Tag / curiosity

by Nathan Coumbe

3 meaningful moments

One of my coaches taught me a new exercise this week, and I felt I should share it far and wide.

It’s called the “3 meaningful moments” exercise.

The gist is to think back on 3 different moments from major periods in your life—childhood, adolescence, and adulthood—then write about them in detail.

Once you have this done, you are to distill your experiences into a single word that ties the threads together.

I’ve included my response to this exercise below

***

I was 9 years old, enrolled at an arts school in my city, and required to read a certain number of books each term to get Advanced Reader points. On a whim, I picked up a book that had a picture of a soldier on it— a “Dear America” book entitled The Journal of Scott Pendleton Collins, A World War 2 Soldier.

The opening scene described in graphic detail the D-Day landings at Normandy, France in 1944. From that moment forward, I was hooked on history.

I begged my mom (and she acquiesced) to take me to the library, which became almost a weekly occurrence, and read as many books (many of them well beyond what a 9 year old should have been reading) on that topic.

My interest soon spread out to encompass all of WWII and then history in general. Eventually, my bookshelf at home was FULL of books on just about every topic imaginable, and my library has only grown since then.

When I was 14, my parents bought for me a bass guitar. I’d been studying violin and piano from the age of 7, so I was not without musical skill. But I proceeded to teach myself how to play the bass.

Then I picked up my mom’s acoustic guitar, and taught myself that too. My brother got a set of drums, and I picked up the sticks and taught myself that as well.

That became my focus—I was decent at everything else, but I focused on drums for the next 10 years, taking lessons and eventually getting a bachelor’s degree in jazz studies with an emphasis in percussion.

Giving me that first instrument led me on a journey through every type of music imaginable, and taught me extremely valuable skills such as deliberate practice, diligence, patience, listening, empathy, and more.

At 27, I’d been working for Apple for about a year, when I was offered the chance to become a Creative. In that role, I served as a teacher, workshop facilitator, troubleshooting expert for customers, and a coach of sorts for employees on how to use all our technology.

This was the first time I’d been working when I felt that feeling of flow. Teaching came more naturally to me than just about anything else. Being in front of a group of people, helping them learn and master new skills—this felt more natural than just about anything else I’d ever done before.

And I was GOOD at it.

I had regular customers who’d wait and wait for my classes just so they could work with me. And I learned so many skills: how to sell, how to speak in public, how to present, adapt teaching styles on the fly. And I loved what I did.

Not only was I good at it, but it gave me the chance to learn so many new skills—drawing, computer coding and programming, music production, photography, videography, and all-around creativity. The only reason I left that job was because I wasn’t making enough money to support my family while doing it.

I’m trying to think of a word that ties all of these threads together. “Learning” is the first one that comes to mind. But then “curiosity” came to me. And that feels right at the moment. I truly think curiosity has defined my life and been the underlying reason for both my insatiable desire to learn new things, but also my ability to become proficient at so many disparate things as well.

***

If you have the time and desire, I’d love to hear about your “3 meaningful moments” in the comments below.

by Nathan Coumbe

A childish sense of wonder

We have completely lost our sense of wonder. Everyone’s in such a hurry that we can’t take the time to appreciate the little things that surround us.

I was out for my daily Artist’s walk and passed a mom and her child. The child was taking tiny steps left and right into the grass, off the path, fascinated by every little thing that he saw. 

Meanwhile the dad was snapping impatiently at the son and the wife: “Hurry up, move faster! Come on, let’s go, let’s get out of here!” 

I was so pleased to see mom stand up for her little boy. She said, “But Daddy, there’s so much to see!“ There was, and he was adamant about exploring every bit of it.

  • What if we could once again find fulfillment from the grass between our toes?
  • How much nicer would life be if a special pinecone fascinated us?
  • Remember that feeling of finding an unusual leaf and wanting nothing more than to stick it in your pocket and take it home?

