First Idea: Forego or Follow?

I heard several provocative guidelines for excellent design when our Applied Improvisation group toured Stanford’s graduate Institute of Design (d-School). One principle stood in particular contrast with a foundational tenet of improvisational theater. Now, a day later, I still find myself trying to make sense of the tension: should we follow a ‘first idea’ or not?

Walk in the door of the d-School and you know right away that the place hatches all sorts of creative thinking. Rainbows of Post-it notes stream across transparent walls, brainstorm lists and idea webs reach around corners and posts, and furniture in funky shapes and arrangements invites students to meet in new configurations. The physical space works in concert with the mental aspirations. Here, it’s clear, you can do more than think outside the box. You can redesign the box altogether.

Our presenters, Leticia Britos Cavagnaro and Maureen Carroll, helped those of us visiting from the Applied Improvisation Conference understand the d-School approach soon after we arrived. “The key to creativity,” Leticia offered, “is seeing problems as opportunities. The bigger the problem, the bigger the opportunity.” Our group got the chance to dive into one such opportunity by examining the experience of moving (as in, moving house). Most of the room groaned in recognition of this common ‘problem.’ Who wants the hassle and disruption that comes with that chaos? Here, though, we’d look to find some kind of possibility within the pain.

The d-School rubric proved helpful. To build empathy, we formed pairs and shared stories of what we each experienced when we have to move. As individuals, we then worked to define just what problem our partner was facing in this scenario. Moving into the “Ideate”[1]phase, we took time to imagine what could be possible, eventually switching

over to “Prototype,” building a crudely simple model of our idea that our partner could experience in real space and time. We knew we might fail, but by testing and “failing forward,” we’d get more information and another opportunity for refining the next prototype. We did all this in the space of an hour and a half, and the energy in the room buzzed palpably throughout. A quick review of a handful of our prototypes suggested we’d come up with great stuff, even with the time constraints—I wanted to hear more about each idea. I even almost wanted to find a new place to live so I could try some of them out.

As we dug into our ‘Ideate’ phase, however, I stumbled a bit on one piece of advice: “Go beyond the first idea.” In d-School terms, this meant not to get locked in to the first possibility that comes to mind. Leticia demonstrated the notion by directing a group of ten volunteers to, in one minute without talking, put themselves in order by birthdate within the calendar year. January would fall on the left, December all the way to the right. Quickly, those who had volunteered zeroed in on a preferred method, holding up fingers to indicate which was their birth month. Those who found themselves sharing a birth month with another then counted out the day number using the same method. At the end of the minute, the group had gotten most—but not quite all—members in order.

Granted, Leticia had established an artificial urgency that forced making a choice. At the same time, no one moved past that first idea. They could have written birthdates on paper, they could have showed driver’s licenses, they could even have sung their birthdays. (The directive was no talking.) Instead, they locked into that first idea and that locking prevented the possibility of solving the task at hand. A good brainstorm reserves judgment or evaluation of possibilities as they emerge. The first idea might prove fantastic, but latching on too quickly prevents other ideas from ever coming into view. So that makes sense.

In most of the improv world, however, we talk about following the first idea that comes to mind. The maxim holds especially true when on stage or under constraint. We so often censor ourselves, believing our first thought can’t possibly be good enough. That’s not creative. That’s too predictable. It’s just not funny. Such defeatist self-talk interrupts the spontaneous flow between partners and poisons the waters of creativity. In the charged moment of performance, we simply can’t afford getting in the way of that inner guidance. Just be average. Do the obvious thing. A good story can emerge from any beginning as long as we pay close attention in the moment

Tina Seelig, author of InGenius and Executive Director of Stanford’s Technology Ventures Program, suggests that what we usually think of creativity—the ability to be imaginative in expression or connection-making—actually only makes up one component of the trait. Instead, true creativity also includes an individual’s knowledge base—the images, words, experiences, skills and insights one has to draw from—and attitude or mindset. Moreover, true creativity depends squarely on one’s environment: the habitats of space and teams we move within, the financial and community resources we have available, and the culture that surrounds us like background music for the story of our lives. In other words, creativity includes imagination but relies on so much more.

One suggestion she had for our group spoke directly to the question of first ideas and seemed to support the improv approach of going with what’s there in front of us. If you start with average or bad ideas—even if you intentionally seek them out—and “yes, and” them into possibilities, you’ll generate possibilities you wouldn’t have and couldn’t have imagined. “If you go for a good idea,” she says, “you just get incremental change.”

Dan Klein, Stanford’s current Improv Inspiration-in-Chief (my title for him, not the school’s), echoes Seelig’s instruction to separate the generation of ideas from their evaluation, asking us to hold off on judging a bad idea or a so-called ‘failure.’ “Sure, there’s a time for evaluation,” he asserts, “but it’s usually much later than you think. Maybe the movie you produced flops but the failure clears a career path you couldn’t have predicted.” In that light, following a first idea becomes a platform for adventure rather than a risk of oversimplification. “An improv audience doesn’t want perfection,” Klein continues. “If we manage to fail cheerfully and recover artfully, the audience will love us even more.”

So which is it, then? When seeking innovation, do we go beyond the first idea or do we follow it? Choosing the design principle of looking past the first idea makes sure we keep our eyes open for further possibility but runs the risk of bringing in an evaluative lens that would dismiss a bud of insight before it has the chance to blossom. Focusing on the first idea might employ the unconscious mind’s ability to generate true insight from whatever lies at hand, but might also limit us to the ruts and patterns we have created for our own thinking. Maybe we only play inside the walls of the boxes we know.

Ideally, there’s a sweet spot that communicates between the two. Both suggestions guard against limiting poles. “Go beyond the first idea” knows that the self-inflation or arrogance that would have us grip tightly to what comes along first will exclude wellsprings insight. Such clinginess reflects a self-defeating fear. At the same time, “Be average” knows the dangers of self-doubt or dismissal that insists we’re not good enough, funny enough, or capable enough. We can shut ourselves down before we even start. Both principles look to get us out of our own way. By shifting back and forth between the two approaches—not careening, but perhaps like breathing—we give up on evaluation and resistance. We find a more relaxed, attentive allowance of true innovation. Free from striving, we simply tend to the creativity moving through us.