Roots of the Big Fish approach: Chris Brogan

As I’ve noted before, I spent a very long time letting my ideas about being a Big Fish in a Small Pond fester before I actually launched this site.

And from time to time I write here about some of the thinkers, writers and others that influenced me during that formative period.

And one of the key influences during that time was Chris Brogan’s book, “The Freaks Shall Inherit the Earth.

Chris’ book is a look at a new style of entrepreneurship … one that requires a level of focus on specific, small communities and which emphasizes service to the members of that community. On page 169, Chris sort of sums up his entire approach like this:

“Throughout this book, we’ve talked about serving a community being the key to business. …We exist to serve our community.  That’s the most important mind-set to maintain. In this one detail, you can do the work you want to do and build the business you want to build, provided you’ve done the work we talked about before to identify the right community to serve.”

If you’ve been reading ABigFishinaSmallPond for awhile now, you’ll quickly note the similarities between Chris’ approach and my call to find a ‘community (a Small Pond) that you wish to serve because because you’re part of the community?

Chris has a long history of looking with favor upon specialization, serving a small community, and generally saying “Hooray for Small Ponds.

And I’ve been reading him for quite some time, filing things away as I developed the Big Fish approach.

Amtrak’s Acela train. Photo by Flickr user Cliff1066

And then, earlier this year, I found myself on an Amtrak train to Boston reading Chris’ “Freaks.” And by the time I had arrived in Beantown, I knew the time was right for me to launch ABigFishinaSmallPond.

Here’s why. Chris’ book is full of advice worth listening to and tactics worth trying. Every page is filed with useful takeaways. But on page 100, there was section that seemed to scream at me as Chris debated the pros and cons of working for big companies versus working for yourself.

…Being a cog in a machine is far less interesting than being the head of something smaller. I have friends who love working for the big guy. It’s just not going to happen for me. I can’t do it…Left to my own devices, I’d rather captain the pirate ship than be part of the fleet. The fleet has its advantages, but I always find that having the ability to maneuver quickly is most important to me. I’ll take that over firepower.

When I got on that train I was several weeks into a job working for someone else. And I was hating it.  I had next-to-no respect for the folks in charge, and everything I wanted to do required endless conversations with them.  Nothing was ever decided. Nothing, really, ever happened. It was the perfect job for someone who wanted to coast, to take thing easily, and to collect a check while preserving the status quo.

And when I got off the train, I knew I would leave the job.

I knew, too, that it was time to launch this site and learn if there were other folks out there like me who preferred maneuverability to firepower, preferred serving communities to working for companies, and preferred small ponds to big.

To read about some other work that influenced the Big Fish approach, check out this post on “Shop Class as Soulcraft” and this post on Malcolm Gladwell’s theories on elite institutions.

— by Paul Conley

September and the need to change

I learned years ago that my Boston childhood had a dramatic impact on how I act in the world.

There are things about me that make it obvious to even a casual observer that I am an Irish-American man who was born and raised in Boston. I have a Kennedy-esqe accent punctuated by blue-collar slang and colorful obscenities. I eat lobster and baked beans and even canned brown bread. I’m both pugnacious and loquacious. My family and childhood friends are about evenly divided between law-enforcement agents and criminals.

But I have other traits — less obvious and less stereotypical — that result from my upbringing in Boston. And chief among these is that I live on the academic calendar that marks life in a city filled with universities.

My year begins in September, not January.  As does Boston’s. Each year as the summer ends, the city is reborn as thousands and thousands of new, ambitious kids arrive in the dorms scattered across Boston. The city changes its look, its fashion, its beliefs, and its very population each September.

And I, as a child of that city, have adopted a similar approach to the year. I use the summer to re-evaluate my life and to make decisions. And in September I change.

This year is no exception.

Among the changes of recent weeks:

  • I left my job at The NPD Group after three years.
  • I relaunched my semi-dormant consulting business and landed a new client — a non-profit in a city where I have never before done business.
  • I made a conscious effort to increase the amount of freelance writing I do  … and wrote and sold a half-dozen pieces.
  • Plus I bought some new clothes. 🙂

But if it is my Bostonian roots that drive me to make changes every September, it is the Big Fish in a Small Pond approach I talk about on this blog that makes such change possible. BFSP is many things — a guide to career choice; a part of the minimalism movement; an approach to marketing and communications and business; etc.  But all of BFSP can be abbreviated into this single thought: you should build a life that gives you the freedom to change your life.