We could all use a little bit more of that childish wonder in our lives.

by Nathan Coumbe

Are You a Professional Artist?

You have a problem with perfection.

You don’t have writer’s block or artist’s block; you’re worried what you create isn’t very good. 

But once you stop worrying about whether something is good or bad, you can get to the business of creating. 

Professionals

To be a professional is to show up and do your work regardless of how you feel. To be a professional artist, then, is to create works of art every day no matter what.

If you’re trying to make a living doing something artistic or creative, you’re a professional. Or at least, you should act like one. 

Even if you don’t feel that you have any good ideas. Even if you’re “just an artist.”

An amateur artist only creates when he feels like it, or when the muse speaks to him. Or, God forbid, after getting inebriated so he can “loosen up” and go with the flow. 

If You Build It, They Will Come…

Remember Field of Dreams? Being an artist is a lot like Kevin Costner building that baseball field.

You don’t wait for the muse to show up before you start creating. If you start creating, the Muse shows up like a curious child. She asks “Ooooo! What’s that? Can I help? Can I do that with you?” 

Waiting for a child to do something you want her to do doesn’t work. But if you just start doing it, she’ll immediately perk up and join you because she wants to be a part of your world. The mythical “Muse” acts the same way.

Some days you might have incredible days full of flow and creative ideas, but I’ve found those to be few and far between. Creation comes before inspiration almost every day. It’s why I show up to my morning pages each day after I wake. 

I don’t write them because I feel inspired: I write them to BECOME inspired. That’s what a professional artist does–indeed, that’s what any professional does.

Act Like a Professional

A lawyer doesn’t wait to become inspired before writing a brief or rehearsing an opening statement. She’s a professional and shows up because that’s her job. 

A surgeon doesn’t wait for the muse to speak to her before operating on a patient. She trains for years so each and every time a patient is wheeled into the operating room, she’s ready to perform. 

What if you approached your art the same way? As your job. What if you showed up every day ready to create whether or not you’re in the mood?

Do the work. Go make the Muse curious today.

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by Nathan Coumbe

What if we have tutoring wrong?

Why did tutoring become something other than exploring one’s curiosity? According to Wikipedia, “Tutoring began as an informal and unstructured method of educational assistance, dating back to periods in Ancient Greece…[where] the main goal of the tutor was to impart knowledge to the learner in order to help the latter gain proficiency in the subject area.” They did not exist to help students who were struggling, but instead served as teachers who passed on knowledge and wisdom to pupils to make them better citizens of Greece. 

At some point, tutors became a tool for anxious parents concerned about their student’s falling grades, rather than a source of information and inspiration to satisfy a student’s curiosity. Now, the thought process is, “I’m struggling and need to get my grades up, so I should hire a tutor” rather than, “this subject is so fascinating to me that I cannot get enough information at school and must learn more. Who can help me?” 

About the only time this actually seems to happen is when a student seeks out a private teacher in a creative field, such as music or art. You don’t go to a private music teacher because you’re doing poorly in band; you go because you are so invested in your craft that you want to master every aspect you can.

(You could argue that SAT/ACT tutors also don’t help you when you are doing poorly, but I have yet to meet anyone who is passionately interested in standardized tests).

What is tutoring for? What could it be for?

by Nathan Coumbe

The Weasleys: two sides of the passion coin

One of my all-time favorite literary creations is the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. It is a story that grew up at the same time I did, and it still brings me great joy today. Because I know it so well, and because it doesn’t overstimulate my mind as I am trying to wind down, I tend to read it before bed. While reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, I was struck by the inadvertent focus on passions in the first few chapters.

Two different ideals on passion are illustrated in the book. Arthur Weasley, the father of all the red-headed Weasleys, is obsessed with all-things Muggles. He “collects plugs,” and his wife thinks him crazy for it. The Weasley twins, Fred and George, are known far and wide for creating mischief and mayhem wherever they go. I want to unpack this a bit more.

