If You Want to Learn Something, Forget What You Know

The title of this article sounds like something that Yogi Berra might have said but didn't. And I think the slanted Yogi-like logic captures a basic truth regarding what it takes to learn about improvisation - and leadership.

In my previous article, I described Gary Klein’s research into the way that people make seemingly intuitive decisions – not by means of magic or ESP but by rapid (and largely unconscious) processing of various signals that point the way to the best course of action.

The signals and the processing can be incorporated into training materials to instruct novice practitioners. But how does a person proceed from conscious (and often tentative) processing of these signals to the type of instant intuitive calculation we saw in Gary Klein’s fire chief?

Well, in the words of the New York City jazz musician who was asked by a tourist how to get to Carnegie Hall: “Practice, man, practice.”

As simple as that sounds, though, many recent leadership experts have broken down the “practice” advice into more specific strategies.

First, to be most effective, practice needs to be more than just general immersion in the domain in which the person wants to gain skills. As Matthew Syed points out in his book Bounce, championship athletes don’t merely play lots of rounds of golf or engage in lengthy shoot-around sessions on the basketball court in hopes of improving their overall game. Instead, they first pinpoint the specific skills requiring development and then relentlessly target their practice sessions toward repeating and honing those skills.

A person wanting to develop intuitive command of leadership skills can take a page from the championship athlete’s playbook. As Daniel Goleman, Richard Boyatzis, and Annie McKee write in their book Primal Leadership:

“It’s possible to improve if you do three things: Bring bad habits into awareness, consciously practice a better way, and rehearse new behavior at every opportunity until it becomes automatic – that is, until mastery has occurred at the level of implicit learning.”

Leaders thus need to focus on identifying specific behaviors that require enhancement, by such means as competency models and self-reflection. Once the few high-impact areas of development opportunities are identified, the person can then create strategies (e.g., special projects, mentoring, job enrichment) to get targeted practice and feedback on their progress.

But as the quote from Goleman et al. above makes clear, before they can start focusing on the new ways of acting, leaders must often first unlearn bad habits that may have become embedded in their natural behavior. Goleman et al. go on to say:

“This suggests a learning strategy that at first focuses a bit more on overcoming the impulsive leadership habits you are trying to undo – before giving full attention to the new habits with which you want to replace the old.”

There is a direct connection here to the development of performance-improvising skills, since much of the trick of learning improvisation involves overcoming inhibitions and internal constraints that get in the way of one’s natural improvisational abilities. As Keith Sawyer’s research so vividly demonstrates, children are natural improvisers – but as they get older, their native creativity and flexibility often become casualties of their socialization into the adult world. Improv workshop games can act as a spark to jar them out of their self-censoring habits.

In the context of leadership development, “unlearning” can start with 360 feedback that serves to jolt the leader into awareness of how he is being perceived – followed by reflection, training, and coaching that guide the leader to acknowledge the drawbacks of his bad habits. At that point, the stage is set for new habits to begin settling into place – through practice, man, practice!

(I'll wrap up next time with some further thoughts about strategies to help engrain new leadership behaviors "in the bones.")

Why We Can't - and Shouldn't - Turn Off the Mind

“There’s something happening here / What it is ain’t exactly clear.” Stephen Stills

Awhile back I was conducting a leadership class in which I showed a video of a school principal who was a pioneer in the area of early education intervention for at-risk children. The video depicted a day in the life of the principal (whom I’ll call Kate) as she interacted with different groups – students, parents, administrators, corporate executives – and attempted to influence their participation in and funding of early education programs.

At the conclusion of the video, I asked my standard debriefing question: “What factors do you think governed Kate’s influencing approach to each of these different groups?”

By asking the question, I intended (and expected) the class participants to point out Kate’s use of certain approaches (rewards, sanctions, personal charisma) to influence students’ behavior, and her use of other approaches (her expertise in the field, her track record of success) to sway her corporate audiences.

I primarily wanted the class to acknowledge a key aspect of leadership: The ability to adapt one’s style to motivate different people based on a reading of the audience and the situation.

So I was intrigued when one of the participants gave me a somewhat unexpected response: “I don’t think she consciously considered any factors. I think she just acted intuitively.”

