Own Your Combo Platter: How Your Unique Experiences Fuel Innovation

A few posts into this blog, I started to worry. Was I just stating the obvious? Then my friend Peter reminded me of something called the "curse of knowledge," a cognitive bias that makes it hard to imagine what it's like not to know something we know. When you go to a dinner party, it's probably easy to remember that you're the only one there who knows anything about how snails reproduce or how dams are built. But when your expertise is broader, encompassing the kind of strategic thinking and problem-solving that applies across many fields, it's easy to fall prey to the curse.

The truth is, everyone has a unique "combo platter" of experiences that shapes their thinking. I spent my childhood in Austin long before it was the trendy tech hub it is today. I worked in a psychiatric hospital, lived on a kibbutz in Israel, was a newspaper reporter, and ran political campaigns for nearly a decade. That's my combo platter. Do you know anyone else with that exact configuration of experiences? Probably not.

And that's the point. These experiences, yours and mine, influence how we see the world, how we solve problems, and how we generate ideas. They provide us with a unique set of mental models, rules of thumb, and metaphors that others don't have. This is where expertise comes in. It's not about having all the answers, but rather about having a unique lens, honed by years of experience and diverse engagement, through which to view the challenges and opportunities in front of you.

Now, I'm not suggesting that everyone's opinion is equally valid. There's a difference between having an opinion and having informed judgment. Those of us who have spent years wrestling with complex problems, navigating diverse landscapes, and accumulating a wealth of knowledge, have earned the right to have our voices heard. We have a responsibility to share our hard-won insights.

And yet, even seasoned experts can fall prey to self-doubt. We get so caught up in our own thoughts that we don't realize how valuable our perspectives can be to others. When I wrap up a project, I always ask my clients for a testimonial. And I'm always surprised by what they say. They often highlight aspects of my thinking that I take for granted, things I don't even realize are unique or helpful.

So, how do we break free from the curse of knowledge and unleash the power of our unique perspectives?

First, take stock of your experiences. Make a list of all the things you've done, researched, and explored. Don't hold back. Include everything from your formal education and professional experiences to your hobbies, travels, and personal interests. Next, reflect on what you've learned from each of those experiences. What are the key takeaways? What are the most important lessons you've learned? Finally, own your combo platter. These are the ingredients that make your thinking distinct and valuable. Bring it confidently into every brainstorming session, every meeting, every conversation.

You know things that others don't. You have a unique perspective to offer. And that perspective is essential for generating truly innovative and remarkable ideas.

Why Your Big Idea Needs a Banksy Makeover

I'm staring at my chest as I write this. Not in a weird, narcissistic way. I'm just captivated by the image on my T-shirt: a masked terrorist lobbing a bouquet of flowers. It's a classic Banksy, the enigmatic street artist who somehow makes vandalism look like high art. Banksy's genius isn't just about what he says, but how he says it. Plenty of people have preached peace over violence or criticized police brutality, but when Banksy does it, we snap to attention. He understands that presentation is everything.

And that's a lesson we often forget, especially when it comes to big, disruptive ideas. We get so caught up in the brilliance of our thinking that we slap it onto a PowerPoint slide and call it a day. But here's the truth: even the most groundbreaking idea will fall flat if it's buried in a boring presentation. Think about it. Your audience is drowning in information – reports, memos, emails, endless meetings. They're bombarded with the same old formats, the same tired routines. Do you really blame them for tuning out?

No, the onus is on us – the innovators, the changemakers – to package our ideas in a way that demands attention. We need to be the Banksy of the boardroom, the disruptors of the status quo. How do we do that? By thinking like artists. By refusing to accept the conventional. By understanding that presentation isn't just window dressing; it's an integral part of the message. It's about tapping into how our brains are wired.

We humans are visual creatures. We're drawn to novelty and surprise. We crave experiences that engage our senses and emotions. A dry report, no matter how insightful, struggles to compete with the vivid imagery and emotional resonance of a Banksy mural.

That's why I've experimented with different forms of "packaging" over the years. I've produced books clients can hold and revisit, their weight adding a sense of gravitas to the ideas within. I've designed posters that transform blank walls into canvases for contemplation. I've built interactive websites that bring concepts to life, and I've orchestrated events that create a shared experience around a new vision. In one instance, I even crafted an op-ed to take an idea to the public. This wasn't just about raising awareness; it was a calculated move to demonstrate the potential impact of the idea to the client, showcasing its reach and resonance beyond the confines of the boardroom.

These are just glimpses into the possibilities. The key is to break free from the mundane, to find creative ways to engage your audience and make your ideas stick. The stakes are high. A brilliant strategy, poorly presented, is a missed opportunity. It's a chance for change that withers on the vine.

So, the next time you have a game-changing idea, don't just tell people about it. Show them. Make them feel it. Give it a Banksy makeover. Because in a world saturated with information, presentation is no longer an afterthought. It's the key that unlocks the power of your ideas.

Design and Strategize for the Extraordinary

What does "highest and best use" mean in the context of design and strategy?

