Hidden Potential

by Adam M. Grant

Brainstorming usually backfires. In brainstorming meetings, many good ideas are lost24—and few are gained. Extensive evidence shows that when we generate ideas together, we fail to maximize collective intelligence. Brainstorming groups fall so far short of their potential that we get more ideas—and better ideas—if we all work alone. As the humorist Dave Barry quipped, “If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be: ‘meetings.’”25

On a historic evening in 1972, ten-year-old José Hernandez kneeled in front2 of an old black-and-white television. He gripped the rabbit ears of the antenna, using his body to boost the signal. As the fuzzy image on the screen became clearer, José watched the last Apollo astronauts bound across the surface of the moon.

Great history about José Hernandez. Who worked very hard to become a NASA astronaut and never gave up, even after being rejected several times.

Many kids go through an astronaut phase, but José was committed to making his dream a reality. Since his strongest subjects were math and science, he decided engineering would be his ride to space. Over the next two decades, he earned a bachelor’s and master’s degree in electrical engineering and landed a job as an engineer at a federal research facility. He wanted to make his application as strong as possible for NASA.

In 1989, José was ready to throw his hat in the ring. He carefully filled out the 47 sections of the astronaut application, enclosed his resume and transcripts, and shipped his packet off to Houston. Soon he was checking his mailbox daily, eagerly awaiting an envelope from NASA. After ten long months, it finally arrived. He ripped it open and read the letter from the head of the astronaut selection office. Not selected.

NASA missed the markers of José’s potential because their selection process wasn’t designed to detect them. They had information about work experience and past performance, not life experience and background. They didn’t know that José was raised in a family of migrant farmworkers. They didn’t know that when he started kindergarten in California, he didn’t speak English, and it wasn’t until he turned twelve that he finally felt fluent. They didn’t know that he had traveled a great distance just to make it to college and become an engineer. The lack of accomplishments in his early applications seemed to reveal the absence of ability, but it actually indicated the presence of adversity.

José had gone from picking strawberries in fields to floating among the stars. Over the course of two weeks in space, he flew over five million miles. It was a short hop compared to the distance he had traveled for the chance to wear a space suit. As exciting as it is to see a candidate like José succeed, it isn’t enough. His success shows us what we’re missing in so many others. He had to break the mold to make it through a broken system. He’s the exception, but he should be the rule. When we evaluate people, there’s nothing more rewarding than finding a diamond in the rough. Our job isn’t to apply the pressure that brings out their brilliance. It’s to make sure we don’t overlook those who have already faced that pressure—and recognize their potential to shine.

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly.1 —LANGSTON HUGHES

When I failed Harvard’s writing test, they hadn’t declared me a failure as a writer. They’d failed a tiny snapshot of my writing. They didn’t know me, so I set out to prove them wrong. I was determined to go from failing the test to acing the class. I skipped the remedial writing seminar and signed up for the regular one. I became a sponge, embracing the discomfort of seeking endless rounds of constructive criticism from the professor and anyone else who would read my writing. Instead of going home for Thanksgiving, I stayed on campus to write and rewrite and rewrite an essay. By the end of the semester, I’d traveled a great distance. The professor congratulated me on earning the only A in the class.

Hello, languishing. I was stuck. I didn’t know where to begin, let alone if I could do it. Impostor syndrome came back with a vengeance. Who was I to write a book? Why would anyone want to read what I had to say? Richard shifted from judge to coach and told me to stop doubting myself. “Of course you can do it! Just write like you teach, not like you write for academic journals.”