[ Music ]
[ Applause ]
>> Seung Chan Lim: For the first, for the last past 5 years
of my life, I've been spending time, both inside and outside
of graduate school, conducting research on what it means
to make something, how it works as a creative process,
and why it matters to our lives.
And to do the research,
I left the field of information technology
to attend an art school, to study both visual
and performing arts.
So what I'd like to do today is share two of the stories
from that experience and relate it back
to the idea of going further.
So on the second day of grad school,
I was sitting in a classroom surrounded
by freshman students.
And I was kind of nervous at the time,
because at the time I was 31 and they were 18.
And my art skills were crappy.
I had no background in art
and I couldn't draw to save my life.
But thankfully, for the first assignment,
the instructor started off by showing us a simple demo
of how to properly fold a piece of paper.
And I was like, I totally got this.
But then after the demo she turned to us and said, "Okay,
now go fold something".
And I was like, go fold what?
And she said, "Whatever you want".
And I froze.
You see, for almost a decade before coming
to graduate school, I had clients giving me problems
to solve.
But I've never quite gotten a problem
like fold whatever you want.
So what was I supposed to do?
I went back to my desk and started to brainstorm.
I sketched as many different designs as I possibly could,
hoping I could get to something that was good.
But I couldn't.
Six hours passed by and I just sat there,
with all my energy drained,
unable to figure out what I should fold.
But then I noticed something.
I saw a girl sitting at the far away corner of the studio,
and even from afar I could see a huge --
huge pile of folded objects on top of her desk.
And I was like, wow, she really knows what she's doing.
So I stood up, and I started to walk towards her.
And when I got there, I was very surprised.
Because nothing caught my eyes.
There were a lot of objects on top of her desk,
but none of them seemed very impressive,
and I was like, this is it?
So I tapped her on her shoulder and said,
"What are you making?"
And she said, "I don't know".
And I'm like, "Well, what are all these objects,
what are they?"
And she said, "I don't know, I'm just trying stuff out".
I couldn't believe her!
I mean, she did not know, how could her hands be moving?
If she did not know, how could she decide where to fold
and in what direction?
If she did not know, how could she predict what effect her
fold could have on all the subsequent folds?
[ Laughter ]
So at that point it dawned on me, this was youth.
It's what was meant by having a beginner's mindset.
It was humility.
Never mind my lack of drawing skills,
humility is what I really lacked.
You see all this time I thought making was something you do
to produce a product.
A means to an end.
But no, making was going through a process
with enough humility to admit that you do not know,
yet having enough confidence
to not let anyone convince you that you're crazy.
It didn't matter whether she thought she knew
or not, she was making.
Just because she didn't,
she didn't know where she was headed,
it did not mean she was lost.
Just because she couldn't articulate her goals,
it did not mean she lacked purpose.
And when I realized this, I couldn't help but wonder,
has much of my professional life has made me into a,
an arrogant, dogmatic adult?
Stupefied by his own experience?
Then a year and a half passed by,
and I was now sitting in an acting class.
And I was watching my friends rehearse for a play called,
"A Streetcar Named Desire".
And the scene was where the, the male character, Stanley,
aggressively interrogates the female character, Blanche.
And I, the night before,
I had actually watched the movie version of the scene
where Marlon Brando and Vivien Leigh plays these roles,
so I kind of knew what to expect.
And to be honest, my friends were sucking really bad.
And bad acting is kind of hard to watch.
So, eventually the director stops them, and she says,
and she looks at my friend playing Blanche and goes,
"What's going on in your mind
as you're playing the role of Blanche?"
And my friend goes, "Well,
I'm trying to put myself in her shoes."
And the director goes, "Okay,
how do you think Blanche is feeling?"
My friend goes, "Defensive?"
And the director goes, "What else?"
And my friend goes, "Vulnerable?"
And then the director pauses for a second and says,
"Have you ever been in front of another man
that made you feel so vulnerable that you felt the need
to defend yourself?"
And my friend pauses for a second, and she says, "Yes".
And the entire room goes silent.
And the director starts asking more questions.
"What was the day like?"
"Was it hot or cold?"
"How tall was he?"
"What was the color of his skin?"
"You don't have to answer out loud,
just remember what it was like."
And before I know it, my friend begins to weep.
And the director says,
"Take that with you and say the lines".
And as difficult as this must have been
for my friend, she does it.
And what came out was a beautiful performance.
You see all this time I thought acting was telling somebody
else's story.
But no, acting was having enough courage to tell your story.
Of course the name of the character, the situation,
the costume, none of those were yours,
but the experience that lined the foundation
of your performance, that was all yours.
And when such sincere honesty was perceived, I,
as an audience member, could not help
but feel a profound sense of resonance, of connection.
Because despite all the superficial differences I perceived
of her, I could recognize an unmistakable quality
of shared humanity.
You see, the conclusion I arrived at in my research was
that at the heart of all creative processes is empathy.
Think of the story of the paper folding exercise.
When we try to empathize with another,
instead of treating them as a problem
to be solved, we listen to them.
When we try to empathize with another,
instead of telling them what to do, we let them surprise us.
She was doing the same with her materials.
And just as that interaction,
or the memory of that interaction,
helps us feel a sense of connection to others,
the same was happening between her and her materials.
She was developing empathy in relation to her materials.
The same was true of my friend in the acting class.
She was developing empathy in relation
to an imaginary character.
I want you to think about that.
But what I found most remarkable about going
through such a creative process is that as you're trying
to empathize with these others,
it actually helps you better understand yourself.
Have you ever had an experience
where you're trying really hard to write clearly
for other people, and it actually helps you better
understand what you're thinking?
Have you ever had an experience where you try
to teach somebody something,
and it actually helps you better understand what you're
trying to teach?
See, trying to empathize with another
in the creative context is intrinsically reciprocal.
Not reciprocal in the sense of exchanging gifts or favors,
but in the sense that the act of giving is in
and of itself an act of receiving.
This is neither selfish nor altruistic.
It's simply a loop that cannot be untangled
without losing its meaning.
This is at the heart of any, this is a cardiac cycle
of any creative relationships.
And this is what makes the process of making just as,
if not more, meaningful than the product.
So what I'd like to do in closing is to challenge you
to take a moment today,
and think about what going further means
to you in your journey.
And if you're unsure where you're going,
I want you to remember the first story,
of having the humility to admit
that you don't know while having enough confidence
to not let anyone convince you that you're crazy.
And if you are sure of where you're going,
I want you to remember the second story
of having enough courage to tell your story.
And in both cases, I urge you to never forget the role
of empathy in this journey.
Thank you.
[ Applause ]