The balance between learning from guidance and learning through experience

Lots to learn, even after reading all of these.

In Laurel Snyder’s Orphan Island, ostensibly a middle grades novel but filled with allegory that would go right over the head of the average ten-year-old, nine children live together peacefully on an island. Every year, a mysterious boat arrives with a young child and takes away the eldest child. The new eldest child must teach the new youngest child the ways of the island, rules that have been handed down from child to child for as long as anyone can remember.

Jinny, the newest Elder, is our protagonist. In the story, we follow her attempts teach little Ess. She has difficulty explaining the reasons for things, expecting Ess to just do stuff because that’s the way it’s been done. At the same time, she wants to protect Ess from unpleasant or challenging experiences. Meanwhile, Jinny struggles to accept feedback and assistance from the other children, who have strengths she doesn’t have and see truths that she can’t see. This tension between following guidance and learning through experience — even if it means suffering — is at the heart of not only Jinny’s mentorship of Ess, but also her own journey from childhood to adolescence.

A teacher, coach, or learner can find value in both extremes. You can teach someone to swim by gently, patiently developing her comfort in the water, or you can throw her right in and force her to figure it out. You can read the manual to tell you exactly how to use a new gadget, or you can skip it and explore, making every mistake. Some tools in the toolkit work better in certain contexts.

In April, my husband Kyle and I bought an old sailboat for the price of a domestic plane ticket, complete with trailer. Kyle had some experience sailing, but he had never done it on his own.

Our first time out was a disaster. We tried to launch directly from a boat ramp in windy conditions. With no anchor and a weak motor, we were at a disadvantage — every time we went far enough out to get our rudder in, the easterly wind blew us ashore before we could get our sails up. Eventually, our boat got stuck on the rocks due to a swiftly receding tide. We had to wait until the next high tide at 1 AM to retrieve the boat and put her on a friend’s mooring.

That was early on a Sunday. All seemed well. On Monday, we got a call that the boat had sunk on the mooring. After the salvage crew retrieved the craft from the bottom of the ocean, we were now in it for the price of an international plane ticket.

And so it went. Kyle repaired the boat (it looked like the sinking was due to a small hole in the fiberglass, possibly from a screw on the trailer), then went out again — and found himself beached in a different part of the harbor because he was following advice from a fellow boat owner to try sailing only with the jib (as opposed to both the jib and the mainsail). Another time, he got stuck without a motor (which had been ruined when the boat sank) when the wind died and had to be towed into shore.

Undaunted, Kyle kept sailing. By constantly seeking and following better advice, along with continued practice in a variety of conditions, he improved dramatically. Three months later, he’s able to quickly problem-solve and course correct. Based on input from trusted experts, he now has better equipment, which leads to fewer problems (we’re now in it for the price of two international plane tickets and a short hotel stay). He’s a sailor.

Book learning is useful, but it alone can’t teach you how to sail. Having someone to show you how is priceless, but you have to be able to know the reasons behind the rules so that you can improvise in a variety of situations. And going out on your own is a way to fail fast, but you will find yourself in danger if you don’t have the book learning or the mentorship.

Thus, the ideal learning situation is a balance between following guidance and strategically mapping the terrain around it in order to see the whole landscape. We need a bit of hand-holding at first — and then we need to make a leap. And then we might need more step-by-step instruction to be ready to take the next leap.

It is inevitable, if you push hard enough toward growth, that you will make mistakes — sometimes big ones. Sometimes expensive ones. In an attempt to avoid timidity and complacency, we might unwittingly end up in the land of hubris. We can get back into balance by looking for support from those who have been there.

When we bought our boat, she didn’t have a name. Now Icarus sits patiently in her slip, awaiting her next adventure. With each outing, we will learn — and hopefully not get thrown into the water.