Arthur Weasley has followed his passion (non-magic people) and made an entire career out of it. He works for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office in the Ministry of Magic, protecting the Muggles he loves from witches and wizards who would do them harm. His hobbies at home are all based around Muggle items, from cars to plugs and electricity. And yet, even though he has followed his passion, his family is impoverished.

Throughout the series, we are constantly reminded how little the Weasleys have because their father seemingly has no ambition. I don’t believe this is the case; he simply followed his passion down a deep rabbit hole without ever paying attention to how he could monetize his curiosity.

Career coach Dan Miller often talks about the three-legged stool model of work: for it to work well, there must be passion, talent, and a way to make money from it. Arthur has failed to build that third leg of the stool, and his family has suffered from it. This is by no means a warning against following your passions and talents; it is simply a reminder that you must pay attention to how you can make a living from them, or else you simply have a hobby.

Now let’s turn our attention to the Weasley twins. There is no doubt that they are brilliant witches and wizards. They hold their own plenty of times against other witches and wizards in combat. Not only that, but Hermione Granger herself comments at one point on how impressive and advanced their magic must be for their magical gag products to work.

They are obviously immensely creative and talented in their passions, which seem to be mischief-making and comedy. Yes, it gets them in trouble at school, but only because their school, like our own modern educational system, is a place to sit quietly, obey, and pass the end-of-year exams. Their mother, Molly, is constantly chastising them about not getting enough high exam marks, about causing too much trouble, about not being ambitious like their father and choosing comedy and invention over working for the Ministry.

How is that for irony? For one, government work, whether magical or not, has never been the most creative of workspaces, nor, in my experience, do many people in government tend to be overly ambitious and concerned with making a difference in, or leaving a mark on, the world. I find it fascinating how closely this relates to us in the real world. Our schools stifle creativity and individual differences among their students; we encourage them, not to pursue what they excel in, but to pursue what will pay well and be the “secure,” as if such a thing even exists anymore in the information age. We focus on improving everyone’s weaknesses to make everyone more like the average student, rather than focusing on strengths so that we can all stand out and achieve our unique purpose.

If the Weasley twins had followed their dad’s example, or their mother’s advice, they would never have lived up to their true potential. By book six, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, the twins succeeded in creating Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, opening up a highly successful magical joke shop, and becoming fabulously wealthy in the process.

Let’s take a lesson from the Weasleys today. Have the focus of Arthur Weasley, but the ambition of Fred and George. I strongly encourage you to follow your curiosity wherever it leads. Ignore the naysayers, but keep in mind the idea of the three-legged stool; all three legs must be present or you only have a hobby, like Arthur Weasley. Find a way to monetize and maximize your obsession, and you will be successful beyond your wildest dreams.

by Nathan Coumbe

Reaping excellence

I came across a little maxim yesterday that got my mind going, so I wanted to share.

“Sow a thought, reap an action; sow an action, reap a habit; sow a habit, reap a character; sow a character, reap a destiny.”

There is also a quote that pairs nicely with this maxim:

“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.

– Aristotle

What is it that you repeatedly want to do? If you did it often enough, do you believe you would truly develop excellence in that habit?

Perhaps you should ask a related question: if what you are doing now isn’t something in which you want to develop excellence, what do you repeatedly think about? Once you have an idea in mind, you can then apply it to the maxim.

For example, let’s say that a person is constantly thinking about art, but only thinking, never creating any herself. We’ll start there.

“Sow a thought…” she is constantly thinking about and admiring the artistic work of others.

“Reap an action…” the aspiring artist decides to take drawing lessons and vows to draw a little bit every day, no matter how small it might be.

“Sow an action…” drawing each and everyday becomes second nature.

“Reap a habit…” she no longer even thinks about if she will draw today; the only thought on her mind is what to draw. A habit is developed.

“Sow a habit…” drawing has become second-nature to her now. It’s as habitual as brushing her teeth or eating.

