on Wisdom — The compression algorithm of experience (Part 1 of 2)
This is part 1 of a two-part essay series on wisdom. You can find part 2 here.
Essence
I’ve long been drawn to people who effortlessly compress life's tumult — the endless noise, distraction, and self-delusion — into deceptively simple insights. It took me many years to understand that this remarkable ability to extract clarity from complexity comes more from genuine curiosity, asking the right questions, and living a life of diverse experiences, than it does from pure knowledge.
As children, we tend to see all the adults around us as wise. But as we grow up, we start to see thru this illusion and come to understand that genuinely wise people are rare. This insight sparked a deep curiosity in me long ago. What is this thing called wisdom? If wisdom is so rare, what sets it apart, and why? How does one cultivate wisdom, and where can it be found?
On the surface, wisdom seems to be everywhere. Our culture is saturated with it — in books and emblazoned on book covers, in movies and on TV, and, of course, flooding social media feeds. This superficial abundance of wisdom raises a crucial question: in a world exploding in chaos, overflowing with information and mis/disinformation, and armchair philosophers as far as the eye can see, how do we distinguish genuine insight from well-packaged knowledge or mere performance?
Recognition
One place to start is by recognizing what wisdom is not. Wisdom is not opinion, nor is it the shallow, performative display that overwhelms our social media feeds. True wisdom is far deeper and more enduring than the Mardi Gras masquerade party on Instagram and Facebook — flashy, loud, and ultimately hollow. Wisdom is not confined by experience or cultural expectations; it can emerge from anyone, anywhere, at any time. Wisdom is not limited to modern knowledge, and, in fact, is more the domain of the many deeply resonate, timeless truths that have endured for centuries, even millennia. Finally, wisdom is not limited to adults or older people; how else could we explain the profound insights that flow often from the mouths of babes?
Several weeks back I was talking to my parents about my young-adult children. I was sharing with them how wonderful it is to watch my kids grow and build their own lives, but also how, as their worlds expand, my role and presence feels like it's shrinking, becoming less important and less instrumental. Perhaps this is true, but that's par for the course. My mom, certainly no shrinking violet when it comes to words of wisdom, but someone who also isn't above comforting me with easy reassurances, looked at me quixotically for a moment. Then, rather than respond with something easy and predictable like — You're not losing them; you're their father; you'll always have them — she simply said, Just keep being a father. BAM! That is wisdom.
Compression
Wisdom compresses lifetimes, generations, centuries, even millennia, of life experience into deeply resonate insight, foresight, acumen, intuition, and common sense. You know it the second you hear it. You can tell by people's reactions. Real wisdom and insight resonates so instantly, deeply, and uniformly that we pause or stop, say things like WOW or AHH, I like that, or simply, smile and shake our heads in quiet, grateful agreement. Wisdom — real, true, hard-hitting wisdom — is perhaps the only thing out there that we still uniformly revere, applaud, and agree on across the board. This is the brilliance, importance, and amazement of wisdom.
One of my favorite pearls of wisdom ever is the Dolly Parton quote — If you want the rainbow sweetheart, you have to put up with the rain. This is consummate insight wrapped in a single bow — simple, honest, and deeply meaningful — fourteen first grade words strung together comprising lifetimes of experience about the hardships, expectations, and challenges of growing up and dreaming big.
In many ways, I think we all have a responsibility to share wisdom, especially with young people. But, too often, we don't. Even with the best of intentions, we silence our sagacity, telling those around us, especially those closest to us, what they want to hear as opposed to what they need to hear. We think we're being kind. We're not. My mom could have said many things to me that day. She could have complimented my steadfast commitment to parenting, told me what a great a father I am, or gone on about how much my children love me and will always need me. But, she didn't. With those five words — Just keep being a father — she absolutely nailed it. Precision compression, wisdom personified. Not only were these the exact right words, at the exact right time — what I needed to hear as opposed to what I may have preferred to hear — but within seconds of hearing it, all my concern and worries on the issue completely vanished.
This reminded me of a conversation I had years ago with a business mentor about a particularly challenging business situation. The stakes were high. Time was of the essence. I sought his advice expecting a quick response and a specific decision I could make and implement that afternoon. I wanted the answer and I wanted it RIGHT NOW. What I got instead was something far more valuable: he told me to wait. The right move will come, but right now you need to wait. Act now, and it will cost you. WHAT? That's not what I wanted to hear. AT ALL. I vehemently disagreed with him, but he insisted, I'm telling you, in this situation, the difference between the right call and the wrong one will have significant downstream consequences. You're being pressed for a decision now for a reason. Ignore it and wait. It's your call, but if you act now, don't call me when this bites you in the ass. Very reluctantly, I relented. His advice was exactly right. I had side-stepped a hurricane of trouble I had no idea was waiting for me just around the corner. This experience confirmed for me and taught me three very important wisdoms and life lessons — the wisdom of asking for help, the wisdom of listening, and the wisdom of waiting.
Sharpen
So, what does it take to sharpen and refine life experiences into wisdoms and truths? A lot of time and many things. Here's four of the most important. One, exquisitely careful observation—carefully attuning not only to what's said, but also to what remains unspoken. Two, close, empathetic, deep listening—not just to the words, but to the emotions behind them; to the pauses, silences, and hesitations. Three, extreme curiosity—the kind that pushes you to ask questions others shy away from, and to seek answers beyond the obvious. And four, the most challenging of all, the courage to speak and hear the truth, even when it's inconvenient and uncomfortable. This is how we transform raw experience, over time, into wisdom that matters, lasts, and resonates.
Inspired madness or madness-inspired insight
Ultimately, I came to understand two key truths about wisdom. First, wisdom isn't easily or readily graspable. Sure, we can, and sometimes should, borrow and accept wisdom, whole cloth, from others. But, to fully grasp it, we need to experience life as broadly, boldly, and openly as we possibly can. We then need to reflect on these experiences often. And finally, we need to approach shaping our own understanding of wisdom with courage, independence, and deeply critical thinking. Secondly, our inability to immediately articulate and fully understand the true meaning of things is itself a form of wisdom. Wisdom may be there for the taking, but it is NOT FREE. As for cultivating and developing my own understanding of wisdom, I decided to practice what I learned from my mentor all those years earlier. And so, I waited...
Several years later, quite unexpectedly, in a moment of either inspired madness or madness-inspired insight, I found myself spontaneously riffing on the question: What is wisdom? Part 2 of this two-part essay series is a series of statements — part declarative, part exploratory, part stream of consciousness — all in pursuit of capturing the essence of what wisdom has come to mean to me.