Remember learning to write the alphabets? Learning to ski? To swim? I think back to my swimming lessons when I was about 10. After summoning enough courage to submerge my head and open my eyes in water, I learned to move my arms by copying and imitating. My coach first held my hands and guided them through the strokes while I tried to register the movement in my mind. I repeated and repeated till the moves became kind of natural. Same went with the kick, then the breathing, before I eventually put all of them together in a coordinated fashion. The coordination itself again required trying and repeating. Some of these movements might seem non-intuitive; but I learned it. My coach did explain, for example, why kicking with slightly bent knees are better than locked ones. I also asked questions. Some answers I understood, other, I did not. For the latter, I gave them the benefit of the doubt. I am happy to report that not only did I learn to swim, I was on a swim team. I began to understand the reasons behind the mechanics. I fine-tuned the angle of my arms and tilted my head slightly differently when I breathed. I actually switched to breast strokes because I turned out to be better at it.
Many years later, I learned to skate. I was an adult. I knew more (at least that’s what I thought) and I had more control of what I wanted. Gliding on two blades made no sense. Why couldn’t I just walk on ice? I walked since I was one; I have perfected walking! I was a hiker; I was very good at walking! Subconsciously I resisted learning to traverse in another fashion. I tried to lean forward slightly and glide but my heart was not there. The truth was, now that I am willing to admit, that it was difficult and I was afraid. Oh! I could do a double pirouette in ballet. With pirouette, we use this technique called spotting. I gazed at a single spot and turned my head very quickly. It allowed me to control my balance and maintain my sense of direction. How they turned in skating is “not intuitive” and “just stupid”! I barely got through the class, and to-date, sadly, I still cannot skate. I also haven’t found a better way to traverse on ice.
I observe many people learning Scrum like my attempt with skating. Doesn’t the “make no sense” or “doesn’t apply here” sound familiar? They declare the absolute need to modify and “adapt” it before they really learn it. In some ways, Scrum might sound counter-intuitive. It goes against some common practices we learned and common belief we have. But I would say it is no more non-intuitive than inhaling with your mouth instead of your nose or gliding on two blades. Some of the practices might sound unconventional, like story-pointing and daily meetings. But it is no stranger than relaxing when you are trying to stay afloat in water.
Two things contributed to my success in swimming but failure in skating: (1) following Shu-Ha-Ri and (2) having a beginner’s mind.
At 10, my mind was a beginner’s mind. I was open-minded, trusting, curious, courageous, and not afraid of failure. I even instinctively practiced Shu-Ha-Ri, a concept I didn’t learn about till decades later. Now that I am a grown-up, I have to remember to keep and nourish my inner child and her beginner’s mind.
Shu-Ha-Ri is a martial art philosophy loosely translated to follow-detach-transcend, a concept borrowed and used by the Agile community for a decade. Alistair Cockburn wrote a rather popular blog on it. It does not mean that you have to blindly follow and cannot ask questions. It’s just that in the beginning you may not understand all the answers. You will need the trusting nature of a child and the sense of security possessed by an adult to get through the fog. I look at Shu-Ha-Ri as concentric ripples, a progression in mastering new skills. Come to think about it, you do need something from which to break away, right? When is the right time to detach and transcend? If you have to ask the question or to proclaim your detachment or transcendence, you are not there yet!
Shu Ha Ri
simplyflow 