“Reap a character…” she has become, intentionally or not, an artist. It is now who she is, a fundamental feature of her character. She is now one of the people she once admired.

“Sow a character…” you can see the rest. Her destiny is whatever she decides to make it at this point. She has already developed the skills and habits needed to carry her far down the path of artistic success, whatever she decides that looks like for her. Perhaps it is a career in art, or perhaps it is just a wonderfully enjoyable hobby. But it is now who she is.

So, what is it about which you constantly think? How can you turn those thoughts into action, and then practice those actions often enough until habits form and a certain character you want develops?

“We are what we repeatedly do…”

Decide and act on that in which you strive to be excellent.

by Nathan Coumbe

Play your music

“Many people die with their music still in them. Why is this so? Too often it is because they are always getting ready to live. Before they know it, time runs out.”

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, Former U.S. Supreme Court justice

The other day I wrote a blog post about exploring the things about which you seem to be innately curious. I was discussing this subject the day before I wrote it, and during the conversation, I had something of a heartbreaking thought: I believe each of us has a unique purpose, a unique interest that, if nurtured, will allow that purpose to be lived out. And yet it seems as though a great majority of the human race never achieves their purpose.

Why is this so? Is the curiosity squashed out of them before they have a chance to develop it into something meaningful and lucrative, simply because it is different from what others think is a viable vocation or career? Is it that many are so focused on simply eking out a living that they never raise their heads long enough to look their purpose in the eye and pursue it? Are they so caught up in fantasy worlds, technology, and social media that time that could otherwise be spent on pursuing these inclinations is wasted? Or worse still, is the opportunity to live a purpose-filled life literally taken away by violence, famine, or disease?

Perhaps it is all of these reasons and more, but while you still breathe, while you still have time on this earth, I encourage you to listen to Mr. Holmes and play your music. Listen to Ralph Waldo Emerson and follow the beat of your own drummer.

Your curiosity, your natural affinities towards certain skills, subjects, passions, and interests – they were all given to you for a purpose. Follow them where they lead, ignore the naysayers, shun the nonbelievers.

Start today. Do something you feel you were meant to do.

by Nathan Coumbe

The peculiarity of curiosity

Human beings are weird…

I had a conversation yesterday with my cousin, Erin, in which we discussed curiosity and the peculiar inclinations each one of us possesses.

I believe Robert Greene needs to be quoted at length here:

“[We each have] a deep and powerful inclination toward a particular subject.

This inclination is a reflection of a person’s uniqueness…it is a scientific fact that genetically, every one of us is unique; our exact genetic makeup has never happened before and will never be repeated. This uniqueness is revealed to us through the preferences we innately feel for particular activities or subjects of study. Such inclinations can be toward music or mathematics, certain sports or games, solving puzzle-like problems, tinkering and building, or playing with words.”

– Robert Greene, Mastery

I vividly remember discovering my own inclination: I was 9 years old, in the library of my elementary school, looking for a book to read. I picked up The Journal of Scott Pendleton Collins by Walter Dean Myers and was hooked. I am not exaggerating when I say that that one (seemingly) random book changed the course of my life. I became a voracious reader, taking a deep dive down the rabbit hole of World War II history, attempting to put my hands on any and every book I could on the subject.

By the age of 10, I was reading college-level historical monographs, encouraged by both my parents and my teachers. This interest gradually spread out until I was gorging myself on stories of American history, colonial times, European battlefields, and ancient civilizations.

Why?

Why is it that reading one book propelled me into so an extensive study of a particular field? Why am I so drawn to this subject, and yet I care nothing for sciences (unless I’m looking at them from a historical perspective) or cooking or any other number of subjects? Why am I drawn to history when another person is delighted by math or chemistry? And yet another person is drawn to space, theology; to beauty and hair care; or to art and photography.

I don’t have a true answer to the question. It is simply amusing to me. We can be so alike, and yet each of us seems to have a curiosity, sometimes more than one, which separates us from every other human being that is or ever has been.