And since it’s September, and because I can, I’ve changed mine once again.

The September of change that proved the most significant in my life was in 2005. Check out this post from my old blog in which I wrote about some of my plans … particularly for an upcoming vacation in New England.  What I did not know as I wrote was that my daughter would be conceived in just a few days in a bed and breakfast in Maine.

Finding your small pond in (more than) three steps

The Web and your local bookstore are full of advice on “finding your passion” as the key to happiness at work.

In fact, there’s so much passion-finding advice out there that it invites a backlash. And sure enough it seems an entire new genre of self-help journalism has emerged dedicated to debunking the find-your-passion craze. For example, articles in support of a something-other-than-passion approach to work are now all over the Web. In fact, I’m a long-time fan of the writer Cal Newport. And I adore his latest book “Deep Work,” which is a sort of anti-passion screed. (I’ll share my thoughts on that book and my appreciation for Cal’s approach in an upcoming post.)

But the Big Fish in a Small Pond (BFSP) approach we’re developing on this site is neither pro- nor anti-passion. Rather, BFSP sees “find your passion” as a small but useful tool that can help show whether or not you’re in the right pond.

Here’s what I mean:  the BFSP approach suggests that you spend as much of your life as possible in Small Ponds, i.e., places

  • where your authority is clear, even when you are not the sole authority or the leading authority
  • where you lead more often that you follow
  • where you are often responsible for others, but seldom responsible to others

And the Big Fish approach suggests that when trying to decide if any particular small pond is the right one for you, it’s wise to ask a series of questions related to mastery, value and love.

Passion is not a requirement in BFSP.  And I would argue that there are small ponds worth selecting — particularly those that involve charitable pursuits — where passion need not be a significant factor at all.

So although it’s safe to say that Big Fish don’t feel passionately about passion, it would be misleading to say that we feel totally dispassionate about it.

The search for your passion can be illuminating (and fun. ) It can help point the way toward Small Ponds that might otherwise escape your notice. And it can help you understand why some Small Ponds wouldn’t work for you.

Let me explain:

One of the best methods I’ve found for discovering your passion is from the author and self-described “book mentor” Mary DeMuth. In a guest post several years ago on the website of Michael Hyatt, DeMuth outlined “How to find your passion in three steps.

Step two in her approach is to list your three favorite movies. Give it a try. Do it quickly, without thinking about it too much. Then look at the list and try to find the common thread that runs through each film.

When I did the exercise my three favorite movies were:

  • Quest for Fire
  • Book of Eli
  • Fly Away Home

By most any measure, these are wildly different sorts of movies. Quest for Fire is about three friends in prehistoric Europe searching for a new source of fire; The Book of Eli is about a dystopian future in which one man travels the land with what may be the last copy of the Bible on Earth; and Fly Away Home is about a teenage girl who adopts a motherless flock of geese.

But if you know those three films you’ll agree there is a common thread running through them:  people finding meaning through the acceptance of difficult duty in service to others.

And that — searching for meaning, accepting duty, serving others  — is my passion in life.  I can’t pretend that it is the only theme in my life, or that it is constant. But I can say that it calls to me.  And I can say it reappears consistently throughout what  I see as the the highlights of my life — from my childhood obsession with generating money for the poor, through my brief stint in the military, to working with the disabled, to taking on ethical battles in journalism, to coaching young staff, to my role as father to my daughter.

I also know there were periods in my life in which I ignored the call of that theme. I took on jobs that were devoid of meaning, with people who ignored duty to anything other than revenue, in companies that served only their owners.  The money was usually great; the jobs were often glamorous. But I was miserable.

Thus for me it’s important to know … and to remember … what my passion is. Because it holds the final key to knowing whether or not a particular Small Pond is the right Small Pond for me.

— by Paul Conley

Big Fish, Small Ponds and the Minimalism Movement

In the Big Fish in a Small Pond approach, there’s no such thing as an independent, standalone pond.

