they offer a new way of seeing. They approach meaning obliquely, and in doing so, they often reveal more than direct explanation ever could.

All of which makes me wonder whether we should think about tackling goals, problems, and progress in more indirect ways. Doing so might allow us to imagine movement through life less like a soulless factory assembly line, and more like a journey shaped by diversion, eccentricity, adventure, and play—one that is ultimately more human and, perhaps, more fruitful.

So perhaps, as you consider your next moves, you might picture the arc of an arrow through the sky, a meandering path along a stream, or a series of switchbacks up a mountain. Any of these may be a more faithful metaphor for a life well lived than a boring straight line where the outcome is pre-determined and the substance of the journey reduced to an afterthought.

Keep well.

And aim—yes—but aim indirectly…