Imagine you’re tasked with designing a new educational space. It could be a kindergarten classroom, or maybe it’s a common area for an inner-city community college. Money is at this point no object (it is a hypothetical situation, after all). What do you see?
Large open spaces? Bright and airy and filled with clusters of seating and tables that foster and promote innovative thinking and collaborative idea generation? Smooth, organic surfaces and materials that feed the imagination? Maybe a fountain or a waterfall creating a gentle background white noise?
I think that’s what most people see. That’s the sort of space in which real, innovative and creative thinking can occur.
Or does it? In an environment of plenty do the seeds of new ideas plant themselves and grow into the mighty ideas they could be, or do ideas eat too quickly, grow sedentary, and eventually die of excess?
I’d argue that real innovative thinking doesn’t happen in environments that are too nourishing to such pursuits. I think that real, powerful innovative thinking happens in environments where every thought must fight tooth and nail with its peers to find purchase and drag itself above the fray, where the light can feed it and start making it stronger. Truly great ideas are born of necessity.
I’d wager more great ideas have been created in crowded classrooms and labs where there’s no air conditioning than have ever been incubated in chic open concept collaboration spaces.
I sure like those open spaces, especially ones with water features. Water features promote peaceful contemplation. I wonder how many great innovations were born in peaceful contemplation.
The Good Life Parable by Mark Albion (from his book, More Than Money)
An American investment banker was taking a much needed vacation in a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. The boat had several large, fresh fish in it.
The investment banker was impressed by the quality of the fish and asked the fisherman how long it took to catch them. The fisherman replied, “Only a couple of hours.” The banker then asked why he didn’t stay out longer and catch more fish.
The fisherman replied he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs.
The American then asked, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”
The fishermen replied, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a siesta with my wife, then teach children how to fish before I stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my wife and friends. I have a full and busy life.”
The investment banker scoffed, “I have an MBA, and I could help you vastly expand your business. If you would simply spend more time fishing, with the proceeds buy a bigger boat, and with the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats until eventually you would have a whole fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to the middleman you could sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You could control the product, processing and distribution.”
Then he added, “Of course, you would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City and eventually New York City where you would run your growing enterprise.”
The fisherman asked, “But señor, how long will this all take?”
To which the American replied, “Probably between 10 and 15 years.”
“But what then, señor?”
The American laughed and said, “That’s the best part! When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You could make millions.”
Millions, señor? Then what?”
To which the American said, “Then you would retire and move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, teach children how to fish, take a siesta with your wife, and stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your friends.”