The idea is to be a “Big Fish” by putting the majority of your efforts in life into “Small Ponds,” i.e.

  • where your authority is clear, even when you are not the sole authority or the leading authority
  • where you lead more often that you follow
  • where you are often responsible for others, but seldom responsible to others

The idea is not to be the only fish in a pond. Because that’s largely impossible.

For example, it’s probably a pretty safe bet that this blog is the only blog on earth where someone shares his harebrained ideas about using the principles he learned in business publishing as a guide to life. That makes this blog a perfect example of a small pond, and makes me the perfect definition of the big fish therein.

But this blog, this small pond, exists in relation to other small ponds. Small ponds are like that. They can be subsets of larger ponds. They can adjoin other small ponds.  There is overlap between and among small ponds.

In that sense, The Big Fish in a Small Pond blog is best understood in relation to other ponds. You can think of BFSP as part of the media blogosphere, where people talk about subsets of the publishing world. You can think of BFSP as connected to the lifehacking movement or the larger world of personal-finance writers too. And of course both those worlds are full of Big Fish who have carved out their own niches.

But in my mind, the ponds that feel most related to BFSP are those of the minimalism movement, such as The Minimalists, Becoming Minimalist, Cheapsters, et al.

Minimalism can be hard to explain. But in a nutshell it involves the adoption of a less-is-more, anti-consumerism, freedom-first approach to life.  Reducing clutter and debt are key. Tiny homes and Zen aesthetics  are factors.

Perhaps the connections between minimalism and BFSP are clear only to me. But I see both of them as lifestyle approaches aimed at increasing happiness by removing things that tend to control us. Self-sufficiency and self-esteem are aims of both. Success in the personal sense, rather than worldly sense, is the goal. The strategies in both require maximizing the authority, independence and leadership you wield by not getting trapped by those things (debt, soul-crushing jobs and an obsession with wealth accumulation in particular)  that can take authority over us, make us grow dependent upon them, and lead us by the nose to places we would not choose to go of our own accord.

As you consider whether the BFSP approach would work for you, it’s wise to remember this concept of connected ponds. It’s unlikely you’ll find many places in your life where you’re the only authority, where you always lead, and where you’re never responsible to anyone else but you.  No man is an island. Nor should he wish to be. But everyone can be a big fish in a small pond.

If you’re interested in learning about minimalism feel free to read this article I wrote for Policy Genius about minimalism and personal finance. Or subscribe to the Big Fish in a Small Pond newsletter.

— Paul Conley

 

Thank you for the “Thank You”

I received some photos by email the other day that gladdened my heart.

They also proved the point  once again that taking the Big Fish approach to any endeavor is always likely to gladden my heart.

Let me explain.

The email was from a pre-K teacher I have never met. The photos were of drawings her students created in a classroom I have never visited. That teacher  took the time to send me an extraordinarily sweet note and those photos as way of saying “thank you” for a modest gift I had given through Donors Choose.

Donors Choose, in case you’re not familiar with it, is an online system in which teachers list small-scale projects for which they need money.  Folks who want to help can select specific projects that appeal to them, and then donate just to those causes.

Mrs. Brown, the pre-K teacher, had requested art supplies for her classroom. I, and eight other people, liked her idea and made donations.

For me, Donors Choose is the perfect format to use when taking a Big Fish approach to charity. I’ve used the system to contribute to a few projects  — each of which was small and manageable, where a positive outcome was easily measured, and where my modest gift could have a significant impact.

Unlike, for example, making a donation to the American Cancer Society or the United Way, Donors Choose gives me authority in choosing how my money is used. I’m not just a guy on a mailing list, I’m a Big Fish who has the ability to solve a problem and serve a community.

There’s nothing wrong with the big, national charities. Nor is there anything wrong with alumni associations, non-profit hospital fundraising drives, or political action committees. But I’m not a Big Fish in any of those groups.  Any money I give to those groups may be appreciated, but it’s never significant enough to influence policy.

I prefer to donate to situations where my money, even when it’s not much, carries some weight. I prefer to give to people who will use my money in specific ways that I can influence, or at least track.