The response provided me a golden opportunity to refer to a situation described by Malcolm Gladwell in his book Blink. In Blink, Gladwell cites the work of a researcher named Gary Klein (whose company happens to be located two miles from my house – a connection I can’t resist offering up here, for what it’s worth). Klein’s company conducts detailed research into the ways that people make decisions – especially split-second ones in emergency situations.

Gladwell describes one of Klein’s research subjects, a fire department commander who once responded to a house fire that seemed to resist all of his squad’s efforts to extinguish it. As he and his squad stood in the living room trying to figure out their next move, the commander suddenly got a sense that something was just “not right” about the situation. He immediately ordered everyone out of the house – just before the living room floor collapsed into the basement.

Klein interviewed the commander about the factors that led to his decision to vacate and discovered:

“He didn’t know why he had ordered everyone out. He believed it was ESP. He was serious. He thought he had ESP, and he felt that because of that ESP, he’d been protected throughout his career.”

Most people would have chalked this up to “intuitive” decision-making born of years of experience. But not Klein, whose entire research is based on delving into how the mind arrives at such decisions, especially in the heat of the moment. As he pressed the commander to describe exactly what cues caught his attention as he moved through the house, Klein pieced together the thought processes that led to his urgent command to vacate. As Gladwell relates it:

“The fire didn’t respond to being sprayed in the kitchen because it wasn’t centered in the kitchen. It was quiet because it was muffled by the floor. The living room was hot because the fire was underneath the living room, and heat rises. At the time, though, the lieutenant made none of those connections consciously. All of his thinking was going on behind the locked door of his unconscious.” [emphasis added]

Similarly, in the situation of Kate, the school principal: She may not have been consciously aware of the signs she was picking up from her audience that governed her influencing behavior. However, under the surface, her mental computer was rapidly processing the cues and guiding her in-the-moment choices of behavior. (In this sense, she was very much operating in the same manner as a performance improviser – but more on that in a later article.)

Certainly, neither Kate nor the fire commander came into this world with their intuitive capabilities fully formed. Like anyone else, they first had to consciously learn the rudiments of effective action and proceed from a state of “conscious competence” to one of “unconscious competence.”

The good news, then, in these two examples – the fire commander and Kate – is that intuitive action can be taught, as long as we can isolate the inputs and processes that lead one to act effectively. Gary Klein is living proof that we can in fact identify the underlying dynamics of improvisational action in emergency situations. Similarly, through the creation of competency models and other behavioral descriptions, we can identify (and teach) what the best leaders do when they’re acting “in the heat of the moment.”

Of course, teaching intuitive action requires much more than just isolating key factors and presenting them on a Powerpoint slide. In my next article, I’ll describe strategies that can be employed to ingrain effective leadership behaviors (as my improv colleague Gary Schwartz says) “in the bones.”

You Don't Have to Be Creative to Lead Creatively

I recently read an online article by Bryn Meredith of Bluepoint Leadership Development titled Leadership Characteristics: A Shift in Requirements? In the article, Meredith touches on an important point about Creative Leadership that I dealt with in one of my earlier articles in the Daily Improviser.


Meredith first cites the research by James Kouzes & Barry Posner (The Leadership Challenge). Over a 20-year period starting in the late 80s, Kouzes and Posner asked thousands of people to name the four most admired qualities of leaders. More than half of the respondents to their survey mentioned the following qualities in their Top 7: Honest, Forward-Looking, Competent, and Inspiring.

Meredith contrasts this Most Admired list with more recent research conducted by IBM in which respondents were asked to list the three most important leadership characteristics needed in the new economic environment. One characteristic was Integrity – similar to the “Honest” characteristic found by Kouzes and Posner. The other two – Global Thinking and Creativity – reflected new imperatives for businesses in the fierce new world of global competition. As Meredith notes:

"Creativity and global thinking represent a significant shift in the way we see the needs of effective leadership today. In fact, creativity didn’t even feature as one of the top 20 most desired characteristics in the Kouzes and Posner data, and yet in the IBM study, creativity received 60% of the votes as the most important characteristic leaders need to have today."

So what does “Creative Leadership” mean? Do leaders need to be fluent out-of-the-box thinkers, grand visionaries, boardroom improvisers? Not at all, says Meredith:

"It is not a case of leaders being more creative themselves. It is more a need for them to recognize how to create a culture of innovation within their teams whereby creativity is encouraged to thrive and grow into real time ideas that can be put into practice."

