Feb 21 2010
Discovering the inner beauty of the torque converter.
Natural curiosity is a good thing if you’re an archeologist or an investigative journalist. Or a writer. But I’m one writer who’s perfectly happy not knowing how things work. Especially the things inside the human body. Most especially my own body. As long as they run, as long as the car runs, as long as the world runs reasonably well, let the mystery be. No, for me, curiosity and investigation are tools—like a carpenter’s hammer and saw and whatever else they use.
But I have to admit that, as I’ve written copy on hundreds of pieces of business during 20 years at a bunch of ad agencies and 10 as a freelancer, as the people and the pitches and the deadlines and the stress-and-caffeine-induced irregular heartbeats have come and gone, I’ve actually retained something of what I’ve learned in the process of writing ads and commercials and websites.
Because I’ve had the opportunity—okay, the responsibility—to learn about new things. Not necessarily interesting things. But new. To me, anyway. Before I can write positive, persuasive stuff about paints or politicians or protective packaging or wood preservatives or solid propellants, I’ve got to figure out just what or who they are, not just what separates them from their competitors. More often than not, I start the process feeling like I just landed on this strange new planet. Unfortunately, I’m not a space alien with a huge brain who can just touch an object or glance at a picture and instantly download the technology behind torque converters or the science of silicone sealants. So I become an explorer searching for enlightenment, or, maybe more accurately, a student cramming for an exam. Back in the days of mullets and cassette tapes, that meant a journey through mountains of mind-numbing background babble and a trip to the local library. Now, it’s Google. Google’s better.
So besides being able to craft headlines or spit out a thousand words that might plausibly have come from someone who knows something about the product they’re peddling, what has all this learning new and different things done for me? Has it enriched my life? Maybe. Will it extend my life? Maybe not. But I did learn enough about home equity loans to avoid getting ripped off the first time I needed one. Enough about Lasik surgery to know I didn’t want it. And enough carpet cleaners, cold-rolled steel, creosote, ice cream, blast-resistant rebar, dog food, all-purpose fillers, natural gas exploration, sleep apnea, slot machines, light rail vehicles, the late Jurassic period, labor law, military recruiting, and one or two deadly diseases to occasionally throw in a pertinent comment at a party or ask the correct Jeopardy question.
As I think about the random bits of knowledge I’ve picked up–some useful, most (so far) useless–I also think about the one thing, aside from the stack of bills on my desk, that keeps me learning and writing. It’s the never knowing what I’ll be asked to learn and write about tomorrow
2 Responses to “Discovering the inner beauty of the torque converter.”
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This is interesting stuff, Chris. I can recall having a conversation similar to this not too long ago with a friend and fellow designer. When discussion rolled around to asking “OK, so where else would you work in town if you could? What else would you do?” While considering my answer was a tough one, I knew I wanted it to be in a place where I could learn something new about a subject matter I was unfamiliar with. At the time, I was not an “in-house” guy, so as I look back on things, it’s one of the greatest part of being in the firm/agency world. The “never knowing what will happen next,” was one of things that kept me there so long. Great post!
Chris, this concept is part of the payoff for growing older. The lessons learned through life are welcomed when judiciously shared with younger peers. Q – “How do you know all this stuff?” A – “I learned it the hard way.”