So I’ve helped a few teachers through Donors Choose because I liked what they wanted to do, I knew it could be done, and I knew that my monetary help would be of actual help in getting it done.

I’ve made similar, Big Fish donations to other Small Pond organizations where I can see the impact of my gift. There’s a Catholic parish I like that helps immigrant families adjust to life in this country, there’s an inn in Colorado that offers housing to families who have children  being treated for cancer, there’s a church that runs a tiny homeless shelter at night in a school gymnasium. When I give money to those groups, I can see the influence I have.  I can weigh in on policy; I can choose exactly how I want my money spent; I can see results.

And those things are key to the Big Fish approach. Because being a Big Fish requires that we choose to spend as much time as possible in situations where our influence and authority are clear.

Because Big Fish know that results, not effort or intention, are what counts.

And Big Fish also like the occasional, heartfelt “thank you” note.

— by Paul Conley

Roots of the Big Fish approach: Malcolm Gladwell and elite institutions

As I’ve noted before, I spent years thinking about the Big Fish approach long before I started writing about it on this blog. 

During all that time I consumed information and allowed it to fester … coming back to the information I’d collected, reviewing it,  and then collecting more … because that’s sort of how I think. 

During that time of festering I came across several key ideas, events, books, and thinkers that all seemed to point in the same direction … toward what I was coming to think of as the Big Fish approach to work, life and happiness.

One key figure in the festering period was the writer Malcolm Gladwell. If you haven’t read Gladwell’s work, I’d suggest that you do. Few writers are as capable of unearthing and then explaining the mechanisms that drive people. Gladwell is a journalist, like I am.  And journalists by nature are explainers. We notice that something is, and then we work to find out why.

Gladwell is a controversial writer. He has a tendency to pronounce that he has found the “why “when he’s not yet done any such thing. In other words, he unearths questions, but he writes as if he as found answers.

That’s fine. I adore his work. And the questions he uncovers tend to be the sort that fascinate me.

Consider Gladwell’s best-selling, but poorly reviewed, book “David and Goliath.”

The book is full of references to a number of social-science concepts such as relative deprivation, which Gladwell uses to back his argument that choosing to attend an elite college or work at a top-tier company is a bad idea.

Essentially Gladwell says that choosing to spend your time with the “best and the brightest” has a depressing effect.  Attend Harvard or MIT, he says, and you’ll tend to feel inferior to your peers. That will have  a debilitating effect on your performance.  This phenomenon was dubbed the Big-fish-little-pond-effect, by Oxford professor Herbert Marsh.

As Gladwell said in a speech he made at Google’s headquarters (video below),  as human beings we are drawn toward elite institutions, but “we dramatically underestimate the cost of being at the bottom of a hierarchy.

And that is what I think Gladwell gets right.

In the Big Fish approach we’re developing on this site, I say that the key to success is to spend as much of life as possible in “small ponds,” i.e. situations :

The key is to avoid being at the the bottom of hierarchies as much as is possible.

College students and many professionals — the groups that Gladwell is speaking of — will be at the bottom of some hierarchies some of the time.

But I would argue success and happiness will come for such people when they limit their time at the bottom.

There’s nothing about attending Harvard or working at Google per se that makes it impossible to take the Big Fish approach. Just as there is nothing about attending Tiny Liberal Arts College of Smallville or working at Search Engine Optimizers of Rural America that ensures that you are taking the Big Fish approach.

I’ve worked at a number of “elite” institutions such as CNN and Bloomberg. I also attended one of the “elite” schools in the journalism world — the University of Missouri-Columbia. I learned much from those experiences, and in hindsight I can say that those elite institutions worked for me when I could find areas within them where I could wield authority, lead and take responsibility for others.

So if you’re a freshman at Harvard or an engineer at Google, here’s my advice: don’t quit, but don’t accept the role of small fish either. Look instead for a Small Pond or two on the edge of the big pond. Join a club, start an initiative, launch a product, organize a group, do something so that you’re spending as much of your time as possible in Small Ponds where you have authority, are a leader, and are responsible for others.