This immediately reminded me of my article about that notable Daily Improviser, the comedian Jack Benny. As I pointed out, Benny’s creative gift was not so much his skill as a natural funnyman as it was his ability to attract, nurture, and retain a team of talented writers who could play to his own strengths as a master of timing and characterization. As I mentioned in my earlier article:

"Like Jack Benny, you don’t have to be a quick-witted, off-the-cuff 'performer' in order to be a Daily Improviser. You just need the improv attitudes – listen, appreciate others’ strengths, support your team, have fun – and let your team explore and flex their way to success for everyone!"

Casting Our Light on the Positive

I’ll continue with some observations from the book Ballyhoo, Buckaroo, and Spuds: Ingenious Tales of Words and Their Origins by Michael Quinion. As I noted last time, Quinion in his Introduction echoes some themes I’ve been developing in The Daily Improviser blog.

In my previous article, I cited Quinion’s assessment of why erroneous explanations of word origins tend to stick in people’s minds. As he says, “We’re suckers for a really good story” – i.e., our interest is naturally drawn to piquant tales of how a certain turn of phrase came to be, regardless of the accuracy of the account. The entertainment value of such stories thus tends to overshadow the more mundane (but correct) explanations for the phrase’s evolution.

But Quinion also cites a further reason for why inaccuracy trumps accuracy in the world of etymology:

“Back in Elizabethan times, an early economist called Sir Thomas Gresham promulgated the rule that ‘bad money drives out good’ – that good-quality coins mixed with debased ones will be hoarded or exported, leaving only the rubbish in circulation. It’s much the same with etymology, alas. Only an etymologist could or would be expected to take the time to exhaustively research the history and evidence behind such stories, and in these days of electronic communications an entertaining but false word history will race twice round the world before the etymologist has had time to put fingers to keyboard.”

Quinion’s observation sounds remarkably similar to the point made by Chip and Dan Heath (in their book Made to Stick) about the mechanics behind the persistence of Urban Legends in the public consciousness. Citing the elements that make Urban Legends “sticky” – details, cited (and uncorroborated) authorities, the wildfire effect of the Internet – the Heaths conclude: “Good ideas often have a hard time succeeding in the world.”

The examples cited by Quinion and the Heaths represent another example of a general maxim I cited earlier: Bad is often stronger than good. This of course is not a value judgment but an acknowledgment of the relative strength and impact of (say) bad news vs. good news. (Another example I’ve cited: Barbara Fredrickson’s 3 to 1 Positivity Ratio concept, which holds that we need to actively cultivate 3 positive emotions to overcome a single negative emotion.)

I think that each of these diverse examples reminds us of the importance of being mindful of the positive aspects of our lives – and the need to be continually vigilant in the face of the natural power of the negative.

What's in a Word?

Last week I picked up an interesting-sounding title – Ballyhoo, Buckaroo, and Spuds, by Michael Quinion - from the $2 rack of my favorite store, Half Price Books. Being a fan of etymology (i.e., word origins) and finding myself in the market for a quick read over the holidays, the purchase was a no-brainer.
Imagine my pleasant surprise, then, to find within the first four pages of the book some unlikely echoes of a few of the concepts I’ve been developing in the Daily Improviser blog.

On page 2, Quinion observes that there are few fields of study as open to oft-repeated misinformation as etymology. Everyone knows the acronymic origin of words like COP (“Constable on Patrol”) and TIP (“To Insure Promptness”), right? (Well, OK, I admit I’m using those words in place of other more scatological “acronyms” that have gained a wide circulation, accompanied by a knowing nudge-nudge-wink-wink.) But as Quinion notes, almost none of these reputed acronyms actually represents the origin of the words in question (the term “acronym” itself dates only from World War I).

Yet in the popular mind, such dubious stories as to word origins continue to be spread via a process Quinion refers to as “etymythology.” Why is this?

First, as Quinion explains:

"We’re suckers for a really good story. It’s one way we make sense of the world around us and so turn the unfamiliar … into the known and the comfortable. So it’s important that we have stories that explain things, but it’s much less important that the stories we tell are verifiably true. [Such stories] must reassure and convince, but above all they must interest and entertain. Stories that are boring, mundane, or inconclusive will not survive. Unfortunately, real word histories are often all of these things."

