The past 12 months I’ve been studying for an MSc in a subject that is far and above what I would consider my intelligence able to handle.
I’m not being self-deprecating here. I know I’m not stupid. It’s just that taking on a STEM subject when you’ve spent the past 20 or so years doing arts stuff, well, it makes for a steep learning curve. Or rather, a deep learning trough.
I routinely find myself re-reading something six or seven times and still not grasping it. Never a good sign. Partly this is because Systems Thinking isn’t an easy subject. More so at Masters level.
Part of the issue sits with distance learning. It’s hard to foster conversations that help with cognition when those people you’re on the course with live overseas, or just don’t want to get involved with an online forum. Especially an online forum that doesn’t thread conversations.
Another challenge is that the subject can be applied to any complex situation, so subjects range from European Economic legislature to local government to healthcare to social systems for drug addicts to education. I know less about most of that than I do Systems Thinking.
Oh, did I mention that the course is also about the application of the tools I’m gaining knowledge of? Many people enrolled on the course are using their everyday job as a way of doing the practical side. I don’t have a job. I have few clients that want to pay me to test out some theories and methodologies I have a scant understanding of.
When I say few, I mean none.
What this means is, I often feel stupid. Really stupid.
Why can’t I grasp this concept?
What is it about this tool that I could use to show I understand it?
Why is academia both arcane in its approach to writing and incredibly rigid on its word count?
And then I remember that, in a conversation with a client, I was able to untangle a Gordian Knot of organisational messiness that had flummoxed the internal team and at least one other consultant for almost a year. Just by asking a question. A single question that I wouldn’t have thought to ask had I not learned about requisite variety.
I remember that I’m not stupid every time I draw a diagram to understand what’s going on with a situation and where – and with whom – the power lies within it.
It’s the best feeling when someone better understands what they need to do after you’ve unpicked a messy issue for them or drawn it out for them. How they go off and make actual change happen based on something you’ve taught them.
These things don’t happen often. In fact, they’ve all happened once only with clients. The diagrams occur more frequently, I tend not to share them – they’re a tool in themselves that help me understand where I might be able to start, or what questions I might want to ask. They show up biases, misunderstandings, political issues, and where organisations and/or people get in their own way.
Feeling stupid is an important part of learning. Without it, I’d simply be confirming my own bias. It forces me to reflect. To think about why I’m thinking. To step beyond the facts and consider the knowledge and history underpinning decisions. To take in multiple views and work with the contradictions that develop from this, as well as the uncertainty this creates.
Being stupid makes me question things: myself, what I’m being asked, why people think a certain thing or do things a certain way.
I’m learning to embrace my stupidity, to make it work in my favour. To make me smarter, so I can start to push towards more difficult concepts. Or to discover why the application of what appears to be obvious isn’t always the right thing to do.
I’m thankful for the patience of those who understand that learning is about feeling stupid occasionally. That learning requires admission of that stupidity and for others not to react with snarky comments or a sense of superiority. To ask questions of why and how. Hard as it is, without stupidity, I’d have failed my first year.
I just hope I’ve got a tiny bit smarter in preparation for the year ahead.
No one should be allowed to stay stupid. Or worse, want to remain so. That’s not something you’d vote for.
Oh.