— by Paul Conley

Suddenly and unexpectedly famous

To succeed as a Big Fish in a Small Pond you need to do to two things. But I didn’t know that when I first became a Big Fish. Rather, I just sort of woke up one day and realized, much to my surprise, that I was a Big Fish in my industry. I’d done those two things (I’ll tell you what they are in a moment), but I hadn’t known to do them and hadn’t realized that I’d done them.

As I’ve mentioned before, my career took off 10 years ago when — on the spur of the moment I started a blog covering B2B media. I was just a guy with some strongly held opinions and an ego sufficiently large enough that I thought folks might be interested in those opinions. I felt passionately about something (that B2B publishing was changing and that this offered tremendous opportunities to journalists.) So I blogged.

A year or so passed, my site attracted some attention, and people posted comments. Things were going along quite well.

Then one day, I attended a media-industry conference here in New York.  It was a conference I’d been to a bunch of times before. I knew a few folks who attended this thing regularly — they were journalists like I am. And I knew the names of the folks who were on the podium — they were the high-level executives and owners of publishing companies for whom we worked.

I was sitting next to a buddy, listening to some old fool on the stage complain about something, when a complete stranger walked over and said “You’re Paul Conley. I love what you’re doing for us!”

Another stranger sitting nearby apparently heard what this first person said and spun around in his chair and said, “You’re Paul Conley? Thanks for writing what you write. You’re famous!”

Both of those strangers — working journalists in B2B media — wanted to thank me for starting a series of fights online about journalism ethics in B2B. There was a lot of pressure coming from the executive suites in those days for journalists to cut ethical corners. That infuriated me. And I said so in posts like this one and this one.

I hadn’t started the blog to start fights. But over time it became clear that fights needed to happen.  So I started fighting.

What was so remarkable about meeting those two strangers wasn’t so much that anyone thought I was famous. This was in 2006. And the Web was already known as the place where everyone was famous to 15 people.

What was remarkable  — what was wonderful and perfect and delightful — was that two people I had never met understood something even my friends and family seemed not to understand: My blog wasn’t  so much about B2B media as it was for the people who worked in it.

The tag line of that blog is “A blog for those who toil in the most specialized, and perhaps the least glamorous, area in the press — trade journalism.”  I had chosen that line carefully. I wanted to write for the journalists, not for the executives. I wanted to create something that was for people, not for companies.

Those two strangers and other folks like them were the reason I had started the blog. And, when it became clear to me that journalism ethics were under siege, those folks were the reason I started fighting with executives and industry “leaders” about ethics.

I wrote for my peers and on behalf of my peers because I felt passionately about the profession in which we worked.  And in doing so, I had somehow begun to win both love and gratitude in return.

I’d found success as a Big Fish in a Small Pond because I’d stumbled on to the two things that you need to do to succeed as a Big Fish in a Small Pond:

  1.  I’d found the right pond. In particular, I found a community I wanted to serve because I was part of the community.
  2. I acted like a Big Fish. In particular, I’d become willing to pick a fight with other Big Fish who threatened the pond.

— by Paul Conley

Finding the right small pond for you

More than 12 years ago I sat on the couch with my laptop and did something that would change my career and my life.

I started a blog.

In particular, I started a blog about a small sliver of the media world: business-to-business journalism. I wasn’t the first person to blog about journalism. I wasn’t even the first person to blog about B2B journalism. But I was the first person to blog exclusively about B2B journalism.

In the years after I launched the blog, loads of people asked me why I chose to focus on such a narrow part of the media world. I answered honestly that I wanted to write about something small enough that it would be possible to “master” the subject, rather than just cover it.

Some of those people, mostly the ones without a highly developed sense of diplomacy, also asked why I chose to focus on such an unglamorous part of the media. I answered honestly that I wanted to write for an audience that other people ignored. There might turn out to be nothing of value in what I wrote, I said, but I wanted to tell the folks who worked in B2B that they, themselves, were valuable. I chose to write about B2B as a way to say that B2B was worth writing about.

And the least diplomatic of my friends and associates asked some version or another of the following question: But isn’t B2B sort of boring? And I answered, honestly, that it was no such thing to me. I loved B2B. I thought B2B was exciting. And I loved the idea that there might be other people who loved what I loved.

