Exceptional People are Wonderful and I’d Like to Have More of Them

Every day I’m grateful for the opportunity to work with—to coach, advise, teach—exceptional people. They are ambitious, bright, hard-working, creative, inspiring, and they love to learn. So here’s a question that’s chased me like Tom on Jerry: are exceptional people rare flukes we’re lucky to stumble across, or are there a lot more of ‘em out there, just waiting for a bit of sun? And boy, wouldn’t that be something? So indulge me: exceptional people are wonderful, and we’ll be better off with more of them.

Do people who do really good stuff have flaws? Of course. But I know I’m better off because of the exceptional editor I’ve had a chance to work with (her name is Rachel). I’m better off for having had an exceptional professor in college (his name is Artie). My city is better off for having had an exceptional ice cream maker (her name is Jeni).

Those are a few everyday exceptional people, not to mention the men and women who made the allergy medicine that makes it possible for me to go outside in the spring and fall without sneezing sixteen times in a row or the doctors who saved my life at three and a half when my doctor misdiagnosed my burst appendix as the flu. Exceptional people make the music, the medicine, the restaurants, the poetry, the paintings, and the airplanes.

But exceptional people make us uncomfortable. They give us the willies. As exceptions, we have to admit their capability sometimes exceeds others’ (and most importantly, ours). Kind of makes you feel insecure, right? They’re better than us at some things, but just because a doctor is a great doctor doesn’t mean she’s a better person than an average mechanic. Last I checked, doctors need mechanics, mechanics need doctors, and both would prefer the other to be exceptional.

But man oh man, that does not make it easy to talk about what we do about crankin’ up the ol’ exceptional person factory to eleven. We often conflate being exceptional with being lucky—born rich, connected, or privileged—but hey, did you know less than 7% of the variation in SAT scores can be explained by family income?¹

Exceptionality does not have to be synonymous with wealth or privilege, and investing in exceptional people need not be a zero-sum game where we’re robbing the disadvantaged to invest in excellence.

Now I don’t know about you, but I’d like to live in a world where two things are true: (1) we don’t hold exceptional people back (we encourage the hell out of them) and (2) exceptional people use their gifts—at least to some extent—to make sure quality of life improves not only for them, but for all. How do we do that? Well, that’s something I’m thinking a lot about lately. So stay tuned.

On the Personal Front

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how lucky I am to live in what I feel is an exceptional neighborhood: German Village in Columbus, Ohio. It’s on the register of historic places, with mostly brick houses on mostly brick roads and zoning that allows for restaurants and a bar here and there. It’s pretty and I knew it was pretty when we moved last fall. But as nature unlocks for spring, I’m feeling particularly grateful for how well-gardened our neighborhood is.

Only a couple of weeks into spring, and I’m realizing how stunning our streets really are. They’re lined with magnolias—white, light pink, and deep pink verging on purple—and wow, do they smell good. Hyacinths pop up everywhere, alongside bright yellow forsythia bushes, pear trees, and a number of other plants with a penchant for colorful bravado in the spring.

Yes, spring is pretty. But man, it’s wonderful to see the culture of a tiny 233-acre neighborhood. We’ve all decided this is going to be an exceptionally pretty neighborhood, and everyone is on board. Maybe we can have nice things, after all.

Recommendations

• The Headmaster: You don’t have to have an interest in education to enjoy this wonderful portrait of Frank Boyden, former Headmaster at the legendary American prep school, Deerfield Academy. Oh, and it’s written by Pulitzer Prize-winning John McPhee, one of the ol’ grandads of narrative non-fiction. It’s a beautiful story, and one chapter’s end caught me so off guard it had me sobbing in my reading chair.
• The First Class: You won’t find this documentary on Netflix. Why? Beats me. The First Class tells the story of, well, the first graduating class of Crosstown High—an alternative education charter school—in Memphis, TN. It’s a heartwarming story that shows the benefits (and drama) of enabling high schoolers to take more ownership of their education.
• Alpha School: Look, I wouldn’t put a link to the godforsaken hellscape that is Forbes.com unless it was about something really cool. Alpha School, founded by MacKenzie Price, is a collection of schools built on Price’s unique methodology: two-hour learning. Kids learn everything they need to score in the 99th percentile (and do) on state exams in two hours—via an artificial intelligence tutor. After that, since parents don’t want their kids home after two hours, the school focuses on developing life skills, “From public speaking to coding, entrepreneurship, and outdoor education, these experiences build grit, creativity, and adaptability.” Anything with AI slapped on it should come with some healthy skepticism, but this stuff seems like… it works.
• Paul Revere (with Gregory Alan Isakov): I recently discovered Noah Kahan, who apparently was nominated for a Grammy twice. This is a beautiful song for starting up the morning with a nice cup of coffee.

Working Together

I hope you enjoyed this issue of Essays by Andy. If you are (or someone else you know might be) looking for an executive coach and are interested in learning more about working together, head over here.

That’s it for this issue. I’m looking forward to what’s next!

Andy.