I believe that Quinion is touching on a topic I’ve addressed here before several times: We humans are greatly susceptible to shorthand constructs that explain the world around us. In fact, as I’ve mentioned before, we couldn’t exist without a certain layer of abstraction through which we view and make sense of the world.

This “Layer of Abstraction” can take the form of useful shorthand – for example, describing an unfamiliar concept such as a “pomelo” in terms of a familiar concept such as a “grapefruit,” even though technically the two are not at all the same. However, the Layer can also be seductively misleading, a substitute for engaging in critical thinking. In the case of word origins, our willingness to accept and pass along a good story on shaky evidence can be relatively benign in its impact. However, when we use such one-sided thinking (as represented by the Confirmation Bias) to justify making invidious judgments, it can lead to the worst forms of discrimination and injustice.

(I'll continue with more from Ballyhoo, Buckaroo, and Spuds next time.)

Anchors Aweigh!

I have written quite a bit in The Daily Improviser blog about the “Nothing Between” concept, i.e., the state in which there is “nothing between” a person and his environment, thus permitting the person to have a direct experience of reality. I have noted that many people seem to regard the performance improviser’s art as the quintessential Nothing Between state, a series of spontaneous fillings-in on a totally blank slate.

As I’ve mentioned in many of my articles, however, I wonder if anyone – the performance improviser or the Daily Improviser – really ever experiences the Nothing Between state, or even should aspire to that state as the ideal way to interact with his environment.

I recently ran across another source of support for this skepticism about Nothing Between. In his book The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable, Nassim Nicholas Taleb cites a study in which subjects were asked to spin a “wheel of fortune” that pointed to a wholly random number, and then were asked to estimate the number of countries in Africa. As Taleb recounts: “Those who had a low number on the wheel estimated a low number of African nations; those with a high number produced a higher estimate.” Taleb goes on to note:

“A classical mental mechanism, called anchoring, seems to be at work here. You lower your anxiety about uncertainty by producing a number [even when you know it is random], then you ‘anchor’ on it, like an object to hold on to in the middle of a vacuum.”

Taleb relates the anchoring mechanism to the advent of spreadsheet software – specifically, to the way in which we rely on Excel to extend projections ad infinitum into the future with a single click of a mouse.

“Once on a page or on a computer screen, or, worse, in a PowerPoint presentation, the projection takes on a life of its own, losing its vagueness and abstraction and becoming what philosophers call reified, invested with concreteness.”

As Taleb notes, our desire to reduce our anxiety over uncertainty can lead to an overreliance on the first or most concrete data we can find. But even though Taleb seems to be taking us to task for blinding ourselves to “real reality” via these mental mechanisms, in fact he recognizes that it couldn’t be any other way:

“We use reference points in our heads, say sales projections, and start building beliefs around them because less mental effort is needed to compare an idea to a reference point than to evaluate it in the absolute. We cannot work without a point of reference.” [Emphasis added]

Taleb’s discussion of these mental phenomena – anchoring and reification – reminds me of the Five White Things activity in the book Made to Stick. There, Chip Heath and Dan Heath describe the different level of mental calisthenics required to think of “five white things” vs. thinking of “five white things in your refrigerator.” The latter is generally an easier task because it provides a frame for our thinking, rather than a boundaryless (and thus paralyzing) blank slate on which nearly infinite choices could be written.

Anchoring, reification, framing … each of these mechanisms is in fact a “Thing Between” us and our environment. And as Steven Pinker so eloquently demonstrates in his seminal work The Blank Slate, these Things Between are an inherent part of the human condition. Rather than trying to deny them or will ourselves to push past them (say observers such as Taleb, Pinker, and the Heaths), we would do better to acknowledge and even embrace these mechanisms. At the least (as Taleb says), our understanding of our own thought structures should make us aware of the limits of our own reasoning and logic capabilities. At the most (as the Heaths say), knowing about the effect of framing can help us place useful boundaries on our thinking, thereby preventing analysis paralysis and facilitating communication of new concepts.

More Confirmation of the Confirmation Bias

I’m one of those people who reads five books at once – sometimes fewer, sometimes more. And as I read, I continually look for patterns, connections, and recurring themes that I can work into The Daily Improviser blog.