Now, all these years later, I know why the B2B media niche worked for me. And I know how my answers to those questions that my friends asked can serve as the basis of choosing any Small Pond in which to work, live or play.

To follow the Big Fish approach, consider these three questions when choosing a pond:

  1. Is it possible for you to “master” this pond? Is this a place (an industry, a department of a company, a parish, a neighborhood, etc.) where it’s possible for you to become truly knowledgeable about what matters to others in the pond? You don’t necessarily need to be the top source of knowledge. Nor do you need to know everything there is to know. But the possibility that you could become that person must exist. If you don’t understand math, for example, you can’t be a Big Fish in the accounting department.
  2. Do you see a “value” in this pond that others do not? And is this a place where you could contribute additional value? Could that contribution then increase the value of the pond? And would the value of the pond then increase the value of your contribution? is there something about this pond that makes it possible that 1+1 really does = 3?
  3. Do you “love” this pond? And I don’t mean that you love the potential of the pond or love what it could do for you. I mean do you love this pond in the way that parents love their children, the way some soldiers love the Army, the way athletes sometimes love their team? In other words, do you think of this pond as a community you want to serve because you’re part of the community?

When you know the answers to those questions, you’ll know if you’ve found the right Small Pond for you.

In an upcoming post I’ll talk about what it was like to realize that, suddenly and unexpectedly, I’d become a Big Fish in the Small Pond of B2B media.

In the meantime, if you’re new to this blog, you may want to read this brief overview of the Big Fish approach.

— by Paul Conley

Stumbling into a Small Pond

I’d like to be able to say that I invented my Big Fish in a Small Pond approach after years of careful research and thoughtful analysis.

But that would be a lie.

The truth is that I sort of stumbled onto the idea after stumbling in and out of various “ponds” of various sizes. With time, I learned that some ponds seemed to fit me, whereas others did not.  And the nature of the pond had little to do with how comfortable I felt there. It was the size, not the substance, that mattered.

Thus I had held, and then gave up, a number of prestigious jobs at wonderful companies in my chosen profession (journalism.) I was able to land jobs that other folks could only dream of …. I was a producer at CNNfn, the predecessor of CNNMoney.com. I was a vice president at Primedia, a massive publishing conglomerate with hundreds of titles and brands. I was an editor at Bloomberg News.

But those jobs didn’t work for me.

But other less prestigious and less remunerative jobs that I’d held over the years — Midwest bureau chief for the Journal of Commerce (an historic, but less-than-well-known brand covering transportation and trade); editorial director at tiny MBT Media, which covers innovations in banking; running the one-man bureau in Lexington, North Carolina, for the Winston-Salem Journal newspaper; senior writer for Vance Publishing’s The Packer newspaper, which covers the fruit and vegetable industry; etc.  — those jobs resonated with me.

In those small ponds, I fared well. But in the big ponds of journalism, I did poorly.  There were exceptions. But even those exceptions supported, rather than undermined, my theories on being A Big Fish in a Small Pond.

I took a job once at a small publisher covering a small section of the petroleum business. It appeared to be a perfect Big Fish gig at Small Pond company.  But it was a terrible fit.  A few years ago I took on a job managing the editorial team of a small brand covering  industrial metals. It too seemed like a perfect Big Fish gig. But it wasn’t.

Both of those jobs failed to meet the core requirements for being a Big Fish in a Small Pond role. In both jobs I reported to people who wanted to run things in a manner quite different from how I wanted to run things. I could just say that those people were micromanagers. And that would be true. I could also say that I found them to be … and I struggle to find a diplomatic phrase here … less than brilliant. That would also be true.  But the real problem with micromanagers and knuckleheads is that they turn small ponds into bureaucratic quagmires.

Because for a job (or anything else) to qualify as a “small pond” it must be a place:

  • where your authority is clear, even when you are not the sole authority or the leading authority
  • where you lead more often that you follow
  • where you are often responsible for others, but seldom responsible to others

And if you’re reporting to someone(s) whose primary concern is maintaining the status quo and his/her own authority,  you’re in a swamp, not a “small pond.”

Not that any of this has always been clear to me. Rather, as I said at the start of this post, I’ve stumbled on to the insights that led me to stumble on to the Big Fish approach.