Everything is designed for a purpose. Houses are designed to be lived in. Chairs are designed to be sat in. That seems obvious, of course, but I think we often glide past that when we think about what we're designing or the strategies we're creating. What is the ultimate point of the thing?

Can you elaborate on that? What do you mean by "ultimate point"?

Beyond simply understanding the basic purpose of the thing is the question of its "highest and best use." It's about striving for the Platonic ideal, if you will - the most perfect and complete expression of that object or strategy. Of all the things that something might be, which of those is the most aspirational? What is the greatest possible thing it might be used for? 

Consider houses, for example. Yes, they're designed to be lived in. But they can be designed to raise happy families in. That would raise the bar for design. It would no longer be enough to design a house simply to be lived in. We'd now need to consider what families are and what happiness is and how houses might be optimized to make families happy. And wouldn't everybody with a family want to move into a house that has been optimized to maximize their happiness?

Or take chairs. Yes, chairs are meant to be sat in. But what if you imagined the greatest possible purpose of a chair? What if you designed a chair to relieve the burdens of the day? Everybody would want a chair optimized for that.

Can you give an example of a design project where you specifically focused on the "highest and best use" principle?

We were asked by a major aquarium how they might best help blind visitors enjoy their visits. To explore that, we interviewed blind oceanographers. We asked them how they first fell in love with the ocean. And it turned out that each of their stories turned on feelings like wonder and awe. To help the aquarium serve their blind visitors, we need to communicate the mystery and other-worldliness that blind visitors can’t see.

Some might argue that "highest and best use" is subjective and open to interpretation. How do you respond to that?

That's absolutely fair. Of course, my highest and best may not be someone else's. But that doesn't exactly matter. In both cases, we're each looking to make the chair or house or aquarium into the extraordinary version of itself, rather than a conventional, uninspiring version.

How can designers and strategists practically apply this "highest and best use" philosophy in their work?

Here are a couple of questions to ask yourself at the beginning of a project. "If this were going to be the best possible, most extraordinary version of the thing you're designing, what would be true of it?" And "If budget were no object at all, what would you design?" It doesn't mean you have to build it that way, but knowing the answers — or at least your answers — will free you up to see possibilities you won’t otherwise see.

Plans Win (Even Bad Plans Win)

Ever heard of the Lost Platoon? Picture this: World War II, the thick of the Vosges Mountains in France. A platoon of American soldiers finds themselves hopelessly lost, outnumbered, and with German troops closing in. Their situation is beyond grim. Then, they stumble upon a map. They rally around it, using this newfound guidance to navigate through treacherous terrain. Against all odds, they make it to safety. But here's the kicker: the map they used was of the Pyrenees mountains, hundreds of miles away from their actual location.

How could a wrong map lead to survival? It sounds like a riddle, right? But it perfectly illustrates something I learned early in my career and have seen play out dozens of times since: even a flawed plan is better than no plan.

Think about those soldiers. In the face of imminent danger, that "wrong" map gave them something crucial: direction. It transformed their desperate scramble into a purposeful mission. It gave them a sense of control when everything else felt out of control.

And that's exactly what a plan does. It takes an idea – something intangible, floating around in your head – and makes it real. Without a plan, your brilliant idea is just a notion, a whim. But when you build a plan, you're forced to confront the nitty-gritty. You have to understand your idea inside and out. You can't build a plan to do something you don't truly grasp.

But it's more than just understanding. Plans get people excited. They see where they fit in, how their contributions matter, and how the world might change because of their efforts. A solid plan is a signal flare – it tells everyone you're dead serious about bringing this idea to life. It shows you've gone to the trouble to figure out what will make it fly, who will love it, and why now is the right time to launch it.

But plans can be wrong. Sometimes spectacularly wrong. But even if your assumptions are off, they're probably not all off. And even if they are, a wrong plan is still a starting point. It's a framework you can adjust, learn from, and improve on.

I spend an absurd amount of time developing plans for organizations. I build plans, tear them apart to challenge my own thinking, and then painstakingly refine them until they're clear, concise, and beautifully designed. I know that the big, sexy idea is what gets people hooked, but it's the plan they can hold in their hands, read, re-read, and refer to that makes the difference. It gives them confidence, clarity, and a roadmap to follow.

So, here's the takeaway: Don't be afraid to plan. Don't let the fear of the plan being wrong paralyze you. Embrace the power of planning, even if the result isn't perfect. Because a wrong plan, like that map in the hands of the Lost Platoon, can still lead you to unexpected places and incredible victories.

Just Like Madonna, You're Less Unique Than You Think

I was an undergraduate when Madonna became a pop culture phenomenon. Her music videos were all over MTV, and her style — crucifixes, rosaries, fishnet stockings, the whole nine yards — was instantly iconic. I remember a CNN story where they asked a young girl at a Madonna concert why she loved the singer. Surrounded by tens of thousands of girls dressed exactly like her, this girl, nearly hyperventilating, shouted, "Because she encourages us to be individuals!"