Lately, it seems as if the confirmation bias has been particularly persistent in dogging my reading path. As I’ve mentioned, the confirmation bias is our tendency to overlook evidence that runs counter to our pre-set opinions, as well as our near-mania to find patterns in the world’s workings that confirm our assumptions and prejudices. As Leonard Mlodinow points out in The Drunkard’s Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives, “patterns” of occurrences, even if they do occur, do not always reflect an underlying cause but can simply be the products of randomness (aka “coincidences”).

Mlodinow goes on to say:

"The human brain has evolved to be very efficient at pattern recognition, but as the confirmation bias shows, we are focused on finding and confirming patterns rather than minimizing our false conclusions. Yet we needn’t be pessimists, for it is possible to overcome our prejudices. It is a start to simply realize that chance events, too, produce patterns. It is another great step if we learn to question our perceptions and theories. Finally, we should learn to spend as much time looking for evidence that we are wrong as we spend searching for reasons we are correct." [emphasis added]

Mlodinow’s observation, I think, provides more support for the “bumper sticker” headline I attached to one of my recent articles:

Want to Defeat the Truth? Then Start Arguing!

The Layer Between the Daily Improviser and Reality

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I’ve posted a number of articles in this blog on the topic of “nothing between” – that supposedly ideal state in which we directly experience reality and respond intuitively, in the moment. As much as this might sound like the quintessential “improv state,” on the contrary even performance improvisers use structures and mechanisms that do in fact “come between” them and their environments. Similarly, the Daily Improviser’s interaction with his world involves less a continuous filling in of a Blank Slate and more a dependence on useful shorthand to help him make sense of his environment.

I like to think of this “something between” as a set of layers, each representing a level of abstraction that serves as an interpretive guide for the Daily Improviser. (For the purpose of simplifying the point, I’ll apply my own abstraction to this concept and refer to this set of layers as simply the Layer.) The Layer can be counter-productive if we use it to blind ourselves to the world around us, but it can also be as comfy and cozy - and as functional - as a thick blanket on a cold winter's night. 

I think the Layer presents itself in many different ways.

For example, in their book Made to Stick, Chip and Dan Heath refer to the notion of a schema – a mental representation of a concept that everyone understands and that can thus be used as a springboard for communicating similar yet unique concepts. Rather than having to describe a “pomelo” to a novice by articulating a precise botanical definition, the describer only has to say that a pomelo is “a supersized grapefruit with a thick, soft rind.” No Blank Slate is needed – just start with the shared concept of a grapefruit and proceed from there.

In an earlier article, I also cited another example of the Layer while describing an article by Keith Sawyer concerning the mechanisms we use to facilitate our daily communications. Sawyer notes that, rather than writing fresh scripts for our every interaction, we commonly use such structures as catchphrases and overall frameworks to serve as useful shorthand for concepts that we wish to get across.

And just today, I happened upon another example of the Layer while browsing through the book The Drunkard’s Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives by Leonard Mlodinow. In the very first paragraph of the book, Mlodinow recounts the following story:

A few years ago a man won the Spanish national lottery with a ticket that ended in the number 48. Proud of his “accomplishment,” he revealed the theory that brought him the riches. “I dreamed of the number 7 for seven straight nights,” he said, “and 7 times 7 is 48.” Those of us with a better command of our multiplication tables might chuckle at the man’s error, but we all create our own view of the world and then employ it to filter and process our perceptions, extracting meaning from the ocean of data that washes over us in daily life.

So, yes, the man was in error – but it was a useful error, one that allowed him to rationalize a decision that led to a huge payoff. Doubtless, each of us (with different degrees of self-awareness) makes snap decisions based on bits and pieces of perception through which we’ve sifted. We then generalize and make abstractions about reality from the collage of sensation we craft. Failure to create and act upon this Layer would result in complete paralysis while we try to stitch together a “complete” picture that accounts for “all” the information we can gather and process.

I’ll continue to develop this idea of the Layer in upcoming articles.

Want to Defeat the Truth? Then Start Arguing!

In recent articles, I've described the way in which champion athletes manipulate their beliefs across the performance cycle.  In order to prepare their minds for success, they must instill in themselves a consciously irrational belief in their own invincibility.  Yet at the same time, they need to step outside of themselves and objectively view their performance so they can correct any flaws.