And the most important of those stumbles was in late 2004 when, on a whim, I started a blog that made me “Internet famous” in the very small pond of business-to-business journalism.

That blog led me to stumble into consulting. And it was as a consultant to publishers that I found myself moving from pond to pond, from brand to brand, across much of the business press. For the first time I started to notice what sort of work environments tended to have happy, successful people. I noticed too what sort of place was filled with sullen, frightened and angry workers.  I learned what type of brand I liked to work with, what type of people I liked to meet with, and what companies I liked to help.

By contrast, I also learned what type of brand, staff and ownership structure wore away at my soul.

In an upcoming post I’ll write what Big Fish strategies were the basis of my first blog, how they led to the creation of a consulting business, and what I learned about Fish and Ponds as a consultant.

— by Paul Conley

Roots of the Big Fish approach: “Shop Class as Soulcraft”

I’ve been working on the Big Fish approach for many years. Or, to put it more accurately, I’ve been thinking about the approach for years: pondering the ideas, keeping notes, doing research, paying attention to things that seemed related to the ideas, then doing more research and scribbling down more notes, etc.

But thinking sort of is how I work.

My model for this is Sir Isaac Newton.  After he published his Principia Mathematica, which gave us the concept of universal gravitation, someone asked him how he managed to come up with such a remarkable idea. He answered, “By thinking on it continually.”

I certainly don’t think as well as Newton, nor as deeply. But I do apparently share one trait with him — I like to let ideas fester.

From time to time on this blog I’ll write about some of the books, ideas, articles and events that I consumed during the festering period that led to the Big Fish in a Small Pond approach.

And to start, I want to write a bit about “Shop Class as Soulcraft.”

If you haven’t read the book by Matthew Crawford, I would highly recommend it. In brief, it’s a a book of philosophy that is structured as a defense of manual labor. Crawford is a motorcycle mechanic. And he found value in that trade that he could not find in his previous career at a “think tank” in Washington, D.C.

I first came across Crawford’s work in an essay in 2006 that would become the basis of his book three years later.

I fell in love with his ideas instantly …. which might strike anyone who knows me as strange, given that my skills in manual labor are nearly nonexistent. But Crawford seemed to speak to a yearning I had — a yearning that millions of us in the modern world have — to avoid being caught in something too big, too unmanageable, too non-human, in our working lives.

At the end of the essay, Crawford suggests that the development of manual skills is a solution for those of us who wish to avoid being a cog in someone else’s machine.

… the physical circumstances of the jobs performed by carpenters, plumbers, and auto mechanics vary too much for them to be executed by idiots; they require circumspection and adaptability. One feels like a man, not a cog in a machine. The trades are then a natural home for anyone who would live by his own powers, free not only of deadening abstraction, but also of the insidious hopes and rising insecurities that seem to be endemic in our current economic life. This is the stoic ideal.

So what advice should one give to a young person? By all means, go to college. In fact, approach college in the spirit of craftsmanship, going deep into liberal arts and sciences. In the summers, learn a manual trade. You’re likely to be less damaged, and quite possibly better paid, as an independent tradesman than as a cubicle-dwelling tender of information systems. To heed such advice would require a certain contrarian streak, as it entails rejecting a life course mapped out by others as obligatory and inevitable.

I found those two paragraphs both inspiring and affirming. The specifics of Crawford’s solution wouldn’t work for me — I’m neither skilled in nor attracted to manual crafts. But the specifics of his complaints spoke to me.  I, too, yearned for a “natural home” in which I could live by my own powers, free of “the insidious hopes and rising insecurities that seem to be endemic in our current economic life.” I, too, was attracted to a life as “an independent,” and I, too, believed deeply in the idea of approaching education in”the spirit of craftsmanship, going deep into liberal arts and sciences.”

What Crawford saw as the advantages of pursing life as an independent tradesman seemed remarkably similar to the advantages I saw in pursuing life as a Big Fish in a Small Pond. At the most basic level both of us were suggesting that the wisest course of action in the modern world is to step outside the expectations of that world, and instead seek independence and expertise so that you can build a career

— by Paul Conley