That's what I think of when I see businesses today — law firms, retail stores, nonprofits — they all look, sound, and act pretty much like their competitors. We all want to be distinctive, but the truth is, very few of us ever break the mold. Why? Because we're trapped in a web of industry norms.

These unwritten rules dictate how we operate, what we value, and even how we think. Even though we're competing with each other, we attend the same conferences, read the same books, hire the same consultants. As the kids say, we're all smoking the same dope. Industry norms like this are powerful things. They provide stability and predictability, which is great for society as a whole, but can be a death knell for innovation or distinctiveness. These norms whisper in our ears, "We don't do things that way," keeping us from coloring too far outside the lines.

Take law firms, for example. Most clients hate hourly billing. Lawyers themselves recognize the inherent flaw — it doesn't account for experience or expertise. An hour of a seasoned lawyer's time is far more valuable than an hour of a junior associate's, but the billing structure doesn't reflect that. But despite this, virtually every law firm in the US bills by the hour. Why? Because that's how it's always been done. The pressure to conform is just too strong.

I once worked with one of the big five office furniture companies. Each of the five companies had product development teams, yet every company's products looked remarkably similar. Sure, there were minor variations, but the desks and chairs and bookshelves all looked largely the same. They might have told me it was because that's what customers wanted, but I don't buy it. Customers are counting on you to be original, to push the boundaries, not just give them a slightly different version of the same old thing.

Henry Ford (and I hate quoting an avowed anti-Semite, but here we are) famously said, "If I had asked people what they wanted, they would have said a faster horse." This gets at a crucial point: customers don't know what they truly want. They're stuck in the same frame of thinking as everyone else. It's up to you to break free from that frame and create something truly new.

The first step is to identify the industry norms that are holding you back. What are the unspoken assumptions, the "we've always done it this way" practices that are stifling innovation in your industry? This is harder than it sounds. These norms are often so deeply ingrained that we don't even recognize them. But try asking your team questions like “What are the things that everyone in your industry does?” and “What are the beliefs that everyone seems to share, even if they're not explicitly stated?” Once you start to identify the industry norms, you can start to challenge them and do something original.

Hold Your Horses: Why You Shouldn't Explain That New Idea (Yet)

You ever blurt something out and instantly regret it? Maybe you shared an idea before you'd really thought it through, or tried to explain something you didn't quite understand yourself. We've all been there. It's like that feeling when you hit "send" on an email too quickly and realize you forgot to attach the file – except with ideas, there's no "unsend" button. I've made this mistake dozens of times.

Here's the thing about original thinking: it's risky. Even if you're convinced you're onto something brilliant, there's a social cost to coloring outside the lines. People are naturally wired to resist the unfamiliar. So when you introduce a new idea, you're going to have to explain yourself clearly and make a compelling case. But if you try to do that when the idea is still half-baked, when you're still in that fuzzy, formative stage, you'll struggle to defend it. And that amazing idea – that potential game-changer – could be dismissed before it has a chance to take root.

It happened to me once when I was doing something for the United Nations. I had this idea about how to approach the Sustainable Development Goals – those 169 ambitious targets for ending poverty, protecting the planet, and all that good stuff. My idea was simple: we needed a logical order for tackling the goals. It's like building a house – you wouldn't have the plumber start before the foundation is poured, right? But as I went from office to office, trying to explain my thinking to officials at the UN and World Bank, I kept hitting a wall. Nobody seemed to get it. They assumed I was asking them to prioritize the goals, which wasn't my point at all. I wasn't saying that building a roof was more important than installing electrical wiring; I just wanted to figure out the optimal sequence. My explanations were clumsy, my credibility took a hit, and the whole thing was incredibly frustrating.

Then came a turning point. I was invited to speak at the Singapore Embassy in Washington, D.C. The audience was a mix of UN officials, heads of foundations, corporate executives, and professors at universities I couldn’t get into. This was my big chance. But this time, I took a different approach. Instead of diving headfirst into my idea, I turned the audience into a focus group. I asked them: "If we could only start with one SDG target, which would it be?" The response was immediate and overwhelming. Everyone had a different answer: better healthcare, clean water, accessible internet, human trafficking… the room was buzzing with conflicting priorities. By letting them experience this jumble of opinions, they saw for themselves the lack of consensus on where to begin this giant undertaking. I hadn't clearly articulated my solution, but I had successfully demonstrated the need for it.

That experience taught me a valuable lesson: it's better to hold back. Don't rush to explain your new idea until you've fully grasped it and can articulate it. Instead, focus on building a case for change. Establish the "why" before introducing the "what." This creates intrigue, generates buy-in, and makes your audience more receptive to your eventual solution.

(And in case you're wondering, I did eventually develop that optimal order for tackling the SDGs. It took about a year. The starting point? Ensuring all countries have the rule of law – which, admittedly, was a lot less ironic a few years ago.)

So, the next time you're brimming with a groundbreaking idea, resist the urge to spill the beans immediately. Take a breath, refine your thinking, and build the case for change. Your idea – and all the people who will eventually benefit from your idea – will thank you.