How a 500-year old mural changed my life
In 1509 Raphael, a 26-year-old Italian chap making a living off painting, was commissioned by the Vatican to do a fresco that would honor learning and philosophy. His piece, School of Athens, shows philosophers, inventors, and polymaths spanning thousands of years, from East and West, and with different belief systems, all in one setting—a school. There are ongoing discussions about what the fresco really means, who is who, and so on—but I’ll leave that to the art historians or People Magazine. Because that’s not what changed my life.
A major for misfits
Here was this band of multidisciplinary masters from around the world, all doing something. These icons of awesomeness, usually portrayed in static portraits or busts, were taken off pedestals and depicted as curious explorers, debaters, lovers of knowledge, and artisans. No one individual is really elevated above another. Even Plato and Aristotle, who clearly stand out as prominent characters, are walking side by side in discussion.
The first time I saw it, I had just enrolled in college. It had a certain appeal—smart, sophisticated, and elite. Fast-forward 10 years. I can’t recall exactly where I saw the image again, only that I saw it differently, through a new lens, and this time it had a profound impact on me.
I had recently completed my doctorate. I was feeling empty in its aftermath, realizing we didn’t know that much, but were still hailed as gurus and sages. A few months later, I was working in DC, totally disillusioned with the notion of “the expert.” People regularly exchanged credentials, dropped titles and names to persuade and impress. Cynicism was pervasive. But most disappointing of all, I saw high ranking professionals entrusted with serving people, playing out petty politics and personal vendettas at the expense of good work. Perhaps I was naïve; but still, the wind was knocked out of me. You might have had that sense of disillusionment, too: when you believe something is actually what it proclaims to be, but come to find out that the reality involves more than a fair share of smoke, mirrors, and good intentions. I just didn’t fit in. I didn’t want to.
This time around, I didn’t see elite iconoclasts or untouchable giants in the image. I saw a bunch of aspiring explorers more interested in doing than self-praising. More about pushing the edge with like-minded folks, than standing on a pillar, lonely and isolated in boredom. These masters were misfits in a world that placed stock in status. And with that, I wanted in. I wanted to work with and learn from people just like them—men and women alike.
Admissions
Shortly thereafter, I encountered Tim Brown’s book Change by Design and Tom Kelley’s 10 Faces of Innovation. Both worked at the design and innovation firm IDEO. I felt a deep connection to what they were saying. They described a group of people who prized collaboration across disciplines. They designed not only for people, but with them. They reveled in having impact on people’s lives, pushing the edges of creative work, and doing it with abundant optimism and humility. And they weren’t afraid of failing if it meant learning; they wore it like a badge of honor. Yes, please. But was I qualified?
I was listening to another IDEO design leader, Diego Rodriguez, speak at a conference a few months later. Someone asked him what type of people IDEO hired. He said something like, “Beyond how many years you’ve been working, or the degrees you’ve stacked up, what’s more interesting is the kind of work you’re doing, the impact it has, and the values that drive you to do it.” Boom. Here was my chance: No one was going to get in with just credentials or an inflated title. I decided to apply.
I had ostensibly found my School of Athens. A year later I was given the opportunity to “enroll” in IDEO’s Palo Alto studio. I had found a place where people from diverse backgrounds and training—industrial designers, social scientists, computer programmers, doctors, storytellers, illustrators, and so on—could come together, learn from each other, create some of the best work of their lives, and hopefully enrich people’s lives in some way. Not everyone goes there for that, but I’ve found many that do. I applied as a design researcher, but they saw my mixed-up background as an opportunity to place me in a position they had been experimenting with—systems designer.
I had little idea what the title meant but, as it turned out, it didn’t matter. We were going to learn together, focus on the work, and on the areas that required attention. We were going to pioneer new ways of having impact.
Open enrollment
Two-and-a-half years after joining IDEO, I find myself living in Lima, Peru, until the end of 2014. IDEO is helping setup an innovation lab with a client that hopes to infuse its two-dozen companies with the qualities that will help them empathize with Peruvians and thus serve them better. To do that, we’re using human-centered design. We’re out talking to people, immersing ourselves in daily experiences, and iterating our concepts with people in context. But really, I’ve just enrolled in yet another School of Athens—enthusiastic, optimistic, and humbled. Looking back, IDEO isn’t my first School of Athens, nor will it be my last.
This isn’t about a fresco, IDEO, or me. The thing is, there is a School of Athens for everyone out there. And while they don’t all look alike, I believe a School of Athens is characterized by three things: It’s not a place, it’s a mindset. It’s the kind of collaborative relationships we forge and the people we surround ourselves with. It’s about mastering, rather than being a Master.
So, where is your School of Athens? What does it look like? Who else will be there? And when are you going to enroll? I hope you do.
