I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Gastown at a table looking out into the street. There’s a bus stop on the other side and it is raining. It’s Vancouver, after all. One by one, people start arriving at the bus stop and begin to wait. I take a break from my writing and observe the scene forming in front.
The first person to arrive is wearing some sort of fleece hoodie, hands buried in its pockets and wearing a backpack, the one who arrives thereafter is holding an umbrella and a tote in either hand, another one arrives in everyday clothes but wearing that staple of Vancouver life: Blundstones. One person is in a proper knee-length rain coat, I spot brightly coloured Hunter gumboots somewhere in the crowd as well.
Back in the coffee shop someone has just slipped, cartoon style, onto the wet floor. They land on their backpack and let out a comical yelp, a rumbling of giggles breaks out amongst the coffee shop crowd.
I’ve been thinking about something for a little while and in a complete adherence to the Baader–Meinhof effect, I now see it everywhere in waking life. I wanted to share what I see.
There is no verb for ‘Problem’. A problem is experiential, in that someone has to face it for it to exist. It has to be a problem for someone. Let’s say that somewhere in the world, there is someone with a flat tire at this moment. Doesn’t affect me at all. Me getting a flat tire on the other hand … has the potential to be one. A flat tire is abstract, it can only become a problem when I experience it either directly or indirectly.
Problems themselves are abstract. Different people can encounter the same thing and have different responses to it. A problem is rarely universal in that sense, it is deeply unique to the person facing it. The same rain falls on all the people at the bus stop, yet they are all using different rain gear. Because they are all solving a different problem. The problem is not the rain. The problem is in their head. A problem has no physical manifestation, it does not exist in that you cannot point at it.
A problem is the gap between your particular reality and your expectation of it. It is a byproduct of interacting with the world. Your particular reality is the sum total of all your experiences and memories, your expectation is the predictive mental model of the world you have constructed based on those experiences. When a response to your interaction with the world diverges from what your mental model predicts, that discord, that gap. That is the problem.
In the bus stop scenario, the problem is the gap between the reality of the rain being wet and them expecting not to get wet while walking in it. The degree to which they expect not to get wet is revealed in their chosen solutions. The problem you solve is the problem you experience.
In the flat tire scenario, the problem is not the flat tire itself. The problem is a flat tire when I don't want it to be flat. Because my mental model of the world did not predict it.
There are only two ways to solve any problem. Either you change yourself, or you change the world. More specifically, either you change your mental model about the world or you change how you interact with it so that the problems do not arise.
The first way to solve a problem involves using either of these two magical phrases: “Not a problem” or “Not my problem”. The seawall runner who expects to get wet uses the first phrase, the giggling patrons in the coffee shop use the second.
The second way to solve a problem, that of changing your interaction with reality is the far more interesting and useful case. It always involves the act of creation or modifying the world. You never really solve a problem, you create a new world in which the problem doesn’t take place.
Solutions are contextual to the problem. They are a bridge that spans the gap between expectation and reality. For a solution to be applicable, a gap between the two must exist. Just like a problem has to be experienced to be real, a solution only exists relative to a problem. The umbrella, in itself, is not the solution, the solution is preventing the rain to touch you, the facet of the umbrella that enables this. How you choose to prevent the rain to touch you is where the uniqueness comes in. For instance, you could use an umbrella, or if you’re me, you could use a coffee shop.
Solutions are always tangible. In contrast to the problems, all solutions live in the real world since they are a means of modifying it in some way. These are our inventions and scientific discoveries, our tools and prostheses. But when you create something, you also make it a part of reality. A reality in which this invention now exists.
Interacting with this new reality gives rise to new gaps where they weren’t any before. A reality in which umbrellas exist is also a reality in which broken umbrellas exist, umbrellas that get mangled by the wind, umbrellas that get lost in coffee shops. These are new problems created by a solution created by a problem. However, this is also a reality in which windproof umbrellas exist, where carbon fibre is used to fortify them. This is also a reality in which raincoats exist.
At this point I have a confession to make. I don't know how to make an umbrella, I wouldn't know where to start. So, I go to the umbrella shop and buy one that was made by someone else. Someone who knows what they're doing, after all, they're charging money for it so they must be legit. And the umbrella looks the part, at least, it looks like the umbrellas I see everyone else carrying.
I don't quite like the handle, it's a little too big for my hands. There's one with a smaller handle, it has Spongebob and Squidward all over the canopy. But it only comes in hot pink, and that's a deal breaker.
So, I settle for the one with the big handle because that's all they have, and use it when I must. I realise that it is also a little too heavy in addition to the handle. It tires my wrist when used for long periods, but over time I expect I'll get used to it.
A solution can only exist to bridge a gap between expectation and reality. And a problem can only exist when a particular reality and a particular mental model about it diverge. In other words, problems are specific to the person experiencing it, but the solutions are generic. So, not only does a solution create new problems, it doesn’t even solve the initial problem for me. But I don’t know that because I’ve never held an umbrella that fits my hand, so my reality is one where all umbrellas are slightly too big or too small.
A solution first exists when someone solves their own problem, by creating something that matches their mental model of how the world ought to be. Since their problem is invisible and the their solution is all that we can see, it leads to a distorted world-view. Like looking through the other end of a telescope. A solution, by design, constrains how you interact with the world. A solution-first way of thinking ensures that the world you will encounter has been influenced by the solution. If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. More importantly, it conceals the actual problem. You cannot tell what problem a solution solves if you’ve never experienced the problem yourself. It leads us to misapply the solution to a problem we might have never had. Rather critically, it prevents us from discovering our own problems.
Every problem is unique because every human being is. The various permutations of our physical features, our education, upbringing and life experience govern our outlook on life and how we experience the world. And this utterly unique person experiences reality in unique ways and will have different expectations from it.
All human feet differ in size and shape yet all shoes are made on rigid lasts. Clothes are made to an abstract representation of the human body. As a cooperative and social species, we rely on others to provide solutions to our problems. We generalise the problem and abstract away the details. But when we prune away the details we also lose the uniqueness and the humanity in the problem. The tyranny of solutions is that they erode away everything that makes us special and unique. They limit our reality by providing generalised solutions. When only a few options exist, we stifle our expectations about the world and adopt existing solutions that don’t actually solve our problem.
Conservative or Liberal. iOS or Android. Kanban or Scrum. Any colour you like, as long as it’s black.
In a world that optimises for predictability and incentivises ‘productivity’, one which celebrates speed, the tendency is to choose existing solutions than invent new ones. Solutions that get chosen often enough tend to dominate public consciousness. Over several iterations, this effectively creates a monoculture of solutions that inhabit our world.
As a species, this reduces our capacity for original thought, of invention. It deprives us of the very human attribute of curiosity. We are unable to solve the actual problems because we are presented with prefabricated yet feeble solutions ready to be used, and over time our skill to even spot them withers away. So that future generations become less capable thinkers when suddenly faced with a situation where their mental model of the world doesn’t match their reality. You only solve problems that you experience.
All work and human activity essentially gets reduced to labouring in the manufacture of existing solutions rather than inventing new ones. We have become peddlers of solutions; selling ineffectual tools to each other, fooling ourselves into poorly solving problems we don’t even have.
When you solve your unique problem, you give rise to a unique solution that will give rise to an array of unique problems rich in promise and diverse in aspect. Which in turn create a broad spectrum of solutions.
When everyone uses the same solution to solve their unique problem, we limit the set possible realities of the world, we reduce the future problems we will encounter. And because we reduce future problems, the set of our future solutions keeps shrinking.
So that life becomes a lot more predictable, but it also becomes a lot less interesting.