Last month, I attended the Creative Problem-Solving Institute (CPSI). It is an annual creativity conference that has been going on since 1955. I have been participating in and leading sessions at the conference since the early 1980s.
This year, one of the sessions I attended was led by Tim O’Shei and Emily Mathew, who are doing some amazing work in the world of secondary education through ERA — the Education Revolution Association. The session was called How Might I Get Curious? Creative Questions for Deep-Diving Conversations. One of the objectives was to learn how to use creative questions to take conversations deeper and make them more meaningful.
In one of the exercises, we were divided into small groups and asked to pose a question that you would not normally ask someone when first meeting them. I was in a group with two other CPSI participants. We’ll call them Michael and James.
Michael was the first to ask a question.
“What is on your bucket list that you haven’t done yet?”
I actually found it difficult to answer.
I’ve done some pretty extensive traveling and have had the privilege of doing the work I love for almost fifty years. I have a terrific daughter who is a physician. (Yes, her dad is very proud of her.) I am healthy, and I get to travel back and forth to the farm in Colorado where I grew up. I also have the honor of continuing to work with some fantastic colleagues at the Center for Applied Imagination at Buffalo State University.
I couldn’t come up with anything right off the top of my head.
I’m pretty happy where I am right now.
Michael’s bucket-list item was to ride a bicycle from the southern tip of England to the northernmost part of Scotland.
I was actually a little frustrated with myself. Why didn’t I have something so interesting on my bucket list? I’m the creativity guy. Why didn’t I have something more creative to share?
Maybe the reason I struggled to answer Michael’s question was that I was no longer looking for my next destination. I was learning to pay closer attention to where I already was.
Then James told us about a 90-day trip through Europe. He was searching for what he called “his epiphany”—the insight that would reveal what he should do with the rest of his life now that he was retired.
His goal was adventure and insight.
He certainly got some adventure. Three weeks into the trip, his wallet was stolen in Paris.
But where was that epiphany?
Where was the amazing insight that would direct the rest of his life?
Day 30—no epiphany.
Day 45—no epiphany.
Day 60—still no epiphany.
Finally, on Day 89, the day before he was scheduled to return to the United States, he had his breakthrough.
How did he get that breakthrough?
He realized something important: the epiphany was not going to come from putting himself into challenging situations or visiting exotic places. The epiphany came from inside him.
His story reminded me of an old tale that goes something like this.
Two brothers parted ways when they were young.
One traveled the world. He crossed deserts, sailed oceans, visited great cities, climbed mountains, and met kings and sages. After many years, he returned home eager to share his adventures.
His brother had never left the family property. Instead, he spent those same years quietly tending a small garden.
As the traveler described distant lands, strange birds, exotic flowers, breathtaking sunsets, and profound encounters, the gardener listened carefully.
After each story, the gardener would say, “Yes, I know that place.”
The traveler became annoyed.
“How could you possibly know these things? You never left this garden.”
The gardener replied, “By truly knowing this garden, I came to know the world. The same sun shines everywhere. The same seasons turn. The same life that unfolds in distant lands unfolds here.”
The lesson is simple: depth can be as powerful as breadth.
One person seeks wisdom through travel; the other through attentive observation. Both arrive at the same understanding.
I thought about the time I now spend on our family farm in Colorado.
I’ve traveled extensively and worked with organizations around the world, yet some of my most reflective and insightful writing has come from sitting on land I’ve known my entire life.
The garden and the journey are both important. But there are times when the garden teaches just as much as the road.
This idea is closely related to a saying often attributed to the Taoist sage Lao Tzu:
“Without leaving your door, you can know the ways of the world.
Without looking out your window, you can see the Way of Heaven.”
So, where will you find your epiphany?