All I can think is that we have been uniquely created by God, the universe, the Higher Self, or whichever spiritual ideal in which you believe. We have each been created with a unique curiosity that, if satisfied, if given the opportunity to develop enough, will help us fulfill our purpose on Earth and make it a better place for those curious beings that come after us.

I hope that you will follow your own curiosity, wherever it leads. It is quite possibly the most necessary thing you can do with your life.

by Nathan Coumbe

Why did they not follow a passion?

One of the most common subjects we talk about these days is following our passions. Some of us are passionate about music, art, or writing, while others enjoy business, finance, and marketing. Regardless of the specifics, many of the conversations among our peer groups revolve around ways in which we can pursue careers and success in these areas. It has gotten me thinking about our parents’ generation and those that came before.

Most of the media on television or the internet today lampoons the adults of the mid-20th century, who went to a white-collar office job or a blue-collar factory job every day, did the same boring thing day after day, left at 5pm, came home, and spent the rest of the evening watching television before falling asleep and doing it all over again the next day. It is obviously satirical in many cases, but it also doesn’t seem far from the truth.

Why did our parents and grandparents do that? Was that all that was available to them? Did they not have specific passions they wanted to pursue? Were they actually content with working simply to earn an income to buy a house with a two-car garage for their 2.5 children to live happily ever after in the suburbs? Did they not also spend time with their friends and family discussing art, music, or writing and how they might pursue these areas? Does that explain why so many of them are portrayed today as drinkers and layabouts at home?

I don’t have an answer to this question; it just seems to me that the idea of pursuing passion areas as a career is a relatively modern one. Perhaps it is born from the end of the industrial age where factory work (and yes, office work counts) has been replaced by information work. We are now required to be creative and unique in order to stand out and survive in a globalized economy.

I just want to know if the passion was there and got stamped out, or if passion just never entered their minds.

by Nathan Coumbe

Teaching how to fail

What did you learn about failure in school?

I learned to avoid it at all costs – if it wasn’t a good sentence, don’t write it. If you weren’t sure if the answer you just worked out in algebra was correct, you should probably go back and rework the whole thing. If you can’t draw very well, you just shouldn’t draw anything, because it won’t be good enough for anything.

You see where I am going with this; our educational system is so caught up in compliance, with getting the correct answer, with mastering the test, that the experience of failure is drilled out of us. Better not to do anything than to do something incorrectly.

So we have students going to college that can’t write well because they never learned how to write. They never learned how to write because they were too afraid of doing it badly, which is exactly what you have to do to get better. Start by writing poorly until you get better.

We have adults that cannot draw because they’ve told themselves they are bad at it, so they quit drawing. In actuality, everyone has the potential to learn to draw, you just have to get the right teacher (as an aside, not every artist knows how to teach someone how to draw well).

We have students who are so afraid of getting the wrong answer in a math class, or writing a bad line of code in a coding class, that they don’t put anything down – they don’t even try to work it out and get partial credit because it isn’t the right answer. If they only started, if they only put down the code that might work, they would eventually work it out until they got the right answer.

Leonardo da Vinci, arguably the greatest genius to ever live, failed at so many projects, works of art, and inventions that if you held up his successes next to his failures, we would probably classify him as a failure. But that’s not why we remember him, and that’s not how we measure success and failure.

He persevered and kept trying.

He knew that failure was the best teacher of all, which led him to create some of the greatest works of art in history and to imagine ideas and inventions centuries ahead of his time.

We don’t need to teach our students how to find all the right answers; we need to teach them to try to find an answer to an interesting problem, not the answer a test problem. It might be the wrong answer; that’s okay – just keep working to solve it.

Keep writing bad stuff until the good ideas start to come out.

Keep drawing until your left brain gets out of the way of your right brain, and you start to draw better.

Don’t teach the test; don’t teach the correct answer.

Teach how to ask better questions, how to analyze, how to lead others.

Teach perseverance in the face of adversity and failure.