On expertise and execution & week 12 of 52

or "against expertise" & the beginner's mind; a short post

One of my favorite essays is not an essay at all.

If you are a writer who has had more than three or so conversations with me, I’ve probably recommended it to you. The essay was written by one of my favorite teachers, Phillip Lopate, and is positioned as the introduction of his compilation, titled The Art of the Personal Essay. Deep inside the essay, he says this:

“[Personal essayists] follow the clue of their ignorance through the maze. Intrigued with their limitations, both physical and mental, they are attracted to cul-de-sac: what one doesn’t understand, or can’t do, is as good a place as any to start investigating the borders of the self."

Writers and artists are tasked to explore the world. This is something I understood long before I knew anything about the craft or how to write things that anyone would want to read.

It was intuitive because it reflected what I loved as a reader. The exploratory and somewhat humble voice is a necessary ingredient in the writing I love versus the writing I have no time for because wonder creates space for an author’s willingness to go on a journey with me. I don’t want to be led and lectured to, I want to be along for the ride. I want to feel the revelations in real-time.

I’m not exactly anti-expertise. Yes, I’ll go to a specialist for medical care. I’ll fact-check sources and look for due diligence in research. I appreciate expertise, but expertise, like everything else about this human experience, is fleeting. I’m not only wary of relying too heavily on expertise but I’m also bored by it.

Students become teachers for good reason. We humans are always in flux, always exposed to new perspectives, and we are always benefitting from the humility necessary to learn new things and listen to others, even those without credentials.

“In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few.” —Shunryo Suzuki

To be quiet or agreeable is not necessarily to be humble. True humility—in writing, art, and life—is no easy feat. We get charges of confidence then drained by a lack of reception. We feel included or excluded based on what we know, say, or do.

But we carry on, and this brings me to our weekly exercise.

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Writing/AYTL exercise: Challenge the boredom of expertise by choosing something you know a lot about (e.g., birding, politics, state history) and write about it from a place of discovery, rather than expertise. Assert nothing, explore everything. In life this week, do the same. Approach a topic you take for granted from a place of radical humility — find something new.

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psssst - supporters, there’s a new story here. Thank you, thank you!