I Stole This from an Architect

Draw What You Mean

Neuroplasticity is a big word.  I looked it up.  When I did, I just came upon more big words like neuron pathways and cortical remapping.  But after a little digging and reading it twice, I think the main gist of it is that we can reorganize and rewire our brains to an extent.  Children are better at this (like most things).  It can help after a brain injury too.  I came across this word while surfing social media.  The guy who referenced it said that if you are right-handed, you should switch brushing your teeth to your left hand.  He also said to take 25 deep breaths three times a day.  He said it would change your life.  That’s what got me.  I tried the deep breaths and got bored after seven.  So, I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth left-handed.  It was even more awkward than I anticipated.  I kept looking at my right hand thinking, you are not helping at all.  I am going to see if I can keep it going.  I am all about growth.  But that’s not the thing I stole.

As I was walking away, I made a mental connection (wow, working already).  My brother Mike is an architect.  He shared with me his slogan and ethos for his work – Draw What You Mean.  He explained that if you draw to meet the needs of the construction crew, it will be an easy build but likely not very innovative.  If you draw to meet a budget, you limit potential that may arouse the client.  And, if you draw to meet the expectations of the client, you’ve entrusted your craft to someone with zero experience and any appreciation for what is possible.  That’s worse than lawyers defending themselves and doctors performing surgery on themselves.  At least they know the profession. 

So, Mike told me that he always starts with drawing what he means.  His profession.  His art.  His vision.   He spent years learning and perfecting his craft.  He draws what he means to derive the optimum solution.  He understands the construction challenges.  He can follow a budget.  And he certainly listens to the client.  But the starting point to draw what he means is a personal commitment and duty to stay true to oneself.  It is about setting a priority to the internal process.  After his hand sketch is done, the other steps still remain.  He will run it through CAD and Revit 3D modeling.  He submits a presentation to the client.  To be fair, things will change.  The client is the customer.  Some resources might not be available for the job.  Still, when the next project comes, he will once again start by drawing what he means in his faded Moleskin sketchbook.  The way that he has reorganized and rewired this process, much like neuroplasticity, results in more creative and innovative designs, as well as happier clients.  It made perfect sense.  So, I stole the idea.

I stole the idea and applied it to crisis communications.  If we write for leadership, we risk unnecessary grip-and-grins, and typically bureaucratic language.  If we write for the media, we will probably end up with sensationalistic results and a damaged reputation.   If we write for what we think the general public wants to hear, we risk losing focus among multiple audiences based on our instincts alone.  We also lose our personal vision and perspective in our craft.  So, I have adopted the Draw What You Mean ethos.

While serving in a crisis communications role not too long ago, I was given a draft of a news release that tried to explain the value of buying out homes and demolishing them in a flood zone.  It was written primarily by subject matter experts.  Too often in our field, communicators go to experts and take what they are given without edit.  They are experts in what they do; we are experts in how to convey that.  It was complicated and convoluted.  I tried to make edits, but no matter what I tried, I knew the average person would not understand it.  Instead, I started from scratch, and I asked the reader to picture a football field with fifteen houses on it and flood waters racing in and getting higher because of all the buildings created obstacles for run off.  Then I asked them to picture that same football field with only five houses on it and imagine how swiftly the water could spread out and run off, creating less, if any damage.  Finally, I let them know that the families who agreed to a demolition did so voluntarily and with fair compensation to build in a safer place.  Win, Win, Win.  And more importantly, easier to understand. 

I drew what I meant.   Like the architect, our work still has to go through review and meet certain standards.  AP Style.  Lawyers.  Subject Matter Experts.  But, like Mike, if we commit to a starting and focus point of drawing what we mean, each time, the results can change our lives.

I may never fully understand the concept of neuroplasticity.  I have never been an architect.  But I do know that we can reorganize the way we write, tell human stories that are relatable, and rewire our craft to make a more meaningful difference.   

Now, if I can only learn how to brush my teeth left-handed.

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