Facing a Challenge? Why you might not want an expert.

“Great news, I found an expert!” said Nancy. “Yes! Can’t wait to meet this person!” I said.

We’d been working on a large-scale website project that included a redesign of the way the website looked as well as an overhaul of the systems running behind the scenes to make it work.

I’d worked on projects like this before, but nothing of this scale. I was nervous about what I didn’t know and not all that confident in my ability to deliver. The team and I were discussing a few of the key decisions we’d need to make in the project and couldn’t agree on a direction.

“We need an expert.” I’d said. Everyone agreed. Then we each scanned our networks for someone who’d done something like this before. Nancy was the first to find someone, Steve. Steve was our expert.

Nancy reached out to Steve to ask if he might be able to join our next meeting and share some of his expertise. He said yes. I breathed a sigh of relief. Steve to the rescue!

A few days later, Steve was scheduled to show up to our meeting. He was late and I was feeling concerned. What if he didn’t show up? I had so many questions and very few answers. Steve suddenly burst into the room, tossed his bag on the table and looked towards Nancy. Nancy quickly introduced Steve to the team and thanked him for coming.

Then, as if someone pushed a button in his back, Steve began to tell us exactly what we should do on this project. At first, I thought, “This is great! Steve doesn’t mess around!” But the more he spoke, the more troubled I felt. What Steve was telling us made sense, in theory, but very little of it was related to our project. Maybe he just needed some context. I attempted to interject, but Steve was leaving no room for questions or comments. He plowed ahead relentlessly for 15 more minutes, scooped up his bag, and abruptly exited.

Steve hadn’t asked us a single question. His advice was totally disconnected from our situation. He may as well have been telling us how to bake a cake.

I felt a pit in my stomach. We’d brought in an expert and it hadn’t helped at all. Now what?

I’d just learned a valuable lesson. Sometimes an expert isn’t what you need.

It’s not always the case, but in my experience, experts are more likely to be closed off to new information. They are less likely to ask questions. And they are less likely to be able to put themselves in your shoes.

They are suffering from the curse of knowledge. They know their particular area so well, that they’ve lost the ability to remember what it was like to not know it.

This happens a lot in sports. Sometimes the best players make the worst coaches. Wayne Gretzky is widely regarded as the greatest hockey player ever, yet his greatness did not translate to coaching. After his playing days, he coached for four years with little success. Why does this happen?

I believe it is because some experts struggle to relate, to empathize. They forget what it was like to not be one of the best. Like Steve, they don’t ask questions because they know exactly what to do. They lose the curiosity that made them experts to begin with.

Expertise, on its own, isn’t enough. Expertise + curiosity is the secret to success.

I got to see this amazing combination at work in, of all places, a ski shop. I became a skier much later in life than most people. I never skied as a kid and only got into it because of my kids. I found myself simultaneously teaching them to ski while learning how to ski myself. I’d reached a point where repeatedly renting my skis was cost-prohibitive and it was worth it for me to buy.

I went to the ski shop I’d rented from many times with a new goal — to walk out with a brand new pair of my very own skis.

I was nervous. Having been in this ski shop many times, I knew how knowledgeable they all were. They’d skied everywhere, knew every mountain, knew every detail about every ski. The carbon plating, the width, the length, the weight, the brands. I knew nothing. I’d always just taken the rentals they gave me without a thought. Skis were skis, right?

Though the staff had always been nice, but I was prepared to feel stupid. I was prepared for an onslaught of expertise and recommendations for skis that were “top of the line” and likely very expensive.

That’s not what I got. I walked in and said I was looking to buy skis. Rick smiled and said, “Great, follow me!”. But Rick wasn’t walking towards the endless rack of shrink-wrapped skis. He was walking over to a couple of benches on the opposite side of the store. He sat down. What was happening?

Rick says, “Tell me about a day of skiing for you.” Still unsure why we were sitting there, I told him how I’d start by gathering my young kids and all our rental equipment. Then we’d load everything up and head to the mountain where I’d spend the day trying to learn and teach at the same time.

He asked about the kids. “What are they like when they ski?” I told him how both were pretty good. Easy Greens and a few more challenging Blue trails. One kid was more fearless than the other and often took off down the mountain. The other was more cautious. I’d try to stay behind both of them because I routinely had to stop to scoop one of them up from a fall, get their skis back on, and point them in the right direction — a very challenging process for me as a novice skier.

He asked about my goals as a skier. I told him how, for the foreseeable future, I just needed to be able to keep track of the kids. I needed to be able to stop myself on just about any trail and remain steady enough to help whoever had fallen down. I needed to not fall because if I got stuck somewhere, they were too young to help. I wanted to be competent. Later in life, I’d think about getting really good.

Rick listened intently to all of this. He even had a tattered little notebook where he was jotting down notes and doodles.

Then he finally said something that wasn’t a question. “Given your goals and current situation, I have a few ideas. Let’s head over to the ski rack.”

Rick showed me skis that he felt would give me lots of control, stability, and the ability to stop and stand in any spot. Skis that would take a beating and stand up to most east coast ski conditions, where we’d be. He assured me that I wasn’t going to win any downhill races in these, but he knew that wasn’t a goal of mine. He was honest that once the kids got older, I’d probably want a different kind of ski, but these would work well for now. He also picked reasonably priced skis, having heard about how expensive a ski day is with the kids.

We settled on a pair. I felt good about my purchase. Then the next ski day came around and I felt lots of control, stopping power, and stability. Things I’d never felt on the rentals. Rick was right.

Rick was a curious expert and I’d benefited greatly. I was grateful for our encounter.

I’d argue there is nothing more valuable when facing a challenge than a curious expert.

The expert who knows what they know and seeks to know more. They seek out new information, new viewpoints. They combine that new information with their lived experiences to offer true expertise. They do this on purpose.

Thinking back, I bet Steve could have helped us. Had he asked a few questions or just left some room to learn, he could have better understood our situation. And I bet he would have had valuable insights to share with us. But he wasn’t a curious expert. And therefore, he really didn’t add any value.

Everyone has expertise in something. You do. I do. To be valuable to others, be a curious expert!