One major caveat I should have included about the original post is that although I did seriously think about ‘the most important thing I learned in school’, I probably didn’t think about it for long enough. I suspect I would have required about a year to think the question through properly and I'm never going to do that, This doesn’t change the fact that my consideration wasn’t enough to hand out such a definitive title. I welcome input from readers who have another candidate for this lofty award and I’m willing to admit the error of my decision as soon as a better candidate is presented to me.
This phenomenon of not thinking very much before spouting off with expertise is hardly uncommon. I notice it quite a bit (and mostly in myself). A routine manifestation is while reading a book. People will ask – how’s the book? What do you think? Do you recommend it? It feels rude to point out that I’m on page eleven so I usually just give it an honest go. But seriously, answering these questions before I’ve finished the book is like delivering a verdict on a concert after the fourth song – it’s fine, I’ll probably stay (even for the encore). But honestly, what do you expect I actually know when it just started?
Basketball conversations for me tend to follow the same path. I’m happy to chat hoops with anyone but I find that my understanding of the sport after playing college basketball is just on a different level when compared to someone whose career peaked during a high school pickup game. Is Durant better than LeBron? Is Durant even good? Do you like Durant? I don’t give a shit. Does anyone understand tactics? I’m no expert when it comes to basketball (or anything) but in these conversations I always feel like I’m talking to someone who makes a verdict after the fourth song.
The best example – or maybe worst example, who knows – is race. I have many conversations about race with people who don’t recognize the way imbalanced experiences make clear communication next to impossible. It goes back to the importance of limits because limits help us understand why tiny details result in massive gaps. I’ve felt or thought about race for most of my three decades. Now, this doesn't mean I've sat around thinking about race for every second of my life but let's say that at least once a day something would come up and I would have to think about race. The conversations I have about race these days often involve people who seem to have felt or thought about it every once in a while, maybe recently, or not, with perhaps a talking point or two from the NPR show they heard the night before. The small difference of a few minutes of thinking or feeling each day compared to just some scattered attention every once in a while seems to me a lot like the difference of saving a few dollars every day compared to someone who saves a few dollars every once in a while. What does the second person know about saving compared to the first person? What do their bank accounts say about their knowledge of saving?
The importance of limits is how it encourages investment. Good investors invest in themselves, great investors invest in others. I don’t mind sharing what I have with other people. I don’t mind investing my returns in others. It’s why I seem to gravitate toward teaching opportunities. It’s the same as it was in high school when I helped my fellow students learn and understand limits. It was easy for me because each student was the same. I’m sure this comes off as condescending or even arrogant to say this but things haven’t changed much since high school. The conservations and interactions I have with people in contexts where they’ve consistently invested in themselves or in others are enriching. They’ve harnessed or leveraged limits to reach a certain point of uniqueness, a blend of experience, reflection, and engagement that turns off my teaching instinct and opens my mind to new learning opportunities. The nicest thing I can say about those who invest inconsistently is that they've helped me understand déjà vu. The names, faces, and exact sentences change but the ideas are always the same. The reason no one looks at seeds is because every seed looks the same when it pokes out of the dirt. It’s the investment that makes it work, the ensuing growth that gives it shape and makes it worth my attention.