The maintaining of these two mindsets presents a paradox, since it requires a person simultaneously to believe both that he cannot fail and that he can (and must) improve his performance if he does fail.  I think this tricky mental balance perfectly illustrates a famous quote attributed to F. Scott Fitzgerald: "The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function."

I derived the "manipulating beliefs" point from the book Bounce, by Matthew Syed.  Syed was writing about competitive athletic contexts, but, as a recent Newsweek article by Sharon Begley reveals, a similar psychological dynamic may also be at work in another competitive arena: Arguing.

Begley says that, when we want to strongly proffer a certain point of view, we commonly use a mechanism called the confirmation bias - "seeing and recalling only evidence that supports your beliefs."  The confirmation bias helps us remain firm in our commitment to our arguments by keeping us from dispassionately analyzing our beliefs against empirical data or subjecting them to a plausibility test.  As she says, if we want to argue that women are bad drivers, we will only remember (and mention) those times when we saw a female driver going 40mph in the fast lane.

Begley observes that this tendency to ignore counter-evidence constitutes a form of irrational thinking, much like the athlete's belief in his own invincibility.  And the confirmation bias serves much the same purpose for an everyday disputant as the "invincibility" belief serves for the athlete.  As Begley says:

"The reason we succumb to confirmation bias, why we are blind to counterexamples ... is that these lapses have a purpose: they help us 'devise and evaluate arguments that are intended to persuade other people,' says psychologist Hugo Mercier of the University of Pennsylvania. Failures of logic, he and cognitive scientist Dan Sperber of the Institut Jean Nicod in Paris propose, are in fact effective ploys to win arguments.

But Begley then makes an observation that shows the difference between the typical verbal warrior and Syed's champion athlete:

"Arguing, after all, is less about seeking truth than about overcoming opposing views. So while confirmation bias, for instance, may mislead us about what’s true and real, by letting examples that support our view monopolize our memory and perception, it maximizes the artillery we wield when trying to convince someone that, say, he really is 'late all the time.'” (emphasis added)

The typical arguer commonly fails to apply the second part of the "manipulating beliefs" equation: the recognition that he could actually be wrong.  By ignoring the holes in his own position, an arguer becomes like the athlete who convinces himself of his indomitability but overlooks the often glaring evidence that tells him where he's falling short.  When both verbal combatants fail to acknowledge their own fallibility, the typical argument becomes (as Begley says) "less about seeking the truth than about overcoming opposing views" - or, to use another combat analogy, an attempt to batter the other with one's position until he submits.  Whichever party "wins" such a battle, the truth is usually the real loser. 

Contrast this with the more productive outcome that can result from both parties' applying the And Stance, which I described earlier.

Maybe the typical arguer would do well to take a page from the champion athlete's playbook and entertain the possibility that he - and his positions - could stand further self-scrutiny.  If both parties were to do that, then their interaction could be less a competitive exercise and more a joint search for truth.

Getting There Is Half the Fun - Part Two

Last time, I described the mechanisms involved in one’s experiencing of a work of art. The enjoyment of the work doesn’t consist merely of the end-state, the basking in the emotion that comes after the work has been experienced. Rather, as described in the old advertising slogan “Getting There Is Half the Fun,” much of one’s appreciation comes from “having experienced” the work.

In other words, partaking of the structure of the work (the “how”) is as important as reflecting on the message conveyed by the content of the work (the “what”).

I think the same distinction between the “what” and the “how” is becoming increasingly important in pursuing and achieving results in an organizational environment. A leader might successfully achieve an outcome (the “what”) – a deadline, a cost savings, a revenue-generator – that provides benefit to the organization. Yet if he does it in a way (the “how”) that crushes morale, fails to develop his people, or violates ethical principles, then the question can well be asked: How successful has he really been?

A person can ask the same thing about the personal toll a goal-achievement can wreak. She might devote years of struggle and toil to attaining a goal – but if she ignores other important aspects of her life along the way (health, relationships, personal values), then she may fairly ask herself: Was the “what” worth the “how”?

Ultimately, I think, the issue boils down to a distinction I previously made in my article on Three Dog Night drummer Floyd Sneed:

“It ain’t what you do, it’s how you do it!”

What this deliberately paradoxical observation is getting at, I think, is that the “what” and the “how” are really inseparable in judging the success of any artistic endeavor, in either a performance context or an organizational context.